(I’m working on the shop floor on this particular day, putting out stock. A woman comes up to me with a basket full of shopping.)

Woman: “I need a trolley. Can you get one for me? They usually let me borrow a trolley token from the tills.”

Me: “Of course. I’ll go and see if they have any.”

(In the past, we did indeed let people borrow trolley tokens sometimes; these were ones we usually sold for £1. We’d let the customers borrow them, ask them to return them, and then put them back in the packaging again afterward. But we stopped eventually because, as you can imagine, customers didn’t bother returning them. We did sometimes get tokens that customers had left behind, too, but eventually these, too, went wandering. Still, I go to the tills to confirm that we still don’t have any.)

Me: “We don’t have any trolley tokens a customer could borrow, do we?”

Colleague: “Not anymore, no. Just tell her there’s some for sale if she wants one.”

(I go back to the customer:)

Me: “Sorry, we don’t let customers borrow them anymore, unfortunately. But on the tills, at the moment, we do have an offer where you can buy two for £1.50.”

Woman: “No, I don’t want to pay for them! What else am I supposed to do?! This is heavy!”

Me: “I am sorry. I don’t know what else to suggest, but we can’t give any change or trolley tokens anymore.”

Woman: “Fine. I’ll just leave my shopping here, then!”

(She walked away, muttering under her breath, but didn’t leave her shopping as she’d threatened. A few minutes later, I was called to the tills to help get rid of a queue, and I saw her getting served by a colleague. She had gotten a trolley, and it was one of the store’s older, more battered trolleys which are usually kept in the warehouse to use for stock. I could only guess that she’d taken it when whichever member of staff had been using it had gone elsewhere for a moment. Sure enough, not long after getting back onto the shop floor, I walked past a colleague who had lost their trolley. The cardboard which had been in it had been lifted out and put onto the floor.)

(My wife and I are in a fast food restaurant getting something to eat before she goes to bingo. We have ordered and are just waiting for our food while the woman behind is being served.)

Woman: “That burger—“ *points to board* “—does it come with those things?

Server: “No, they’re a side extra. They normally come with fries.”

Woman: “Well, that’s a bit misleading. Because to me, that makes it look like they’re included. And I don’t want those things.”

Server: “As I said, they are an optional side order.”

Woman: “But if you look at it, it is confusing.”

(This goes on for another few minutes until I can hold my tongue no more.)

Me: “Oh, for God’s sake, just shut up and order! We get it; you find it confusing! But you’re not the only one waiting to be served, so s*** or get off the pot!”

(The woman goes red-faced and mumbles her order before moving to the side, and the server mouths, “Thank you.”)

Me: “That’s okay. I’m not a people person, so after four years of working in a coffee shop, being forced to be nice, it feels good to let the frustration out.”

(Our food arrives and the server hands me an ice cream.)

Server: “It’s warm outside, and you deserve it.”

(I work in a nationwide coffee chain and our store is right in the middle of a shopping centre, so we are quite exposed to anyone walking past. I’m clearing the tables as it’s quiet, and a friend of my parents walks past, so we stop and talk for a moment. He has a reputation to anyone who knows him to be extremely cheap, like turning up at someone’s house at dinner time, hoping to get a free meal, instead of cooking himself.)

Me: “Anyway, best get moving. Lots of work to do.”

(I raise the pile of dirty cups, trays, plates etc. in my hands.)

Friend: “Okay.” *spots piece of half-eaten cake on a plate* “Can’t let that go to waste.”

(He swipes the cake and walks off, eating it as he goes.)

Coworker: “Did he just do what I thought he did?”

Me: “I really wish I could say he didn’t. I knew he was tight, but d***!”

(We both shuddered at the thought. How could someone not only eat someone else’s half-eaten piece of cake, but also a complete strangers’ without knowing what they might have done to it, what germs had gotten on it, how fresh it was…)

(I have refused to refund a customer as he wanted us to price match about a month after purchasing some items.)

Customer: “If you are not going to price match for me, then I won’t shop here again.”

Me: “That is your choice. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

Customer: “I will be leaving reviews about your company, and they won’t be good.”

Me: “If you want to leave us a review, I can’t stop you.”

Customer: “I have 5000 friends on Facebook, you know. “

Me: “Good for you.”

Customer: “If I post bad s*** about this company, that’s 5000 customers you will never hear from.”

Me: “I can’t stop you leaving a review about your experience.”

Customer: “I also have over 15,000 followers on YouTube.”

(The customer pauses, I assume for effect.)

Me: “Congratulations.”

Customer: “Do you know how many people are going to watch it if I post a review on there?”

Me: “Quite a few, I should think. But they won’t help you get a refund.”

(The customer swore and hung up. We still haven’t found a YouTube video about our terrible refund policy.)

(This conversation happens at our till point.)

Customer: “I’ll just try these on; do you have the time?”

Volunteer: *glancing at digital display on till* “It’s ten forty-seven.”

Customer: *silent and expectant*

Volunteer: *thinking the customer hadn’t heard* “Ten forty-seven.”

Customer: “Oh, I heard; I just wanted it in English. Ten to eleven, then.” *trots off to try on garment, leaving my volunteer gaping*