A very old man comes through my checkout with a bottle of wine, which I scan through without comment.

Me: “That’ll be [price].”

The customer looks disappointed.

Customer: “You didn’t ask to see my ID for the wine.”

I’m a bit taken aback since this customer looks old enough to have gone to school with Methuselah.

Me: “Sorry about that. May I see your ID?”

He cheers up immediately and pulls out his passport. I check the date and then do a double-take and check the current date. Yep, he was born exactly a hundred years ago today!

Me: *Handing the passport back* “Happy birthday, sir!”

Customer: “Thank you!”

He happily paid and went on his way. I later found out that he also purchased wine from three other checkouts, proudly showing them his passport each time. You go, old guy!

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I worked lunchtime four days a week at the supermarket. As such, I got to know some of the regulars who worked in the area and bought their lunch here most or all of the time.

There was one customer who came in every day and bought the same three things for lunch: a sandwich from our deli, a cookie, and an energy drink from the fridge. I was often on the express checkouts, and he often came through my queue but never said a word. He wasn’t unfriendly; it was more like he was distracted by something else that was getting him down.

After several months of buying the same three things every day, he once came in and got an apple instead of the cookie. Trying to be friendly, I asked him:

Me: “Changing it up today?”

Regular: *Taken aback* “How did you know?”

Me: “You come through my checkout a lot, and we get to know the regulars.”

Surprisingly, this perked the customer right up. He smiled and thanked me for the first time, and he continued to do so each time he came through after that. He even started making small bits of conversation. I learned that he was in a job he disliked but would be moving soon to a new job in another town.

He stopped coming through after a couple of months. I hope the new job worked out for him.

Most people don’t realise that it is difficult to get snow in some places. Wellington, New Zealand, is one of those places. The low altitude and the salt from having ocean around three sides mean that snow is basically unheard of… until 2011.

A strange weather pattern led to three days of white stuff even at levels less than five meters above sea level. It was gorgeous and amazing. We all muddled about our businesses and got on with everything, with some things being a little more slippery than others.

Not the criminals, however.

During this three-day powdering, when you might experience the joy of watching your footprints stay in the new snow coat, two clever people decided they were going to rob a dairy.

Then, they walked straight home.

In the snow.

They were shocked when they were caught less than an hour afterward. Somehow, the police had managed to track them down. They got hauled away.

Oh, and the riches they had taken from the small store? Ice cream. Just in case the story wasn’t cool enough.

I work in a department store. We had a regular customer; it was common for her to ring and make the staff find specific items from photos in the current catalogue. She called us the other day to have a Christmas tree and ornaments delivered.

Regular: “I would like to order [Christmas tree], and I’d also like to order all the ornaments and decorations from the promo photo in the catalogue. It has to match!”

Later, she called us again.

Regular: “I’ve put the tree and all the decorations up in my home but they’re not right! I need you to send someone to take it all down for me, and I want a full refund!”

Because she really was a regular, the store manager eventually agreed that one of our contractors would pick up the items, provided she could repackage them in suitable condition for refund. What was brought back to the store was everything thrown into the delivery boxes together, without any of the packaging.

She still phoned in catalogue orders in the following years.

The furniture store I work in functions mainly as a showroom, as most of our pieces bigger than a dining chair need to be shipped to customers. We have signs everywhere explaining that and all the price tags mention that the price is [amount] plus a shipping and handling fee.

We have two promotions running: one that is the seasonal sale, and the other where several colours of product have been moved to clearance. A woman comes to the counter to ask about the colours a sofa bed comes in.

Me: “[Colour #1] and [Colour #2] you can see on the floor here, and it also comes in [Colour #3] but we only have a swatch of that one.”

Customer: “And they’re all that price?”

She gestures at a sign saying, “Double [amount], single [amount], and then shipping fee applies.”

Me: “Actually, [Colour #2] is on clearance at the moment so it’s actually [price almost $100 less than the sale price].”

Customer: “Well, I think that one’s mine! Gosh, that’s great.”

Me: “Awesome! Let’s get that sorted out for you, then!”

I take her back to the counter and make small talk as I check the stock and prepare to make an order.

Me: “There’s plenty in stock so it will be with you in five to ten working days. What suburb are you in? I’ll give you the freight cost.”

Customer: “I can pick it up.”

Me: “Okay, well, the sofa bed is too large to be delivered to the store due to health and safety, so you can pick it up from [Depot] for $20 or home delivery starts at $50.”

Customer: “But I can pick it up. Why should I have to pay extra for something that’s right there?”

Me: “Unfortunately, our warehouse is in [City on a different island] so there is a freight charge associated with any large items.”

The customer is talking to me like a child being naughty.

Customer: “So, you’re saying it’s not actually [amount], because I have to pay extra now.”

Me: “The item is [amount], but it does say on the tag that there is a shipping and handling fee associated with it.”

Customer: “No. Well, I think that’s actually quite unethical.”

Me: “I apologize but—”

Customer: *Cutting me off* “That’s just ridiculous. I won’t get it.” *Snaps her purse closed* “You’re morally questionable. This is just wrong.”

She turns on her heel and stalks out of the store.

Me: *Quietly* “Have a nice day?”