I’m working on the registers and it’s a quiet morning. A customer enters empty-handed and disappears into one of the aisles. About a minute later, he approaches the register holding a four-litre can of paint.

Customer: “I want to get a refund on this paint. I don’t need it.”

Me: “Did you bring that in with you? I didn’t see you holding it when you came in.”

Customer: “Yes, you did! I told you I was bringing it in from outside and held it up to show you.”

Me: “I don’t remember that at all. Do you have a receipt?”

Customer: “I knew you were going to ask for that. I left it at home.”

Me: “I won’t be able to return this without your receipt, and since I didn’t see you bring it in, I can’t let you take it with you.”

We go back and forth for a while with him refusing to get his receipt and demanding a refund, while I don’t budge.

Customer: “Fine, I’ll go get the receipt, and when I come back, I’ll throw that paint at your head!”

As soon as he leaves, I go and check the aisle where that paint is kept, and sure enough, there’s a gap on the shelf which was filled not long ago. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t return.

A couple of weeks later, though, he’s back. As he enters, he holds up a dirty car part to show me and tells me he’s bringing it in to check for a replacement. I acknowledge this and he returns to the register and purchases his replacement moments later.

About ten minutes later, he returns to the store again with the package and his receipt and asks for a refund on the part, stating that he didn’t need it after all. The package has been opened, and upon closer inspection, the part inside is clearly his old one as it’s very worn and dirty.

Me: “This isn’t the part we sold you, so I’m not able to give you a refund.”

Customer: “But I have the receipt.”

Me: “Yes, but the item has to also be returned in a sellable condition and this clearly isn’t. I’m not giving you a refund.”

Customer: “You can’t do this to me again! You know, I found that receipt for the paint last time, but I figured I’d just let you have it, but I’m not going to let you get away with it again.”

Me: “This is obviously not the part we sold you, so I’m not giving you anything for it.”

We go back and forth for a bit again before he finally accepts that he’s not getting his way.

Customer: *Beginning to leave* “Fine, but I’m never coming here again.”

Me: *Holding up the old part he’s left behind. “No worries. Don’t forget your purchase.”

Customer: “I don’t want that old thing.”

I was grabbing lunch from a made-to-order Mexican takeaway — burritos, quesadillas, etc.

Me: “Can I please have the vegetarian burrito with extra cheese?”

Worker: “Yes, no worries. Just to let you know, the extra cheese will cost extra.”

Me: “No problem.”

I collected my order and started to eat it when I noticed it did not have any cheese, let alone the extra I had paid for, so I went back up to the counter.

Me: “Hi, sorry to bother you, but I asked for extra cheese, and there is no cheese in this at all. Could I please get the extra cheese cost refunded? No need to make me a new burrito or anything; it’s still delicious!”

Worker: “Oh, I am so sorry! No worries. I will just grab the supervisor to put that through for you.”

The worker grabbed the supervisor and explained what had happened. 

Supervisor: “No, there is no way. I know for a fact there is double cheese in there. I made it myself. “

Me: “Actually, I have eaten about a quarter of it so far, and there is no cheese. See? Like I told your colleague, I am not after a new burrito or anything, just a refund on the extra cheese I paid for and did not receive.”

Supervisor: “No. I know there is cheese in there.”

The supervisor grabbed the partly-eaten burrito out of my hands and started pulling it apart — without wearing gloves or anything.

The worker and I just stared at this in shock.

Lo and behold, once he finished destroying my burrito, there was no cheese. He just glared at me, thrust the destroyed burrito at me, and walked out the back.

The worker and I just stared at each other, not really believing this had happened. 

Worker: “Did he expect you to eat it even if he did find cheese after pulling it apart? I will make you a new one on the house. I am so sorry!”

I’ve been back there a few times since. I asked what happened to the supervisor once. I was told, “He didn’t have the right attitude to be working with customers and has been let go.”

I am on checkout in a variety store. I’m a woman. Every week or so, a customer comes through my checkout. I am chirpily polite to him, as I am required to be, and I’m also friendly because I recognise him and acknowledge him as a fellow human being.

A few months into my employment, I leave to walk home after the store has closed, well after sunset, and this customer approaches me. I recognise him and greet him — fellow human being and all.

Me: “G’day, [Customer], how are you?”

Customer: “Good. Can I buy you a drink?”

Me: “No, thank you. I need to get home.”

Customer: “Can I get your number? I would love to catch up away from your store.”

Me: “Sorry, no.”

Customer: “We get on really well. I want you to know me better.”

Me: “I don’t think my husband would agree.”

Secret: I am not married.

Customer: “You are married? You led me on, you b****! You made it pretty clear you liked me.”

Me: “I am sorry, but I am not interested.”

I fled back into the store, called a cab, and snuck out the back door to my parents’ house, where I lived.

I saw the customer once or twice at the tills, but he never approached me as a friend again.

This is not a dramatic story; it’s just something that happens all the time to women who are required to be friendly as part of their job.

I receive a text to inform me I’ve got an updated debit card on the way. I had thought all my cards were up to date, so I call the bank to make sure everything is okay.

I’ve got a two-word surname; imagine my name is Claire Jones Smith, where “Jones Smith” is my surname — two words, not hyphenated.

This is slightly annoying, as some computer systems shove the “Jones” to the middle name field, leaving my surname, according to some companies, as just “Smith”.

I’m used to this, and I understand it’s not the fault of the representative if they can’t find me on the first try. This lady, on the other hand…

Me: “Hi. I got a text about a replacement debit card. I wanted to know what account it was for.”

Representative: “Okay, no problem. What’s your name?”

Me: “Claire Jones Smith.”

Representative: “Date of birth?”

Me: “[Birthdate].”

Representative: “Huh, not finding anything. So, that’s—”

She spells out my name phonetically.

Me: “Yes, but if you can’t find it under Jones Smith, try just Smith as sometimes Jones is pushed to the middle name field.”

Representative: “I’m not finding it under Jones Smith. I won’t be able to continue this call.”

Me: “Again, try just Smith, and—”

Representative: “You’re going to have to go to the branch and fix it.”

Me: “I already have. I’ve verified my ID with them. Now, if you just search Smith—”

Representative: “You’re going to have to go to the branch. I can’t fix it from here.”

Me: “Yeah, that’s okay, I just wanted to know about this text—”

Representative: “You’re going to have to go to the branch.”

Me: “Yeah, I’m not worried about the name. I just want to find out—”

Representative: “I can’t continue this call.”

Me: “Okay, yeah. Can I have a manager?”

Representative: “I can’t continue this call.”

Me: “Manager.”

Representative: “You’re going to have to go to the branch.”

Me: “Manager!”

And then she hung up on me.

I called in again, talked to a manager, and explained the situation. He went off, listened to the call, and very, very apologetically said something like, “I don’t know what her problem was. I found you in the system right away.”

I am a taxi driver picking up my first fare of the day. I pick up a lady in her forties going to the local tafe — think community college for those Americans. She seems a little off but polite enough.

Halfway through the job:

Lady: “Actually, can we stop at [Bottleshop]?”

Me: “Sure, I can stop there, but it’s the other way from [Tafe].”

Lady: “Yeah, that’s fine. I really need a bottle of [Cheap Wine].”

I stop. She gets out and staggers inside, while I contemplate this lady already drunk at 10:00 am and buying more alcohol to drink at [Tafe]. She returns after a few minutes. She opens the bottle, takes a big gulp of it, and then gets back in the taxi.

Lady: “It’s okay, I know not to drink in the cab. Now to [Tafe].”

We get almost to the tafe.

Lady: “You know what? I don’t think I should go.”

Me: “Oh, okay. It’s up to you.”

Lady: “Yeah, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m drunk.”

Me: “Fair enough. So, where to now?”

Lady: “[Pickup address], please.”

I drive her home. All in all, it cost her $60 for a $13 bottle of wine. And she leaves me with this:

Lady: “Yeah, I think it’s a good idea to stay home. Wouldn’t want the students getting the wrong idea now.”

She staggered inside and I was a little dumbfounded.