Using Some Scottish Tender Language

(The customer is over six feet tall, Glaswegian, in his mid-50s, and looks ex-military. I am a fifteen-year-old girl, only 5’2”, working as a volunteer at a charity shop.)

Me: “That’ll be £24, please.”

Customer: *hands over a £50 Scottish note*

(I know exactly what’s coming.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t accept that.”

(At this point, I’d like to reiterate that I’m a volunteer shop assistant. I’m not being paid.)

Customer: “I beg your pardon?”

Me: “I said I’m really sorry, but I’m not allowed to accept that.”

Customer: “What d’you mean you’re—“ *he puts on an insulting Cockney, “little girl” voice, as if he’s imitating me* “—’not allowed to f****** accept that’?”

Me: *calmly* “I mean that I can’t accept that note. I’m really sorry, but my manag—“

Customer: “Oh, your manager says so?! You’re f****** kidding me! This is f****** legal currency! I cannae believe you English f***s will not let me pay for my own f****** clothes! This is a f****** disgrace!”

(He’s essentially shouting, and I’m in that space between being really angry and being close to tears.)

Me: “Sir, I’m really sor—“

Customer: “’SIR’?! Oh, you’re calling me ‘SIR’, now? How f****** dare you?! You think tryna plaster f****** manners over this is going to make it okay?! Take it!”

(He slams the money on the counter.)

Me: “Let me just get my manager…”

(I grab the phone behind me to call my manager down. My manager is a sweet, lady in her late 50s who loves the world but does not take attitude. She can hear that I’m upset, so when she comes downstairs she’s already fuming.)

Manager: “What’s the problem here?”

Customer: “I’ll tell you the f****** problem. This little b**** won’t let me pay for my f****** clothes.”

Manager: *visibly balks at the insult and turns to me* “Why not, love?”

Me: *terrified, points to the note on the counter*

Manager: *passes it back to him* “We accept neither £50 notes nor Scottish tender; this is both. You can pay by card if you don’t have other money.”

Customer: “This is f****** unacceptable!”

Manager: “You can pay by card or you can leave.”

Customer: “I’m going to be ringing your head office; this is a f****** disgrace!”

Manager: “And I will be ringing the police if you don’t leave right now. You’re harassing my staff. Get out.”

(The customer pushed the clothes off the counter, called me a b**** one last time, and stomped out. My manager bought me a strong cup of tea and a plate of biscuits, and gave me a hug.)