It is Sunday, about twenty minutes before closing. A woman comes rushing in, looking a bit frantic, and beelines straight toward me.

Customer: “I need [list of items we have either run out of or have in low supply].”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I think we only have about two of those items still in stock.”

Customer: “What?! But my kid needs it for his project at school tomorrow! Why are you sold out?!”

Me: “Because two hundred other kids from the same school are doing the exact same project.”

Customer: “But… why?! You should have more, then! Go check the back, you lazy bum!”

Me: “We don’t have any more, ma’am. I know because based on conversations with multiple parents, this particular project was assigned three weeks ago, and we assumed that, since the completed project itself is due tomorrow, any parent who would need these supplies would have purchased them ages ago so their kid would have time to make the project.”

Customer: “Are you implying I’m a bad parent?”

Me: “No, ma’am, I’m saying your child either told you late or you forgot until now, but either way, you’re taking that out on me. We do not have what you’re looking for, and we close soon. I wish you the best of luck!”

Customer: *Sarcastically* “Do you really?”

Me: “No… not really. Goodnight!”

This story is from twenty years ago, at a time when mobile phones could be used only for telephone, texting, and playing “Snake” — no Internet, GPS, or other fancy things.

I had this friend who lived on “Pablo Neruda Street” — in a city that also had a “Pablo Picasso Street”. Every single time he tried to order food for delivery, he explicitly had to say: 

Friend: “Deliver to Pablo Neruda Street — Neruda, not Pablo Picasso.”

And despite this, the delivery guy would always call him back, saying: 

Delivery Guy: “I’m on Picasso Street…”

Well, except once. The one time the delivery guy got the correct street name… he got the city wrong.

We close the tills at least ten minutes late every day because people don’t respect closing times and the fact that we employees also want to go home. In my mind, at closing time, as a customer, you should already have checked out and be out the door. I guess our customers don’t feel the same way.

A customer shows up after both the doors and tills have closed.

Customer: *Begging* “Please let me in! I just need baby formula! My baby is starving!”

Manager: “The store and tills are closed, but I can go get some formula for you myself and you can pay at the customer service station by the exit. I can meet you outside with the card reader.”

Customer: *Still begging* “No, please, just let me in! I’ll be quick.”

Manager: “Tell me what formula you need, and I’ll meet you at the exit in less than a minute.”

Customer: *Suddenly less desperate* “So, you’re not letting me in?”

Manager: “Not tonight, no.”

Customer: “F*** you.” *Storms off*

Huh, I guess she didn’t need formula so urgently after all…

When I was in elementary school in the mid-1990s, my friend lived in the upstairs portion of a duplex that was owned by the woman who lived downstairs. She was the definition of the neighbor from Hell. She constantly called them about being too noisy or lied about what they were doing. She would call the parents at work to complain about the kids ([Friend] had two siblings), which hilariously backfired a few times when the kids were at sports practice after school or something and the parents called her out for lying. 

I went to their house a number of times and witnessed that the slightest noise resulted in [Neighbor] banging on the ceiling with a broom. They knew that previous tenants hadn’t lasted long, and their theory was that [Neighbor] was purposely awful in order to drive people out of the house, which meant breaking their lease, meaning she could keep their deposit.

I wasn’t there for the glorious final straw, but I wish I had been.

[Friend]’s mom was pulling a casserole out of the oven when the dish slipped out of her hand and hit the floor. The dish shattered, which splashed hot casserole on Mom’s feet and legs and caused some of the glass to cut her. There was an immediate banging from the floor below, at which point [Friend]’s dad had had it. He told the kids to start stomping and don’t stop. [Friend] told me they stomped throughout the house for twenty minutes straight (surely an exaggeration, but you get the idea) and had a lot of fun doing so. 

When Dad finally told them to stop, he went downstairs and told [Neighbor] what had happened with the casserole dish and that her reaction was unacceptable. Instead of coming to check on them after hearing such a big crash and someone yelling in pain, her banging on the ceiling was irrational. He told her that from then on, if she ever did it again, he was going to tell the kids to start stomping again.

She was good for a couple of days, and then she banged again, which started the stomping, after which Dad went downstairs and told her he wasn’t joking; it WOULD happen every… single… time.

Apparently, they had stomped so hard and for so long that they had shaken the popcorn off the ceiling. Popcorn ceilings were pretty popular in houses built in the 1970s, and I know from experience that the stuff is a nightmare to clean up.

At some point shortly after that, [Neighbor]’s son came to visit, and she must have complained to him. The son went to talk to the family and apologized, basically saying:

Neighbor’s Son: “I know my mom is awful and that you guys aren’t bad. You’re actually much better than other tenants we’ve had. I have talked to her, and she will not bother you anymore.”

After that, the relationship didn’t become friendly, but it at least became strained ignorance of each other, which was better than what it had been.

Regular: “Why didn’t I see you when I was buying my papers yesterday? I always see you!”

Me: “Oh, I was off yesterday; I had college finals.”

Regular: “You’re in college?”

Me: “Yeah! I work here so I can pay for my degree as I go.”

Regular: “Good for you! And paying for it yourself! If I see one more so-called American politician call for student loan debt to be canceled, I’ll march up to them and slap them with my Bible!”

Me: “With your Bible?”

Regular: “It’s biblical to pay your taxes!”

Me: “But isn’t it also biblical for some guy to come down and literally die to settle a debt that was impossible for you to pay?”

Regular: “…only at Easter!” *Storms off*