Was Counting On The Luck Of The Irish

(The store I work in is located in a shopping plaza that has parking meters on every street. A lot of customers come in just to ask for change to pay them, but unfortunately we are not allowed to open the registers for them unless they buy something.)

Customer: “Can I get some change for the meter? I’m Irish.”

Me: “Sorry, sir, we’re not allowed to do that in the store.”

Customer: “Why not? I’m Irish!”

Me: “If you go to the next street over, there’s a help kiosk that does give out change. If you want change here, you’ll have to buy something.”

Customer: “Of course. Don’t you see I have money? I’m Irish!”

(The man then wandered around the store for about 20 minutes before buying something cheap right near the register. As I checked him out, he made sure I counted out the quarters, and made me tell him my name in case “they” ask. I’m still not sure who “they” are, if this guy was actually Irish, or why he felt the need to keep telling me so.)