(A customer shows me a case for a small, single-board computer that’s roughly the size of a smartphone. The case is very obviously made entirely of aluminum, and is labeled as such on the package.)

Customer: “Do you have this case in clear?”

Me: “No.”

(I am running my department on the far side of our store. A lady with a sour expression on her face comes up to the counter. I recognize her as a regular difficult customer. I die a little inside but smile and immediately start walking toward her. She frowns and clears her throat loudly like she is trying to get my attention, even though I am already walking toward her. She is also drumming her fingers on the counter so loudly that you can hear the thump of each one.)

Me: “Hi! What brings you in today?”

Sour Lady: “Huh! Yes, I don’t know if you have the knowledge I require, but I bought 30 heavy duty binders a few weeks ago online from home, and they have not held up at all! They are terrible quality, even though they are your store brand!“

(She peers at me disapprovingly and waits, so I try to ask her how I can help her with her problem.)

Me: “Oh, that’s too bad—”

Sour Lady: *cuts me off* “My question is, can I return them and get my hard-earned money back?!”

Me: *trying to be helpful, and to get this resolved and her out of the store ASAP* “Absolutely! If it is a defective product of our brand, we can certainly return them for you, although if you ordered online at home, we usually have you call the corporate phone number so they can do the return for you. But we can always do the return in store, as well.”

Sour Lady: “Hmph! Fine. I would hope you would since it is your company’s product that is terrible!“

(She walks away and I forget about it. Two days later, I see the same lady, sour face in full force, walk toward me with a cart full of perfectly-good-looking binders and a handful of paperwork.)

Sour Lady: “You! I hope your information was correct before, because I have come to do my return!” *looks at me like I am a worm*

Me: “Of course. Did you bring your order paperwork?

(The sour lady throws a stack of papers on the counter and smirks. I look through her papers, and thankfully she has her invoice so I can process the return. I notice she bought the binders over SIX MONTHS AGO, but don’t say anything since we can still technically return them and I just want her out. I am thinking she used the binders for a project and then when it was done decided to return them. I have to enter what amount she is getting back manually since she ordered online from home. She paid $68.00.)

Me: “Okay, if you want to give me the card you paid with, I can put the $68 on it for you.”

Sour Lady: “WHAT?! No, you must not have learned math in school! See, I used a $30 coupon, so I should be getting $98 back! I have the coupon right here!”

(She glares at me and is just radiating bad attitude.)

Me: *still calm and smiling* “Yes, I see, but this coupon expired the day of your original purchase, over six months ago. And you only paid $68.00 for the binders, so we can only give you what you paid. We cannot just give you 30 dollars for free. Does that make sense?”

Sour Lady: “No! You are robbing me of $30! That is outrageous! You are clearly incompetent!”

Me: “No, ma’am, you paid $68, and are getting $68 back.”

Sour Lady: “Get me your manager, now!“

(I sigh and page for the manager. He comes up and I explain; all the while Sour Lady is glaring and smirking at the same time if that is possible.)

Manager: “My associate is correct, ma’am; we cannot give you $30 over what you paid.”

(The Sour Lady starts arguing and treating us like dirt for ten minutes. My manager has had enough and wants her out of the store, so he gives in and types the $98 into the register to go back on the card.)

Sour Lady: “I want cash! That way I have it, and you won’t cheat me!”

(My manager frowns but gives her cash.)

Sour Lady: *smirks nastily and says* “Well, you learn something new every day don’t you?”

(The manager, who isn’t very patient, sort of snaps.)

Manager: “Yes, ma’am, you do. I have learned today that you like to make a fuss to get free money and abuse our return system. I did it for you this once, but all of my employees will know from here on out that we will not bend rules for you, or do returns outside of the policy, or refund expired coupons. If this is not to your liking, you can go to another store and rip them off in future!”

(My mouth is hanging open at this point and I am sure I am smiling, too.)

Sour Lady: *starts screaming* “How rude! You are a bunch of idiots! I want your boss’s number! I will have you all fired! I am a loyal customer!“

(My manager gives her the corporate number immediately.)

Manager: “Please do call them, so they can tell you to give us $30 back. And if you were a loyal customer, you wouldn’t always be returning things and ripping people off!”

(The sour lady is speechless, and waddles out in a huff!)

Me: “That was amazing! What happened to you?”

Manager: “Sometimes retail just crushes your soul too much, and you need to stand up to jerks to inflate it back up!”

(That is still my favorite memory of that manager. Sour Face did call corporate, but our district manager said we were right and made a note about that nasty lady in case she tries to do that again!)

My family lives right down the street from a large church, which we pass on our way to our own church, school, and the store where we shop; basically, we pass it pretty much every day.

When I was in grade school, the church began a large expansion project to add a new wing onto the building. They dug a large hole in the ground next to the building, which I figured was going to be the basement for the new wing. Every day when I passed by the church, either in the car or the school bus, I would look at the hole to see if they had started building the new wing in it yet. Several months went by, and I saw nothing — still just a hole in the ground, even though there seemed to be workers there every day.

One day, while I was riding in the car with my mom, I said to her, “They still haven’t started building that new church yet!” And she responded, “Yes, they have; what do you call that?” She pointed to the side of the church opposite from the hole… where the new wing stood, completely finished.

Yes, that’s right: I had been so distracted looking at the hole every time I passed the church that I had completely missed the new wing going up right before my eyes. It turns out that the hole was actually just a large drainage ditch, which they just happened to be digging at the same time the construction was going on. In hindsight, I should have been clued in by the fact that they had spread grass seed in the hole, but my only thought upon noticing that was, “Why do they want grass in the basement?”

(We recently partnered with a local shelter to help get their animals adopted, by showcasing a few within our store. We generally don’t allow people to remove the animals from their cages for a day or so after they arrive, as they are usually stressed and we don’t want anyone to get hurt. As I’m putting our new shelter friends in their cages, one of the rabbits tries to bite, kick, and scratch me. I notify management, who tells me to just leave the rabbit in its cage and tell people not to touch it. To me, it would make sense to allow the poor creature to decompress off the sales floor for a few days, but I don’t make the rules. I print a sign that says, “I NEED SPACE. PLEASE KEEP YOUR FINGERS OUT OF MY CAGE. THANK YOU!” and hang it on the front of the cage. About an hour later, I’m helping a customer with an aquarium when I see a small boy with his father, looking at the rabbit. The father sticks his finger in the cage and pokes the rabbit’s backside. The rabbit jumps away from the father and the boy laughs.)

Me: “Uh, hey, guys. I’m sorry. That rabbit hasn’t quite adjusted to life in the store yet. We don’t want people trying to pet him.”

Father: “We’re not petting him.”

Me: “Then… what are you doing?”

Father: *matter-of-factly* “I’m touching him.”

Me: *inner sigh* “Please leave him alone. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Father: “You always tell people what to do?”

Me: “I do when they might get bitten.”

Father: “Mind your own business before I call corporate.”

(The son sticks his tongue out at me and they walk away. I return to the man I was originally talking to.)

Me: “I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t want that boy to get bitten.”

Customer: “It’s okay. You’re just looking out for your customers.”

Me: “Thank you for understanding.”

Customer: *laughs* “Ten dollars says one of them gets bitten later.”

Me: “Oh, no. I wouldn’t take that bet.”

(The man decides on an aquarium, and I help him load it on a flatbed to be loaded in his truck. While I’m on the register, the father from earlier comes storming up to me.)

Father: “You’re in a world of trouble, missy!”

Me: “Uh… Ex-excuse me?”

Father: “Your f****** rabbit just bit my son!”

Me: *deep breath, apologetic customer service tone* “Would you like to file an incident report? I can call a manager and get a first aid kit for your son.”

Father: “You’re d*** right, I do! And I’ll be suing the store and you!”

Customer: “Good luck with that.”

Father: “What did you say?”

Customer: “I said good luck. You were told not to mess with the rabbit, by her and the sign on the cage.”

Father: “It’s her job to read, not mine!” *storms off*

Me: “I told you so.”

Customer: “Ah, I wish you’d taken that bet.”

(The father did file an incident report and called corporate, claiming I told him it was perfectly fine to hold the rabbit and that I’d left them unattended. Our store doesn’t have cameras, so I could have been in serious trouble. Luckily, the customer I worked with also called corporate and gave them a heads up, complete with a photo of the rabbit and the sign, just in case. The boy was fine, mostly just scared, and since the rabbit didn’t break the skin, he didn’t have any medical bills.)

One day during class, it being near Christmas, we are given a picture of Santa Claus to color. Santa is sitting on a chair, relaxing, and eating cookies, while reading a list. Seeing this, I decide that Santa must be off-duty, so I color him orange. After all, Santa must get tired of his uniform, right?

Later that day, I am called to the teacher’s desk with three other students and told we are in trouble. Our crimes? I, of course, colored Santa orange, instead of red. Another student had colored him red, but with green gloves. The last student had colored Santa black.

I don’t remember if she called my parents or not, but all three of us had to sit out recess that day.