(We supply recreational and reenactment weaponry. Most of it is foam of varying density, as well as nylon and rattan for martial arts. We can provide metal weaponry with proof of permit. It’s Saturday and technically we’re not open. There’s even a gate that’s meant to be closed, but I’m on site cleaning up and must have accidentally left it unlocked. The front door opens and in walks a man with two children under the age of ten.)

Me: “Hi there. Uh… We’re technically closed to the public today. Did you book an appointment?”

(The two children immediately rush in and start picking things up and trying to stab each other, squealing each time they do.)

Customer: “Oh, I was just at the rec centre down the street with the kids, and a friend told me this store was here, so we thought we’d have a look.”

Me: “Well, I suppose you’re here already.”

(I spend the next twenty minutes explaining the different types and brands, including two ranges specifically meant for children, while the kids run around picking everything up, screaming about how it’s not real, and then throwing it on the floor.)

Customer: “And what if I wanted some metal swords?”

Me: “We can get those for you. We don’t keep them on site, because kids come into the showroom regularly and it would be a hazard, considering they’re prone to picking things up and swinging them about. But we can get them in. You do, of course, need to provide us with your license or proof of permit and make an appointment so we can ensure minors aren’t present, and we need to make sure you have the proper safety gear at home.”

Child #1: “But I want one now!”

Customer: “And what if I want to get some for the kids?”

Me: “Then I would refuse to sell to you, because they’re clearly underage and can’t legally have one.”

Customer: “Yeah, but look at them; they really want some!”

(At this point one of the children is on the ground, howling in protest and being stabbed in the chest repeatedly by the other.)

Me: “Yeah, no. Absolutely not.”

Customer: “So, what am I doing here letting you waste my time for?”

Me: “I have no idea, sir. As I said when you came in, we’re meant to be closed today.”

(I am serving a customer when an older woman comes up and speaks to me in a language other than English.)

Me: “Sorry, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

(The older woman shrugs and wanders off.)

Customer: *in a snooty voice* “She was speaking Arabic; she asked you for a bag.”

Me: “Oh, did she? I’ll get her one when I’ve finished serving you.”

Customer: “You don’t speak Arabic, then?”

Me: “Uh, no.”

Customer: “You mustn’t be very well-travelled, then.”

Me: *annoyed now* “Unfortunately not. I’m afraid I only speak four languages: English, Spanish, French, and Polish. Had she spoken to me in any of those languages, I could have responded, but unfortunately I have not yet learnt Arabic.”

Customer: “Well, I speak the language fluently. It’s quite an important language in Australia.”

(I’ve just finished an Anthropology course on migration in Australia, so I know this fact.)

Me: “You’re right; it’s currently spoken by almost 1% of our population.”

(She went red at this and we finished the transaction in silence.)

(At our supermarket deli, we sell two types of oven-roasted chickens. The supermarket brand is barn-raised and comes in a brown bag, while the name-brand is free-range, $1 extra, and comes in a green bag. We cut the chickens in half upon request. It is one to two hours before closing, and the oven has been turned off for the day so it can be cleaned. Our large batch of cooked chickens has managed to sell really well; there is only one “normal,” or barn-raised, chicken and two of the name-brand, free-range chickens left in the warmer. A customer comes up to the counter.)

Customer #1: “Hi, could I please get half a chicken?”

Me: “Sure thing! Just the normal one, or did you want the free-range?”

Customer #1: “Just the normal one, thanks.”

(As I get out my plate and scissors, another customer pipes up.)

Customer #2: “Can I have the other half?”

Me: “Yep, no worries!”

(I cut the chicken and give each customer half. The customers leave, satisfied. At this point, another customer who has been standing further away, but who has been eyeing the warmer this entire time, approaches the counter.)

Customer #3: “I’d like a hot chicken, please.”

Me: “Okay. We’ve sold out of our normal chickens, but you can grab a free-range one right here.” *gestures towards two free-range chickens remaining, only $1 more than the barn-raised ones*

Customer #3: “No, I don’t want the free-range one; I want the normal one.”

Me: “Okay, well, I’m really sorry, but it’s 7:30 and our oven has been turned off for the day so it can be cleaned, and this was our last batch—”

Customer #3: “Don’t just say sorry. I can’t eat ‘sorry.’”

Me: *slightly taken aback* “Um… Well, there’s a [Roast Chicken and Chips Store] just next door, so you can try there—”

Customer #3: “I don’t want their chicken. I want a [Supermarket Brand] chicken, now.”

(At this point, I am completely at a loss. Thankfully, my coworker comes back from her break, and I wave her over and quickly explain the situation. My coworker is a few years younger than I am, and has far less patience for difficult customers than I do.)

Coworker: *talking slowly like she’s talking to a five-year-old, complete with over-dramatic hand gestures* “We’ve run out of our normal chickens tonight. We only have the free-range ones left.”

Customer #3: “I don’t want the free-range chickens.”

Coworker: *continuing her condescending tone* “Okay, well, I’m sorry, but our oven is being cleaned, so we can’t magic up a chicken for you. If you like, you can always go next door and grab a chicken from [Roast Chicken and Chips Store].”

(They go back and forth a little while, and I have to clench my teeth so I don’t start laughing. The customer keeps reiterating that he “can’t eat ‘sorry’” and “wants a [Supermarket Brand] chicken.” Thankfully, the late hour means it’s relatively quiet in the store, and nobody else comes up to the deli during this exchange.)

Customer #3: “Maybe I’ll just take my business to [Rival Supermarket], then.”

Me: *in the politest, most helpful voice I can muster* “You’re welcome to do that, if you like.”

Customer #3: “That’s all you have to say? You’re just going to let me go to [Rival Supermarket]?”

Me: “You’re a free person, sir, in a free country. I’m in no place to stop you from doing what you want to do.”

([Customer #3] seems to stammer a bit, then shrugs his shoulders.)

Customer #3: “I just feel like I came all this way from [Suburb ten minutes away] for a hot chicken, and I deserve at least a voucher or something.”

(My coworker, who has gotten well and truly sick of dealing with him, whips around.)

Coworker: “You want a voucher? Okay, we’ll give you a voucher.”

(She rifles through the drawers until she finds the vouchers for free chickens. I stop myself from pointing out that the customer “can’t eat vouchers.” Instead, I turn back to the customer.)

Me: “You say you’re from [Suburb]? Next time you come here late like this, just give us a call earlier during the day and tell us you want to reserve a chicken. All you have to do is give us your name and the time you’ll come to pick it up, and we’ll keep one aside for you, so this doesn’t happen again.”

Customer #3: “No, that won’t be necessary.”

Me: *feigning concern* “I just don’t want you to have to go through the trouble of driving all the way here, as you said, and finding out we’ve run out of chickens. It’s really simple; you just have to ring up and tell us next time to save you a chicken.”

Customer #3: “No, I know what to do for next time. It’s fine.”

(The customer got his voucher and left. I suspect that he waited until all the barn-raised chickens had been bought so he could try and wheedle a voucher out of us. Judging from his reaction to my last suggestion, he was probably a repeat offender!)

(I’ve just finished ringing up a customer’s purchases, and now she’s swiping her card to pay. Unfortunately, it’s declined.)

Me: “Sorry, I’m afraid that didn’t go through. Did you maybe want to try it again?”

Customer: “Huh? I just picked this card up from the bank before coming here. It should work. It’s brand new.”

Me: “That’s weird. Try it again.”

(She tries again. Once again, it doesn’t work.)

Me: “No, sorry. It’s saying ‘contact bank.’ Are you sure it’s been activated?”

Customer: “Yes. As I said, I just got it. Set it up again.”

Me: “Okay.”

(She tries paying again. Once again it is declined.)

Customer: “Why is it being declined? It should work.”

Me: “I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe try going back to the bank and asking them. I’ll watch your shopping for you.”

(The bank in question is in the same shopping centre as my work, and roughly a two-minute walk away, so suggesting she quickly runs over there to find out what’s going on isn’t an unreasonable suggestion.)

Customer: “No. It’ll work. Let me try again.”

(Again she tries. Again it fails. Now she’s getting noticeably annoyed.)

Customer: “This is a new card. It should work. Why won’t you let it through?”

Me: “It’s not me. All I do is tell the register you’re paying by card, and you do the rest.”

Customer: “Well, then, it should work. Do it again, and make sure it isn’t rejected this time.”

(She ends up trying it about ten times in total, each time getting more and more annoyed at me, despite my insistence that it’s out of my power. Eventually, she gives up and pays cash, all the while muttering about how her card should work. She leaves, but ten minutes later she comes back with a smug look on her face.)

Customer: “Just so you know, I just used my new card to get money out of an ATM.”

Me: “Oh, good.”

Customer: “So, obviously, it was you that was the problem all along. Maybe keep that in mind next time you decide to reject my card and tell me it’s my fault.”

(D***, how could I have forgotten about ATMs? Now she could see right through my devious plan to stop her, a random 60-something-year-old woman whom I’d never met before, from paying for her groceries. Is it any wonder my heart now skips a panicked beat every time a customer’s card is rejected?)

(A lady comes in with a voucher she was sent as a result of her meal being messed up. With the voucher came a second voucher, for a free sundae. Her original order never included a sundae, and the expiry date on the sundae voucher was last month.)

Customer: *slamming vouchers down on the counter* “I want these.”

Me: *picking them up and inspecting them* “Okay…”

Customer: “You stuffed up my bloody order, so you better get it right this time!”

Me: *pointing out expiry date on sundae voucher* “I can’t actually honour this, as it expired last month.”

Customer: “It came with the other voucher, so I want it.”

Me: “It’s expired, so I cannot honour it. Sorry. But I can provide you with your free kids meal.” *starts keying in order*

Customer: “So, basically, you are forcing me to come in here to claim this?” *stabs finger at sundae voucher*

Me: “Huh?”

Customer: “You want me to come in before the expiry date; that’s forcing me to return in order to get it, isn’t it?”

Me: “You don’t have to return for it, as it wasn’t part of your original order anyway.”

Customer: “Still, I’m being forced to come into the store to get this for free, aren’t I? Now I want it. Forget the expiry date; I want my free sundae!”

(At this point, I call over a manager and explain the situation. She takes the voucher to a second manager to ask their opinion. When she returns, as I expected, she tells the customer that since the voucher has expired, it cannot be honoured.)

Customer: “This is ridiculous. You lot f*** up my order, and you won’t give me what I’m entitled to!”

Me: *studying her voucher for her free sundae* “This is dated the 31st of December, so, allowing for New Year, you would have received this in the post at least six weeks ago. Yet you waited until two weeks past the expiry date on this to come in and claim it?”

Customer: “Well, why not?”

(At this point, her order was ready. She grabbed it and stormed out, leaving behind her sundae voucher, which we promptly tossed in the trash.)