(It’s a slow day and it’s just me and the deputy manager on duty. I’m working the registers when a usually-friendly customer comes in with her boyfriend. They buy a six pack of beer and get a top-up voucher for her phone. The voucher prints out with the receipt. She seems grouchy and declines the receipt, so I tear the voucher off and hand it to her before throwing the receipt away. I think everything’s fine until she comes back thirty minutes later.)

Customer: *storms up to till* “You! You never gave me my top-up!”

Me: “I what? I could’ve sworn I handed it to you.”

Customer: “No, you didn’t. You threw it in the bin!”

(I’m not used to being shouted at, so I’m doing my best not to get upset and to keep my voice level.)

Me: “I remember handing it to you. Is it possible it fell out your pocket somewhere?”

Customer: “No! I told you I didn’t want the receipt and you just threw it away! Get me my voucher!”

(Due to the way the system works I can’t even refund the transaction to get her money back, and if I printed a new one my till would be short. So, instead, I start rummaging through our receipt bin, just in case I did accidentally throw it away. Unfortunately, a line has started to form behind her.)

Me: “I’m so sorry. I will find your voucher, but do you mind if I serve these people?”

Customer: “Fine. Just hurry up!”

(She steps out of line and continues to glare at me while I serve other customers. My deputy manager wanders by and I flag him down to help, so now we’re both sifting through old receipts while I apologise both to him and to the customer.)

Me: “I’m really sorry. I could’ve sworn I gave it to you!”

(I’m panicking now because we’ve been through the entire bin with no sign of the voucher.)

Deputy Manager: “Hang on. I’ll be right back.” *goes through to the back office*

Customer: “This is ridiculous! You’ve practically stolen from me! It’s in that bin. Check again.”

Me: “I’m sorry, it’s not here. Is there any way you just misplaced it?”

Customer: “No! You’re useless!”

(The deputy manager comes back.)

Deputy Manager: “You put it in your coat pocket.”

Customer: “I’m not wearing a coat.”

Deputy Manager: “But you were when you came in earlier. I just checked the CCTV. I’m guessing you left it at home before coming back here? I’m sure if you check it’ll be there.”

Customer: “If it’s not, I’m coming right back!” *she leaves*

Me: “Please, God, don’t come back.”

Deputy Manager: *while laughing* “Go and have a cup of tea. It’ll be fine.”

(She did come back a few hours later to apologise, and she even gave me £1 to get myself a treat to make up for it. I suppose it was good of her to come back and do that, but I’ve never felt comfortable around her since then.)

(I work in a shop that sells equipment for professional-level cameras, and we mostly deal with filmmaker freelancers and companies. A customer bought a gimbal, which is a piece of tech that stabilises the camera and lets you move without the camera juddering, for his phone. He calls up to say it doesn’t work, and my coworker asks him to come in and have us look at it. Firstly, he used it for five hours and is shocked that it’s out of battery. We wait for it to charge, and explain that it has up to six hours of battery.)

Coworker: “So, what’s wrong with it?”

Customer: “When it’s in lock mode, and I turn around, it doesn’t move with me.”

(Lock mode is when it locks into place and you can move the handle around with the camera staying in the same place.)

Coworker: *testing it* “It seems okay; it wasn’t doing this?”

Customer: “Yeah, but you’re not walking. Walk.”

Coworker: *walks over nearer me* “It seems okay now.”

Customer: “No, but you need to turn around. It was when I turned around.”

Coworker: *turns around, so the locked position is pointing towards him* “Yep.”

Customer: “No, look, now you can’t see the screen. It doesn’t turn with you!”

Coworker: “Yes, the lock setting stops it from turning, so you can—“

Customer: *interrupting* “No, I want it to follow me!”

Coworker: “Okay, there’s a follow mode—“

Customer: *interrupting* “No, that moves too much. I want it to follow my movements in lock mode!”

(AI had to leave the room to laugh. According to my coworker, he continued to insist it was broken and that it should “follow” in LOCK mode and move less in FOLLOW mode. Also, there’s a conspiracy that the companies making camera equipment charge more for better quality items and keep bringing out new technology. My coworker spent an hour placating this man, and all over a ~£100 phone gimbal. The other gimbals we sell are for the same cameras used to make blockbuster films and start at ~£1000.)

(I run my own cleaning firm. My cleaner and I are in a client’s house performing his regular clean. The client is not present. My cleaner accidentally breaks a Greek souvenir espresso cup which holds a spoon. Our policy on breakage is that we will replace any items broken. We are also fully insured. I text my client explaining the situation, and I apologise and offer to replace the item. Meanwhile, my cleaner is panicking.)

Me: “Hi, [Client]. I’m afraid that [Cleaner] had a little accident with one your Greek souvenir cups. If you can look up a replacement for it, we will pay for it to be replaced. We apologise for the accident.”

Client: “It’s really not a problem.”

Me: “Are you sure?”

Client: “Yeah, I hate that thing!”

(My cleaner had never looked so relieved in her life! Bless her!)

(I was having issues with my siblings not chipping into petrol costs, so I used to deliberately run it down once a month to force my brother to chip in. One day, he had to chip in to see himself home, the next day this happens:)

Brother: “What happened to the petrol I put in the car!?”

Me: “How much did you put into it?”

Brother: “£5 worth.”

Me: “It costs me £50 to fill the tank! You’re not going to get far on something that meager!”

(I’m so glad I moved out and don’t share a car with him anymore.)

(I’m in the supermarket with my mum. We need something; the issue is, someone — probably in head office — thought it was a good idea to start putting items UP the actual wall. It is thus out of reach for my mother, all 5’3″ of her. She turns to me, thinking that I and my 5’8″ self are going to have better luck. I have a good stab at it, but even on tippy toes with arms outstretched, it is beyond my reach.)

Me: “I think we’re going to need a member of staff, mum.”

Mum: “No! Can’t do that! They’re all so busy! Plus, you’re taller than most of them, anyway.”

Me: “They have step ladders and stools to do this. Plus, somebody got it up there, so somebody can get it down.”

(Just then, two teenagers come up to near where we are, one a bit shorter than me, the other much taller. Mum gives him a side eye. I feel the cold sense of dread form in the pit of my stomach.)

Mum: *loudly and kind of sickly sweet* “My, what lovely long limbs you have, young man!”

(The tall teenager looks appropriately petrified of this almost 60-year-old woman randomly complimenting the length of his limbs. The shorter teen looks mildly alarmed.)

Mum: “They look perfect for reaching something from a higher shelf… such as [item we need].”

(The shorter teen is showing his moral support for his friend by sniggering under his breath. The tall teen reaches up, gets the item, and hands it to my mum.)

Mum: “Thank you so much! Young people are so helpful! Come along, [My Name].” *triumphantly walks off*

Me: *to the teens* “I am so very sorry.”

Tall Teen: “I’ve been asked before, just never quite like that.”

(I could hear his friend laughing as I scurried off.)