I went to a large drug store chain for a few items. I wasn’t in a great mood — I was five months pregnant and with a rambunctious toddler at home — so the thought of a few quiet minutes without interacting with another human sounded blissful.

Given that I wanted to not talk to people at the moment, I went to the self-checkout.

There was an older couple at the other self-checkout register, and one of the store associates was assisting them. The associate looked over at me as I started scanning my items.

Associate: “Someone will be right with you.”

I thought maybe someone else had indicated they needed help as the couple he was assisting had. 

I was about halfway done scanning my items when another store associate came over and literally took the items out of my hands to scan them herself. She stood on the opposite side of the area where you bag scanned items, so she’d lean into me to scan and further over me to put each item down.

She narrated the whole process as if teaching me how to use the scan — never mind that I had been doing it without issue when she arrived.

Once the items were scanned, she “walked me through” paying for my bags and selecting my payment method, leaning over me to push the buttons on the screen. By that point, I had stepped back so we wouldn’t be completely on top of each other.

She did let me insert my own credit card but gave me a thorough commentary on how to do it. 

I tried not to be too irked by her “help” — maybe it was a new policy — but it completely defeated the purpose of “self-checkout”. 

I went to a different store in the same chain a few weeks later, and they let me use the self-checkout like a big girl, so I’m still not sure what was going on.

Having moved into a new place, we were assigned a new telephone number (back in Ye Olde Landline days). Numbers were supposed to have been dormant for two years before being reassigned, but we quickly learned that the previous owner of the phone number apparently skipped town without notifying his many, many friends and creditors. We got all sorts of responses when informing callers that we were not [Previous Owner], but this one took the cake.

Me: “Hello?”

Caller: “This is [Caller] from [Bank], and we’re trying to reach [Previous Owner].”

I launched into a well-rehearsed speech.

Me: “You have reached [My Name]. We were assigned this telephone number. We do not know [Previous Owner]. We never knew [Previous Owner], and we have no idea where [Previous Owner] has gone. We cannot help you.”

After a pause:

Caller: “…do you have another number where we can reach him?”

A customer storms up to the customer service desk and throws a loaf of bread on the counter.

Customer: “All your bread is moldy! I can’t believe you’d let it all go to the shelf like this! Someone is getting arrested over this!”

I look carefully at the loaf of bread, even opening it and checking some individual slices.

Me: “I can’t see any mold, ma’am. This bread looks totally fine.”

Customer: “Are you blind!? It’s right there, on the top of every slice!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, I can’t see anything like that. Do you mind pointing out what you’re looking at?”

Customer: *Pointing.* “This, you moron! All these white spores!”

Me: “Ma’am… that’s flour.”

Moment of silence.

Customer: “You should put a sign up that there is flour in your bread!”

She storms off, leaving the next customer in line looking as baffled as I am.

Next Customer: *With a sarcastic smirk.* “Hi, I’d like to complain that your salted peanuts contain salt and peanuts…”

My boss is not cut out for his job, but he does delegate quite well — so well, in fact, that his inability to do his job does not show until he and I get into an argument. He asks me to pick up some food from the store while I am out getting my own lunch. He doesn’t give me any money for it or say he will pay me back, so I pick a premade sandwich I like.

Well, he does not like it, and he throws a FIT in front of the higher-ups. I’m sure there is something else going on under the surface but to lose his mind over a sandwich is just insane to me.

When I give [Boss] the sandwich, he throws it on the ground.

Boss: “How hard is it to get a f****** sandwich, [My Name]? You go to the deli and order, not this premade crap.”

Me: “You didn’t say you wanted one of those made-to-order ones.”

Boss: “Why would I want this s***?”

Me: “Okay, I’ll eat it and go get—”

Boss: “No, f*** it. Don’t even bother. I’m surprised you can do your job half the time.”

Me: “Well, that’s probably because I spend the other half of my time doing yours.”

There is silence as [Boss] starts turning red.

Higher-Up #1: “What?”

Boss: “Oh, don’t start.”

Me: “Those emails that are sent from my account with his name? I write those. The proposals and billing and budget reports and product orders? I do those.”

Boss: “Because I don’t have time to do all the little s***.”

Higher-Up #2: “Those are not little things, [Boss]. How long have you been doing this, [My Name]?”

Me: “Um… since I got here.”

Higher-Up #2: “Who trained you?”

Me: “YouTube.”

They look at each other and excuse themselves to an empty office. I’m left standing awkwardly with [Boss].

Boss: *Sullenly* “I guess I’ll eat the sandwich.”

Me: “Okay.”

A week later, I was whisked away to a training seminar to be fully oriented in [Boss]’s position. He was removed from the company, and I have no idea what he does now, but it is nice to be paid for the work I actually do.

This story is part of our Highest-Voted-Stories-Of-2024 (Non-Customer Stories) roundup!

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I see a man smoking a cigarette while fueling his truck, so I stop all the pumps. Why not just his? Because fire is involved, and I think it will be funny to tell everyone that it’s his fault.

Well rather than defend himself, he flicks his cigarette into the trash can at the pump and left, causing a gigantic trash fire. The cans have the self-service washer fluid attached to them it’s a big ol’ fireball. 

I’m literally using a fire extinguisher on an inferno at a gas pump, when a customer just casually walks up to me:

Customer: “My pump isn’t working!”

Me: “Do you want to wait, or do you want to explode?”

He looks at me putting out the fire, looks at the fire, looks at me again, and sighs.

Customer: “Fine, I guess you can finish whatever this is.”

By his good grace, I was able to put the fire out. Also, we got Fireball Dude’s plate with the cameras, so happy ending at least.