What My Husband Said: “Thank you for putting up with my shenanigans.”
What I Heard: “Thank you for putting up with my chicken nuggets.”
(I tell him what I heard.)
Husband: “You need sleep, my wife.”
Me: “Or maybe I just need chicken nuggets.”
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(I finish ringing up groceries for an older woman.)
Me: “Your total is [total].”
(No response.)
Me: “Ma’am?”
(No response. I wait a few seconds to see if she will catch on to the lack of activity going on.)
Me: “Ma’am?”
Customer: “You know, it’s rude to call someone ‘ma’am’!”
Me: “…”
Customer: “I know that that’s what they tell you to do, but it’s just rude. You should never call someone ‘ma’am.’”
(I don’t say anything as I finish packing up her groceries. It’s the only time I don’t say, “Have a nice day,” as I am still in shock. She continues to lecture me on how rude calling someone “ma’am” is and how the stores shouldn’t be teaching that to their employees. As soon as she leaves, the next customer puts her groceries on the belt.)
Customer #2: “Would ‘old bag’ be better?”
(My store has a double money-back guarantee on all store brand products, which includes bakery items. Many customers take advantage of this generous refund policy, and in particular we have a customer who will buy our most expensive on-shelf bakery item — 48 cookies for $20 — and then return it minutes later saying the cookies are undercooked. Cashiers are not allowed by policy to call out people on bad returns like this, but my supervisor has finally had enough and tells me to call him over if she tries her scam again. Two days later she does, of course, so I call him over and take a step back from the register to let him handle it. I see my supervisor shove something in his pocket on his way over.)
Supervisor: “I understand you want to return these cookies? Again?”
Customer: “What? What do you mean, ‘again’?”
Supervisor: “This is the fourth time this week you’ve bought our cookies and returned them not even ten minutes later.”
Customer: “That’s absurd! I haven’t been in this store in almost two weeks!”
(My supervisor reaches into his pocket, and I see what he had hidden there: a photocopy of all of her purchase receipts that week — we keep receipts after a refund — including the refund receipts, and wordlessly holds it out for her to see. She reads the paper, growing more furious with each word.)
Customer: “Well, so what if I’ve returned these cookies before this week?! It’s not my fault you have bad cookies!”
Supervisor: “You’re more than welcome to buy a [Name Brand] package if our own brand isn’t satisfactory.”
Customer: “NO! I want these!”
Supervisor: “Then take them. If you want them, then you don’t need a refund right?”
Customer: “No, I do! I want these cookies, but they’re always undercooked and soft!”
(My supervisor flips open the box, grabs a cookie, and holds it at eye level. Right in front of the customer, he breaks the cookie in half with an audible snap.)
Supervisor: “Hmm, weird. They seem perfectly cooked to me. Maybe even overcooked.”
Customer: *shrieking* “Get me the manager right f****** now!”
Supervisor: *gleefully* “No, I don’t think I will. You’ve stolen over $100 from us this week alone, and now you’ve sworn at me. You need to leave.”
Customer: “YOU B******!”
Supervisor: “Get out of my store or I’ll carry you out.”
(My supervisor is not a small man, and the customer can clearly see that. She hesitates a moment longer, then lunges over the counter and SPITS on the cookies before sprinting out of the store. My supervisor tosses the cookies in the trash and turns to me, grinning.)
Supervisor: “I guess that’s how the cookie crum–“
Me: “Don’t you dare. I’m just glad she left. So, you think she’ll try it at [Sister Location]?”
Supervisor: “Hopefully she’s not that stupid, but I’ll call them.”
(She was that stupid, of course, and when I went to our sister location to do my own shopping a week later, I was informed that she had been banned from not only us and them, but from every store in our district; that’s 24 stores that she can no longer steal from!)
(I am the assistant manager at a local restaurant, and I hear this exchange between a customer and one of my servers.)
Server: “How is everything?”
Customer: “I don’t like my salad.”
Server: “I’m sorry. What is it about the salad you don’t like?”
Customer: “Well, I don’t like kale.”
(The customer ordered a kale and beet salad, which is mostly kale, as described on the menu.)
(Back when I was a kid, we moved into a fairly nice neighborhood. There wasn’t an actual home owner’s association, but several of the neighbors liked to act like there was, and tried to tell the other residents to change things about their homes and lawns. My mom is not the kind of person to put up with that sort of thing.)
Lady: *knocks on our front door*
Mom: *opens the door* “Hello?”
Lady: “Hi! I just wanted to come by and see how you were doing. I noticed that your bushes were getting rowdy, and I was worried you’d gone and moved out on us.”
Mom: *glances at the bushes, which aren’t perfectly trimmed, but aren’t super scraggly* “Oh, well, they look fine to me.”
Lady: “Yes, well… we just want to make sure our neighborhood looks its best.”
Mom: “Yes… Well, goodbye.” *goes to shut the door*
Lady: *sticks her foot in the door and actually pushes it open* “Ah, ah, so you will be trimming those bushes, right? And maybe invest in an edger to tidy up your lawn?”
(Mom didn’t say a word, just pulled the door open all the way, then started to swing it closed, hard. The lady jumped back as the door slammed in her face, then stood making faces on the porch for a minute or so while we kids watched from the window. Eventually, she huffed off down the front path. Unfortunately, she and the others kept coming back. The door continued to be slammed in their faces.)
