I’m in hospital for a minor operation. The letter for the appointment asks you to arrive at a specific time and makes it clear that they ask a batch of people to arrive at the same time, and then they see them one by one.

As I go in to be seen, I pass a guy getting stroppy with one of the nurses.

Guy: “I’ve been waiting an hour! When am I going to be seen?”

Nurse: “There are currently three people ahead of you in the queue, but it depends on how long their procedures take.”

Guy: “Can’t I go outside for a smoke?”

Nurse: “You can, but if you aren’t here when we call your name, you will have to go to the bottom of the list.”

A couple of hours later, I’m all done and on my way out, and I pass the same guy again.

Guy: “What do you mean, I’m at the bottom of the list?!”

CONTENT WARNING: Pet Death

My husband and I had just dropped our rabbit off at the vet’s; she was not doing well and the outlook was not hopeful. We needed some groceries, so we were in the discount supermarket next door when we got a phone call to tell us that our rabbit had had a seizure and ask if we wanted them to attempt resuscitation.

As we were next door, we said we’d be right over, but we had a basket of shopping. My husband refuses to be one of those people who just leave stuff in the wrong place, so he handed it to a cashier.

Husband: “I’m sorry. Our pet is dying, so we need to go, but we’ll be back for our shopping.”

Our rabbit sadly passed away, and after saying our goodbyes, we went back to the supermarket to get our shopping. As soon as the cashier saw us — I was still sobbing — she left her till and the large queue. She’d put our basket in the chiller out the back to stop anything going bad. She gave me a hug and got a colleague to open a till so we could just get our things and go.

The supermarket in question has a reputation for curt service and scanning items too quickly, but that cashier made a terrible night slightly more bearable. It really stood out as an example of people caring, which doesn’t happen too often these days.

It’s 2020, and in the midst of the first lockdown. In order to keep us – and our customers – safe, our managers have decided to implement a rule which means we cannot take cash. The safe in the office is empty. We have no money in our till drawers. We cannot take it at all. There are signs all around the shop stating this (several on the front windows, two on the front doors, one on the hand sanitiser, on the fridge doors – basically everywhere). Still, we get customers who think they are an exception. With this, being berated for mask laws that aren’t our choice, and trying desperately to calm panic buyers who want a dozen packs of toilet rolls, we are fed up.

I am serving a line of people when a man comes to my till, scans through the shopping, and then tries to hand me a £20 note.

Me: “I’m very sorry, but we’re not accepting cash at the moment.”

Customer: “What?!”

Me: “We cannot accept cash. You can pay by card, or if you don’t have it on you I can pause the transaction and keep your shopping to the side while you get it.”

Customer: “Just take the money!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we have no change to give you; we have no cash anywhere on the premises.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous and illegal! This whole rule is just a f****** disgrace and you should be ashamed of yourself! Just take the f****** cash and do your job!”

At this point, a supervisor who is standing nearby steps up beside me.

Supervisor: “I won’t tolerate you talking to anyone like that. We have no change in the drawers or anywhere in the shop. It is the manager’s rule, so either pay by card or just get out.”

The man silently paid by card and left, and I was honestly shocked. My supervisor was a friendly, fairly quiet guy who I had never heard talk back to anyone. It was just a sign of how fed up we all were with being verbally abused by customers. I quit retail not long after that. The icing on the cake was hearing how some of my younger colleagues, not long out of high school, had to be picked up from work after their night shift because a customer made them feel too afraid to walk home.

I’m grabbing something to eat before an appointment. As I’m people-watching, I see an old lady looking lost. She spots me and, through broken English, asks me:

Old Woman: “I need [Doctor’s Surgery], where?”

Me: “Oh, I’m heading there, too. It’s down there, then turn left at [Shop], keep going, and you can’t miss it.”

Old Woman: “You go there?”

Me: “Soon, after this.”

I motion to my lunch.

Old Woman: “You take me?”

I have a burrito barely holding itself together. I move, I lose.

Me: “After this! Or it’s down there and turn left.”

Old Woman: “You take me now.”

Me: “No, I’m not ready. You can wait or go by yourself.”

She grabs my sleeve and tugs at it. She’s a little old lady, and I’m a weighty guy, so that doesn’t work. She gets more frustrated and goes to hit me with her bag, but she thinks better of it. All the time, she’s stopping me from finishing my lunch and making it even less likely that I will help her.

Eventually, she gives up and goes in the direction I told her. She is at the reception desk already when I go in.

Receptionist: “Your appointment is for tomorrow. Tomorrow? Wednesday.”

Old Woman: “No I’m busy. He see me now.”

Receptionist: “No, he’s busy. He doesn’t have time to see you now. You need to come back tomorrow.”

This went on for some time. Luckily, another receptionist called me over and I went straight in. The woman wasn’t there when I got out, so I assume she took the hint. Some people want the world to run by their rules!

Retail is a chaotic environment, especially when you’re understaffed and unexpectedly busy.

Two of four registers are open, our manager is handling the delivery from our warehouse, and the other two staff members are sprinting around the busy store trying to fulfil [Popular Delivery App] orders before the drivers show up to collect them.

Then, the school kids show up. We’re queued around the store, but a group of them manage to sweet-talk their way to the front of the huge queue with only a handful of items. Some have sweets, a few of them have some fizzy juice, and a couple of them have large glass bottles of [Brand], a totally non-alcoholic grape drink that looks a lot like wine.

I scan them through as fast as I can and then call on the next customer.

Me: “Next on till one, ple—”

Customer: “You just sold those kids alcohol!“

Me: “Wh… Oh… No, that was a bottle of [Brand]; it’s totally non-alcoholic.”

Customer: “Nonsense! Those were clearly wine bottles! I demand to speak to your manager!”

Attempts at further explanation whilst I desperately page my manager to come up the front just make her angrier and angrier. She demands to know why I didn’t chase them when she “pointed out [my] mistake” and berates me on the strict Scottish licencing laws, as if I don’t already know them.

My manager finally appears and tries to calm the woman down. She’s yelling loudly about how she’s going to get me arrested for selling alcohol to minors, spinning tales about how I was probably “in league” with the kids. She goes on and on until the manager gets fed up and demands she leave. Thankfully, she does.

A good twenty minutes later, things are finally starting to calm down when we spot a police car pull up outside. That’s not unusual; they sometimes stop in for milk or snacks for the local police station.

The officers leave their car, enter the store, and stride right up to my register.

Officer #1: “We got a report that a cashier here wilfully sold a minor alcohol. Can we speak to the manager, please?”

I sigh audibly and roll my eyes before responding.

Me: “We had a crazy woman in here earlier who saw me sell some schoolkids [Brand] drink. She thought it was wine and wouldn’t believe us when we tried to explain it.”

Officer #1: “We still need to speak to a manager, and we need to ask you some questions.”

I page the manager again and get a quicker response as it’s quieter. He explains the situation the same as I did, but there’s a procedure to follow.

I’m walked into our back office by the officers. One goes to speak to my manager and review the CCTV and the other starts asking me questions.

Officer #1: “Okay, how many kids were in the group?”

Me: “Four, maybe five. They come in as a big group and split up more often than not.”

Officer #1: “What alcohol did they buy?”

Me: “They didn’t buy any. One member of the group bought a bottle of [Brand] drink, which looks like wine but isn’t wine.”

Officer #1: “We have a witness that says you sold them a bottle of wine.”

Me: “The witness is wrong; there was no alcohol sale.”

Officer #1: “The witness says that you are friends with these kids.”

Me: “I am not. They mill about the store, and I see them for a minute tops maybe once a week. They gather in groups, make a lot of noise, and often cause hassle. I just want them out the door as fast as possible.”

Officer #1: “What is the name of the person you sold the alcohol to?”

Me: “I don’t know any of their names! And I didn’t sell any alcohol to them. I’ve not had a single alcohol sale all day.”

The officer narrows his eyes at me and scribbles something down.

Officer #1: “You know, you’re looking at a £10,000 fine and three months in prison, right? This would be a lot easier if you just told the truth.”

Me: “Wha… But I’ve not done anything!”

Officer #1: “Just tell me who you sold it to!”

Before I can stammer out a reply, the door opens and [Officer #2] sticks her head in.

Officer #2: “I just checked the CCTV and till logs with [Manager]. It was [Brand] drink, not alcohol.”

They look over at me and see me shaking, pale, and on the verge of crying.

Officer #2: “What the h*** is going on in here?”

Officer #1: “I thought he was lying.”

Officer #2: “Get out of here, [Officer #1]. Now.”

Without a word, [Officer #1] stood and shuffled out of the room. [Officer #2] sat down across from me and did her best to calm me down. My manager stuck his head in and told me to take the rest of the day off.

I told him I quit.