(I’ve been the only stocker working at a liquor warehouse for almost a year. I am very familiar with our stock and I know which liquors we have and which ones we don’t. The cashiers are not so knowledgeable about our inventory and nine times out of ten they will need to ask me over the radio whether or not we have a certain liquor in stock for a customer. It is also not uncommon for customers to ignore my answer and to go around asking every other employee in the store if we have a certain liquor after I have already told them that we don’t. I always know when they do this because I will be asked the same question on the radio several minutes later.)

Customer #1: “Hi, do you have [Vodka]?”

Me: “No, we don’t.”

Customer #1: “Really?”

Me: “Really…”

Customer #1: “Okay, then.”

(Five minutes pass and the same customer comes up to me.)

Customer #1: “Hi, do you have… Oh, never mind. I already asked you.”

Me: *slight smirk* “Yeah…” *keeps walking*

(Another five minutes pass and a cashier comes up to me, escorting [Customer #1], who is now accompanied by a [Customer #2], in order to find [Vodka], which I have already made clear that we don’t have.)

Cashier: “Where is the [Vodka]?”

Customer #1: “I already asked him. He said you don’t have it.”

Me: *look of total and complete frustration*

Customer #2: “Ooh, look at his face!”

Cashier: “I know we have it! I’ve seen it in here before. Where is it?”

Me: “We don’t have it.”

Cashier: “I know we have it! I’ve seen it before.”

Customer #2: “Here, I’ll show you a picture.” *pulls up picture of [Vodka] on their phone*

Me: *glances at picture* “We don’t have it.”

(The cashier then takes [Customers #1 & #2] over to the vodka aisle, where she attempts to find [Vodka] which we do not sell. Several minutes later…)

Cashier: *over the radio* “Uh… does anyone know if we have [Vodka]?”

Me: *no response; mind blown*

(The customers left without their vodka.)

(A couple approaches me holding clothes at the customer service desk.)

Me: “Can I help you with something?”

Wife: “Hi, we wanted to purchase these items but we left our credit card at home and the sales associate sent us back here.”

Me: “Well, if it’s our in-store credit card you can look it up actually at any register.”

Customer: “Okay, great. Do you need my license?”

Me: “Yes, I’ll need to verify your information but first I’m going to need you to type in your social security number at the pin pad.”

Customer: “Oh, no. That’s what they wanted up front, too. We don’t give out our social.”

Me: “Well, for us to look up your card we need your social first. Without it you can’t get any access to your account.”

Customer: “Well, that’s actually illegal for you to ask for our social.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but even to apply for a credit card here you would’ve had to type in your social.”

Customer: “No, we didn’t, and we are not giving out, and you need to stop asking since that’s against the law.”

(She keeps throwing that out and her husband is standing there looking incredibly smug for “knowing the law.”)

Me: “I’m sorry, but that’s the first step when activating our credit card. I myself have several from different companies and every time I have had to give them my social. I can put these clothes on hold but if you want to use your card, then you need to bring it in since you refuse to have us look it up for you.”

Customer: “Are you sure there’s no other way?”

Me: “You could call the credit card company and have them give you your account number but they still require a social. No matter what you will have to give us your social.”

Customer: “We’ll be back tomorrow.”

(I’m not sure what’s worse, the people that refuse to give out their social security number or the ones that start saying it aloud when you ask and you have to frantically tell them to stop and they have to type it in.)

Related:
Social Insecurity, Part 6
Social Insecurity, Part 5
Social Insecurity, Part 4

(We are attached to a mall. Our store is the only location outside the mall with a public restroom. Due to this, our bathrooms tend to be every shopper’s first stop. We try to keep it as clean as possible, but on busier days we can only check it once or twice every couple of hours. After one busy weekend day, we were just about to do a clean, when a woman marches over to my coworkers and me.)

Customer: *angrily points* “You! You need to fix the bathroom. I use it all the time and it’s disgusting.”

Me: “I’m sorr–”

(Customer cuts me off by slamming her fist onto the nearest bookshelf.)

Customer: “No! It’s disgusting and you are just lazy and just as disgusting if you think that’s acceptable. You are not getting paid to just stand. You need to work!”

Me: “We are actually just about–”

Customer: “No! It’s gross. You MUST do something! It smelled like pee and there was some on the seat! I can’t believe you allow that to happen.”

Me: “Um, what would you like us to do? Pee happens.”

(With that, she turned bright red, slammed her fists again, and stormed away. My coworkers could not stop laughing. The kicker, the bathroom was not bad at all. Not even toilet paper on the floor.)

(I am working as a waitress at a restaurant when a woman comes in. My boss pulls me to the side and tells me that if I help the woman, to write down everything that she wants as she is a notoriously picky eater. I take the woman’s drink order and begin clearing off the table next to her while I wait for her to decide what she’d like to eat. As I am cleaning, she looks over at me.)

Customer: “Is your last name Hitchcock?”

Me: *confused* “No, ma’am, my last name is [My Last Name].”

(The customer then proceeds to tell me in detail how I look exactly like Alfred Hitchcock’s daughter, from the shape of my face to the way I smile. I nod and play along, but am trying so hard not to laugh that it hurts. Every time I go near her table, the woman marvels that I look just like Alfred Hitchcock’s daughter. When she’s getting ready to leave, the customer comes up to me.)

Customer: “You know, you should really submit your picture to [some organization that apparently takes pictures of people who look like celebrities]. Just make sure that the picture shows from here to here–” *she gestures from the top of my head to about my navel* “–and shows the contours of your arms. Oh, and make sure to take one with your glasses and without your glasses.”

(I assured her that I would, though I had absolutely no intention of doing so. Satisfied, the woman finally left. Later, I looked up a picture of Pat Hitchcock. I look absolutely nothing like her.)

One of my best friends always used to do this thing where we would say something, and she would then say, “Your mom’s [whatever we said].” For instance, when I was mentioning how hungry I was before lunch, she’d say, “Your mom’s hungry.” More often than not, it happened without her really processing what she’d heard and she’d blurt out her response. This was one of those moments.

In mid-November, my mother passed away. (You can probably already tell where this is going.) This incident took place in April. I was playing an action game on my phone before school in the cafeteria where we usually sat with a few of my other friends when she walked to our table. Just to mess with me, as I was tapping the screen to send my team to attack, she said, “You missed one!” My response, because it was the truth, was that it was because that character was dead. Her immediate reply was, “Your mom’s dead.”

The moment she finished her sentence, she realized what she’d said and the horror crossed over her face. She immediately started to apologize and hug me. Knowing that it was never her intention to hurt me and this was an automatic thing, I laughed it off and told her we were good. And we still are good to this day. She’s basically a sister I never got and I wouldn’t have it any other way.