(I’ve just arrived at work.)

Supervisor: “Morning. Can you hop onto a bulk register?”

Me: “Sure. Which one?”

Supervisor: “Doesn’t matter. Any of them will do.”

Me: “Any of them?”

Supervisor: “Any of them.”

(I walk up to the closest register: number eight, only a few feet away. I inform a pair of customers queuing at register seven, the only other staffed register, that I am opening and that they can start unloading their shopping on my belt, which they do. When a register isn’t in use, we park trolleys in them to stop customers leaving through them. When we go to open one, we usually just move the trolleys back to the trolley bay and are good to go. This time, however, I notice that the trolley has been chained to the register with a padlock.)

Me: “Uh, [Supervisor], is there a key to unlock this trolley so I can move it?”

Supervisor: “Why?”

Me: “So I can open up on register eight.”

Supervisor: “Register eight isn’t working today. Go on a different register.”

Me: “You did say, ‘any register.’”

Supervisor: “Obviously I meant any register except number eight. Open on six.”

(By now, of course, the customers had unloaded most of their shopping onto register eight’s belt, and were quite annoyed when I told them they’d have to load it all back into their trolley and move down to register six!)

(My husband and I are both ex-Navy. We met while we were both serving aboard the same ship. Both of us still have and wear our official ship ball caps and cruise jackets. This incident takes place on Veteran’s Day. We are at a restaurant with our son, who is 15. We have just finished eating, and the waitress has brought us the bill. It must be noted that while we have our “gear” showing we’re veterans, we did not ask for the free dish offered to veterans.)

Waitress: *to my husband* “Since I see you’re a veteran, I went ahead and gave you your meal for free.”

Son: “My mom was in the Navy, too. “

Waitress: “Oh.” *to me* “Do you have your military ID?”

Me: “You know, I’ll just pay for mine.”

Waitress: “Well, I can’t give you the free meal without military ID. It’s policy.”

Me: “You didn’t ask for my husband’s military ID.”

Waitress: “Well, he has legitimate military gear. I’ve seen those jackets before and know they’re real.”

Me: “Like this jacket?” *pointing to mine, which looks exactly like my husbands*

Waitress: “Oh… Well… I’ll do it just this once, but next time you need your ID.”

Me: “You know what? Never mind. I didn’t ask for it in the first place. You go ahead and leave it on there. But just so you’re aware, this is the 21st century, and women do serve in the military right along with men.”

(No, I did not get the free Veteran’s Day meal, and no, she did not get a tip, either.)

(I have a coworker that was hired a year after I was, but she is twice my age. That makes a difference with some people more than experience with the actual job. She also has a tendency to never admit when she is wrong, constantly chats with customers — by “chats” I mean she talks with them for over an hour while other people do her job for her — and simply believes she’s always right. It is a very busy day, and I am constantly helping out at the register, ringing up customers, answering questions, or helping to bag items, all in the interest of getting people checked out as quickly as possible. Some of our items are so small that we can’t put a barcode on them. When that is the case, we usually print a barcode either on a sheet of paper by the register, or on the counter at the register so we can quickly scan it and go on our way. I notice that my coworker is looking at the paper for something to scan.)

Me: “Hey, [Coworker], what are you looking for?”

(She doesn’t say anything, and she is hard of hearing, so I think maybe she doesn’t hear me.)

Me: “What are you looking for? I might know where it is.”

Coworker: *glares at me* “I know what I’m doing! I don’t need your help! You don’t need to hover; you’re making me flustered.”

(While she is yelling, I glance over at the customer and see what they have; it is a simple ID holder that you can fix to a lanyard. I know where that barcode is on the counter, and I also know it’s not on the sheet she’s holding.)

Me: “[Coworker]…”

(But she’s not done.)

Coworker: “I’ve worked here 30 hours a week for the past three years; I know how to find things. I worked at the 50%-off sale for eight hours. I know what I’m doing.”

(At that massive sale a year ago, I worked the exact same number of hours she did. Anyway, [Coworker] scans a barcode on the sheet of paper, but it’s obviously the wrong one, as she’s ringing up the item as $7 when it’s really 50 cents.)

Coworker: “That’s wrong.”

Me: *points down to the correct barcode* “Because that’s the right one.”

Coworker: “I’ve never seen that! How long has that been there?”

Me: “Only about five years, but hey, you said you’ve been here three years; clearly you know everything.”

(We didn’t speak the rest of the day, and I didn’t help her out at the register at all. I figured if she was so determined to yell at me for help then she could just drown on her own.)

I am sixteen, working my first job in a grocery store as a cashier, mere months after being hired. I am working in our express lane, which is attached to our deli and hot foods department, to make it easier for customers to purchase hot meals.

A rather gruff-looking older woman comes to my lane with a handful of items, including one of our ready-made sandwiches, made with meat, cheese, and typically lettuce and tomato. I am immediately on edge as the woman responds rather rudely to my greeting; however, I continue checking her out until we get to the sandwich.

She tells me she called earlier in the day and the woman at our customer service center told her she could get a new, replacement sandwich for free. The story is that she purchased a sandwich yesterday for her mother, and the lettuce in the sandwich was soggy and limp like it had gone bad. She provides no specific name of a customer service worker, though we always answer our phones with our names. When I ask her if she has her receipt, she gets ornery and says the woman at customer service told her she wouldn’t need it. This is not true; receipts are required on returns. When I mention to her that returns and exchanges are handled at our customer service desk, she gets blustery and tells me I can set the sandwich aside, as she isn’t going to get it.

As she leaves with her other products, she mutters about how she is never going to come back to this store again… because we enforce our very simple rules? Good riddance.

My boss comes to talk to me later. Apparently, the woman has called to complain about me, and my boss says, “Sometimes it’s just better to give the customers what they want.”

What is even the point of us having rules at all if we’re going to allow customers to break them whenever they want?

I’ve been working at the store for eight years now — and I’m a heck of a lot tougher about our policies now than I was then — and the way my boss said that still grates on me. She’s no longer working with us, thankfully.

(I’m a guy who has been trying to get a job at the same place my husband works night shifts, on the same shift as him, which I made clear when I first applied. Attending the drug and alcohol test, the recruiter made it clear that that specific shift was unlikely to have any openings in the near future, and suggested another night shift, finishing and ending two hours earlier.)

Recruiter: “So, these are the hours; it’s only two hours difference to [Husband].”

Me: “Let’s do it. It’s better than waiting for months, but I wanted to have the same rota as him.”

Interviewer: *looks confused*

Me: “So we can have the same days off?”

Interviewer: *seemingly completely baffled* “Oh… Why?”

Me: “So we can… do things together?”

(He was seriously confused by the concept that a couple would want to share their days off. I don’t want to know what his relationships have been like for that to be such a foreign concept…)