(My tractor supply store has a rewards program that we offer to customers so they can earn discounts for shopping with us. The only downside is that the customer needs to provide both a phone number and an email address in order to sign up. Most of my customers are older and don’t have computers, but I’m supposed to ask if they’d like to join anyway. Today, I had this interaction.)

Me: “And are you a member of our rewards program, sir?”

Customer: “Yeah. Phone number [number].”

(I find his account and see he doesn’t have an email registered to this account. It’s a common bug for there to be more than one account for a customer, but the phone number for one gets deleted. Luckily, we can get around that.)

Me: “You’ve given your email address to use before, right?”

Customer: “Yeah.”

Me: “Okay, then. Let’s search for you that way. May I have your email address, please?”

Customer: “What are you talking about? I don’t have an email, let alone a computer!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but in order for you to get discounts and be a member we have to have an email to provide you with your coupons.”

Customer: “Well, that’s dumb!”

(Gotta love people, especially when they listen.)

(On a lazy Saturday afternoon, I’m on register duty when a couple comes in. The woman makes a beeline for me with a very angry look on her face.)

Woman: “You! Where’s the nearest ATM? I’ve been through this whole plaza and not one of them has an ATM!”

(The plaza I work in has four different restaurants and about five different shops. The bank we used to have closed years ago and the ATM went with it.)

Me: “I’m sorry to hear your troubles, ma’am, but the closest ATM is going to be across the street at [Gas Station #1] or [Gas Station #2]. Personally, I prefer [Gas Station #2] as they don’t charge withdrawal fees.”

Woman: “I don’t want to go across the street! That’ll take too long!”

Me: “Well, I’m sorry again, ma’am, but those are the only options I can think of.”

(The woman glares at me a minute and wanders back to her compatriot. They discuss something for a minute and she walks back to me, now with a smug look on her face.)

Woman: “You guys do cashback here, right?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. The options for cashback are $10, $20, or $40.”

Woman: “Any minimum I gotta pay?”

Me: “No, ma’am.”

(She nods and wordlessly grabs a candy bar and slams it onto my table. I ring her up and she goes through the cashback steps, selecting $40. The transaction finishes, the drawer opens, and as I’m grabbing her money, she says the following:)

Woman: “Give me $200.”

(I’m stunned for a moment, but I get the $40, close my drawer, and hand the money to her.)

Me: “No, ma’am. I’m not giving any money out that isn’t counted for on my till. You told it $40; you get $40.”

Woman: “But it’s my money! Just fix it when you count it later!”

Me: “I don’t know how you think cashback works, but that is certainly not how it operates here. Like I said a minute ago, you can head to one of the ATMs across the street if you need more cash.”

Woman: “You’re really gonna make me do this, aren’t you?”

(Before I can ask what she means, she grabs another candy bar and again slams it on my table. I check her out again and again, she gets $40. She proceeded to do five total transactions, totaling about $10 for candy, to pull out $200.)

Woman: “That ought to teach you a thing or two.” 

(She then flounced out the door with her companion and candy bars. I just stared after her in silent rage and confusion.)

Related:
Cash Back Attack, Part 8
Cash Back Attack, Part 7
Cash Back Attack, Part 6

(In this story, everyone is wrong, but I’m putting it here because this was all started by my stupidity. My family owns property in West Virginia and we frequently make the six-hour drive for weekends and such. Usually, we take my father’s truck as it handles the mountains well, but my boyfriend and I need to drive separately so we take his tiny little car, instead. There are heavy winds and the car starts making strange sounds and having trouble making it up the hills. We finally decide to stop off at a repair shop to get it checked out.)

Mechanic: “What can I help you with today?”

Me: “Our car is really struggling up hills and making odd sounds. We were wondering if you could figure out what’s going on?”

Mechanic: “Well, mind if we all go for a ride?”

Me: “That’s fine!”

(We hand over the keys and all hop in the car with the mechanic driving. He proceeds down a very narrow and busy backroad overlooking a steep mountain drop. He proceeds to go 90 in a 55, zipping around all traffic using the oncoming lane and what little shoulder there is. He floors the car at every hill and the car flies up each one.)

Mechanic: *nonchalantly* “Yeah, your problem is that you weren’t giving her enough gas. You just need to push it a little on these hills. The car can handle it.”

(Miraculously, we made it back after the longest ten minutes of my life. We tipped the man and made it the rest of the drive without incident. Now I’ve learned to never let a stranger drive my car, even if they are a mechanic trying to diagnose a problem.)

(A customer comes in carrying an old lawnmower blade and asks for help finding a new one. I’m pretty good at matching them up, so I help him out. I take the old one and match it to a set of two for around $40.)

Me: “Here you are, sir. As you can see, the mounting holes line right up and share the same six-point star center shape and the blade matches the curves of this set.”

Customer: “You sure this is the set I need? What about that one?”

(He’s pointing to a set right next to where I picked up the first and I see that it is the same style, part number and all.)

Me: “That’s the same set, sir. Sometimes we have more than one hanging for blades because so many different mowers use the same type of blade.”

Customer: “Uh-huh. Sure. What about those?”

(He points to another set, this one to the left of the ones I got him.)

Me: “Those don’t quite match your blade. These are about four inches longer and only have a five-point mounting hole. I don’t believe they’ll fit your mower, sir.”

(He scowls at me, then holds the set I gave him up to his old blade, scrutinizing them. Then, he looks up and sees the blades we have for a “higher-end” brand that often has the same parts as “cheaper mowers,” just sold at a higher price.)

Customer: “What about those ones?”

Me: “Those would be our [Expensive Brand] blades, but if you want to pay about $20 more for the same thing you’ve got in your hand, be my guest.”

Customer: “Well, then, I guess you robbed me today.” 

(He walked off with the first set of blades.)

(Lately, we’ve had an ongoing promo toy giveaway related to a recent major movie release. The toys are called “Marvel Micropopz,” and on the self-checkouts, a screen will appear before the payment options offering one if the purchase qualifies. The message is poorly-worded, and the whole promotion has generally been poorly explained and poorly advertised, so I’ve gotten used to explaining the same things to customers over and over. But when one older gentleman comes up to me after a purchase, his confusion about it really takes the cake.)

Customer: “Hey, there was this message about redeeming points on my register.”

Me: *ready to go into my usual explanations* “Oh, that’s a—”

Customer: “But it wasn’t my name on the screen. It said it was for Marv Mikropovitz or something.”