I don’t know if it’s just my resort that gets this or if it’s everywhere, but so many people come and check in with “service dogs”, and it is so painfully obvious that they’re not really service dogs. This happens during check-in.

Customer: “Just so you know, I have a service dog: a black poodle, golden retriever mix. It’s for medical alert.”

This dog isn’t with her during check-in.

When we ask her the two questions we are legally allowed to ask, she gets angry and threatens us.

Customer: “You’ll get in trouble for asking those questions!”

I pull out our booklet and literally show her the law before she gives up. As we’re doing this, her husband brings the dog in, and this furry friend can’t even listen to being told to sit. Before I can even finish checking them in, it tries to jump on other guests and barks.

Me: “Ma’am, I am not convinced that this is a service dog.”

The woman tries to talk to me but is being pulled away by the dog who has discovered an interesting new smell.

Customer: “I told you that you will be in trouble if you deny access to my service dog!”

Me: “Your dog has been in the lobby for five minutes, and it has disobeyed your every order, bothered other guests, and been a noise nuisance. This behavior is bad for a dog in general, let alone a service dog.”

Customer: “That’s it! I’m going to complain! Where is your manager?!”

Manager: “I’m standing right behind you, and I am charging you the hotel’s pet fee, plus a cleaning fee.”

Customer: “That’s discrimination! Why am I being charged a cleaning fee?!”

Manager: “Because I doubt the steaming turd next to us was made by one of our other guests, ma’am.”

He points down to the recently-deposited evidence.

Customer: “Oh, s***!”

“Oh, s***,” indeed! They were charged the pet fee and a cleaning fee, and we took a bigger deposit against their room. They had to check out early since the dog was such a barker that we got multiple noise complaints.

I’m a sixty-ish-year-old woman wearing a knitted cardigan working the service desk of a library, with my hair up in a bun and reading glasses hanging around my neck. I am the stereotypical vision of an old librarian lady.

A young male customer walks up to the service desk and leans in for a whisper.

Customer: “So… I… uh… I got this drug test—”

Me: “I cannot sell you my urine.”

Customer: “How… how did you know I was going to ask that?”

Me: “You were here last month filling out job application forms. Here you are today reeking of weed. You got a job offer, and they have a drug test requirement. People like you also seem to think that either the library offers a lot more services than it really does, or we poor librarians are so poorly paid that we’d be willing to sell our own bodily fluids to make rent.”

Sadly, that last part isn’t too far from the truth.

Me: “Besides, my urine would be of no use to you anyway.”

Customer: “Why? It’s not like you could be pregnant.”

Me: “It’s cute you think my urine is free from illicit and mind-altering substances.”

I very sloooooowly curved my mouth up into a wide psycho smile, eyes wide. He backed away and I haven’t seen him since.

Related:
The Contrarian Ex-Librarian
The Contrarian Librarian: The DVD
The Contrarian Librarian Runs Out Of Time
The Contrarian Librarian: The Childhood Years
Softening Of The Contrarian Librarian

I’m managing the self-checkout section. A grumpy-looking older gentleman gets all up in my face. He’s carrying a single loaf of bread.

Customer: “I’m in a hurry, and all your cashiers’ lines are too long!”

He says nothing more and just looks at me expectantly.

Me: “Well, we have no line on the self-checkouts, sir. I can help you if—”

He cuts me off and immediately scans a loaf of bread. He then thrusts a $5 bill at me.

Customer: “Take this and give me my change.”

Me: “Unfortunately, this self-checkout doesn’t—”

He cuts me off again and tosses the bread at me.

Customer: “Then I don’t want it.”

Me: “Sir, if you’d let me finish, this particular self-checkout doesn’t take cash, as indicated by all the signs. The one at the end here does take cash, so I could—”

Customer: “This is taking too long. I’m in a hurry!”

Me: “Sir, the lines at the regular checkout are being cleared in five minutes. If you let me help you, I can get you checked out in less time than that. If you truly cannot spare that long, maybe right now is not a good time to come and buy bread.”

Customer: “Are you telling me to go away?!”

Me: “No, sir, I am telling you to ‘hurry along’.”

He stormed out without his bread. I hope he learned patience!

I am sixteen, at my first job at a big grocery retailer. I am working stock in the noodle aisle when I feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s a middle-aged gentleman. He just looks at me and says the word:

Customer: “Corn.”

Me: “We have canned corn, fresh, and frozen.”

Customer: “Corn on the cob.”

I walk him over to the produce department, and we are sold out. This is normal for the time of year; it’s winter.

Me: “I’m afraid we’re out in produce, but we have frozen corn on the cobb.”

Customer: “No! The freezer ruins it! You’re hiding the corn for yourselves due to the corn shortage!”

Me: “Sir, it’s simply out of season and harder to get in the wintertime. I think this store does have it from time to time in the winter, but it’s mostly limited to canned and frozen options.”

Customer: “I want to speak to the manager!”

The manager is a tough but fair woman who tells everything how it is. I call her, and she comes to the area. The customer immediately goes off about the hidden corn again.

Customer: “I know about your corn parties!”

My manager and I both fight back the laughter. I mean, what are you supposed to do? Corn is good, but who would have a party with corn?

Customer: “You are not taking me seriously! My wife will be very angry when she hears about this!”

Manager: “I’m afraid that there is nothing I can do. All the corn we have is what you see on display.”

Customer: “I will make sure that the wrath of corporate will come down upon you both!”

He storms out, and my manager recognizes me as one of the new hires.

Manager: “Everyone eventually gets their ‘welcome to retail’ story. Yours is the guy causing a scene over a corn conspiracy.”

Me: “A cornspiracy!“

Manager: “Shush! We don’t want the customers to overhear!”

My nickname was “Cornspiracy” for the rest of my time there!

Related:
Welcome To Retail, Part 8
Welcome To Retail, Part 7
Welcome To Retail, Part 6
Welcome To Retail, Part 5
Welcome To Retail, Part 4

Seeing a few recent stories on here reminded me of my experience. I’m a new hire, and my coworker is showing me how to stock the small pharmacy section of the convenience store.

Coworker: “Make sure the pads are kept on this side, as far from the condoms as possible. Some of the guys get a bit weird seeing them next to each other.”

Of course, as if on cue, a male customer has overheard us and feels the need to bless us with his opinion.

Customer: “It’s because men should be able to get their things without seeing that! They don’t need to be reminded about all the holes you’ve all got going on down there!”

Coworker: “Sorry, but how many holes do you think we have down there?!”

Customer: *With a comical amount of confidence* “Women have five holes: one for p*ss, one for periods, one for sex, one for birth, one for s***! Five holes, all in a line!”

Coworker: “Sir, we’re human beings, not flutes.”