(I am a cashier, checking out a woman who has random bits and bobs, including a rug. She is on her phone the whole time, speaking French — we are in England. When I pick up the rug I am shocked to see a competitor name on the rug tag. I have to leave the till a moment and show my manager that a competitor rug has shown up in our stock.)

Manager: “We can’t sell it to her; it’s not our stock.”

Me: “Can I just scan another rug and sell it to her at that price, one the same size or something? They’re not going to get this rug back and we can’t keep it.”

Manager: “No, we can’t sell it. Just tell her what has happened and get another rug for her that looks the same.”

(I sigh, knowing he is right but it would just be easier for everyone, and go to explain to the customer what has happened.)

Customer: “Why can’t I have this rug?”

Me: “Because it is from a competitor’s store, and I can’t even begin to explain how it got here.”

(I unroll the rug and show her the tag; it clearly says the other store’s name on it. All the while, she is holding her phone to her chest as I speak to her. I set the rug aside and finish scanning all her items and put them in the trolley for her. She then goes to remove the rug and place it in the trolley.)

Me: “I’m sorry, I can’t sell you that rug.”

(I pick it up and place it behind the till where she can’t get it; she gives me a dirty look.)

Customer: “Why can’t I have that rug?”

Me: “Because it is from a competitor’s store and I have no idea how it got here, but it is not our rug to sell. I’m sorry, but my manager told me not to sell it. I can I get you another one, maybe?”

Customer: “Yeah, whatever.”

(She then goes back to speaking in French on the phone, and I wonder if she is talking about me to the person on the other end. I go and check the rug aisle but find there is nothing matching the rug in colour or size, so I go back and explain to her the situation. She pulls the phone away from her ear.)

Customer: “Now listen to me. I need that rug. Now, just pick it up and sell it to me.”

Me: “I’m sorry, it’s out of my hands. Can I get you anything else?”

Customer: “Yeah, help me with my stuff to my car.”

(I do, and I find her trying to get a huge mirror and everything else in a two-door coupe with the roof down. She doesn’t help me unload the trolley, and doesn’t thank me at all or acknowledge me, so I sling the last bag onto her seat and set off with the trolley back into my store. I’m sorry, guys, but she was just a horribly rude person. After I return to my till and serve a few more customers, she reappears.)

Customer: “Where the h*** is my rug?”

(I work in a cafe that also has a shop next door, owned by the same people. Employees often flit between the two when one gets busy, so we’re pretty versed with both. Today, the employee tasked with the shop has gone home sick, and as we’re a bit short-staffed in the cafe, I decide to close the shop, but can’t lock the door yet due to fire safety regulations. After a while, I hear the bell of the shop door go, but I assume it’s a coworker and carry on my business. When no coworker comes through, I go to investigate and find two women stumbling in the dark among the stock brought in from outside that is now in the aisle, obstructing their path.)

Me: “Hello?”

Customer #1: “Yes, hello. We want to look around but it’s a bit difficult with this mess.”

Customer #2: *snootily* “Don’t you have any lights in this place?”

Me: “Actually, I’ve turned the lights off because we are closed.”

(The customers now become a bit more polite.)

Customer #2: “Oh! Sorry about that! We didn’t notice the sign on the door!”

(I’m wondering how they didn’t notice the fact that it was dark and deserted!)

Customer #1: “I just really wanted to look at this one particular item. Would you mind if I just had a quick peek?”

(I do really mind, but I’ve been told off before for being too blunt with customers, so I try to be accommodating.)

Me: “Yeah, sure, what item would that be?”

Customer #1: “That painting up there!”

(She points to a painting hanging just within reach for me, and as I’m the tallest one there, she makes me get it down so that she can get a closer look. By this point I’ve turned on some lights so I don’t trip and break a leg myself.)

Customer #1: “Oh, no, that’s not as nice as I thought it was. What about that one over there?”

(I then have to take down multiple paintings and other items for her to view, turning on more lights as I go, and leaving the paintings to put back up at the end. She selects some that she likes, and then moves on to other types of items in the shop, again picking some that she likes. I think that, if I’m going to get told off for staying late past closing time, at least I can argue my case with an expensive sale!)

Customer #2: *after a good fifteen minutes* “Ah, now, [Customer #1], we’d best get going. This girl wants to go home!”

Customer #1: “Oh, yes, I’m so sorry I kept you past closing! I won’t buy these now, then, and waste any more of your time. Can you hold them for me, and I’ll come in later on in the week when you’re open?”

(They then left empty-handed, leaving me standing in a fully-lit shop surrounded by items I had to put back. The most painful part? She never came back!)

(I’ve been getting a lot of scam calls since I’ve been on maternity leave, with various claims. This call is the third in one morning, and I’ve had enough.)

Scammer: “I’m calling from [Telecom Provider]. Your Internet is about to be cut off.”

Me: “This is ridiculous; it’s obviously a scam. Please stop calling me. Don’t you have anything better to do? Just f*** off and get a life!” *hangs up*

(Two minutes later the phone rings again.)

Scammer: “F*** you, too!” *hangs up*

Me: *laughs*

(The scammer was actually so upset that he rang back just to say that!)

(I get very severely sick: throwing up anything I try to keep down and having constant diarrhea. I can barely keep juice down. This is exacerbated by the fact I have costochondritis — the cartilage in my ribcage gets inflamed and swells when I get sick, causing mind-numbing amounts of pain. After three days of this, my family forces me to at least go the local triage center if I won’t go to the doctor. I manage to check in with no problem; there are only a few people there so I figure I’ll get seen pretty quickly. An hour passes with people who were there before me and who came AFTER I came in getting in to see the doctors before me. I’m annoyed but hey, they might have seriously bad injuries I can’t see. Then my stomach lurches and I realise I’m all of a minute away from throwing up again.)

Me: *painfully walking up to the desk holding my ribs and stomach trying not to vomit* “I need the bathroom key.”

Receptionist: *doesn’t even look up from her computer* “No, you don’t. Sit down.”

Me: “I am literally about to projectile vomit. I need the bathroom key now.”

Receptionist: “Sit down. It’ll pass.”

(I barely manage to take another step before I’m forced to bend over and vomit stomach acid and bile on the floor in front of two kids and their mother.)

Woman: “Oh, my god!” *rushes over rubbing my back* “Oh, my god. Are you okay, sweetie?”

Me: *crying and gagging* “Sorry! Sorry, oh, god. I didn’t mean it!” *throws up again*

Woman: “[Son]! Get her some tissues and wipes out of my bag!” *to me* “Oh, it’s okay sweetie; you couldn’t help it.”

(The woman and her son managed to help me clean myself up while the two receptionists did nothing. The nice woman helped me sit down again; after ten minutes someone put a slip hazard over the puddle of my vomit but didn’t bother even trying to clean up. Despite that, it still took another hour for me to finally get seen to and just got some painkillers tossed at me, while told I was imagining my costochondritis and to drink fluids.)

(I work as a cashier and for the last few months, I’ve frequently been getting colds and other minor illnesses. None of this has prevented me from coming into work but has become very annoying.)

Me: “I’ll be seeing a doctor tomorrow because this is getting ridiculous.”

Coworker: “Your immune system is so rubbish.”

Me: “I know.”

(A customer approaches and I ring her up.)

Me: “That’ll be [total], please.”

Customer: “Okay.” *digs her hand into her pockets for change*

(I hold my hand out for the change. At the same time, she draws her hand out of her pocket and reveals her change,  along with a very used tissue, which she dumps into my hand. Then she takes the tissue back.)

Customer: “Oh, sorry, dear. I need that.”

(I have a very good theory about why I keep getting colds.)