I haven’t had such polite customers in a while. It was two young kids who looked to be ten or eleven. They came in and asked if we still sold our boba tea drinks.

Me: “Of course. The menu is here. What flavors would you like?”

It took a minute, but they decided on two drinks: a mango and a plain milk tea.

The total was $12.42, and they emptied their hoodie pockets onto the countertop. It was mostly coins, and they had a few single dollar bills. Admittedly, I thought their parents hadn’t given them enough, but…

Kid #1: “We’ve been saving quarters just for your drinks!”

Kid #2: “We don’t know how much we have. Can you count it for us, please?”

I was going to spot them if they didn’t have enough — they were truly sweet kids — but they had enough.

I brewed the best boba drinks I had ever made. They were the politest guests I’d had in weeks. I made sure these cups were filled to the brim, with extra pearls and everything — the whole nine yards. These were blue ribbon-worthy drinks by the time I had them done.

They even pushed their chairs back in place. That’s a rarity where I work.

I know this is boring compared to a lot of stories, but it made my day, and I just wanted to share it. I hope they enjoyed their drinks today. They also insisted on tipping me a dollar in quarters “just because”.

An older and well-dressed woman approaches me at the counter looking concerned.

Customer: “I’m concerned!” 

Nailed it.

Customer: “There’s a man using the ladies’ toilet!”

Me: “Oh, well, I can see why that could be concerning.” 

Customer: “They’re still in there! Hurry! You can catch them!”

I follow her, if anything just to calm her down, and we get to the ladies’ toilet. There’s no sign of a man, but one of the stalls is occupied.

Customer: “He’s in here, still!” 

Me: *Calling out* “Hello, this is a member of staff. Just to let anyone in here know, this is the ladies’ toilet, and the gents is just on the other side of the floor, for future reference.”

There’s the sound of flushing and a woman comes out of the stall. She looks around.

Other Customer: “No men in here, love, just me!” 

I turn to the “concerned” customer.

Me: “We must have just missed them. Sorry if he startled you. What did he look like, for future reference?”

Customer: “Well, I didn’t see him; I just smelled him.” 

Me: “Smelled?”

Customer: “He was…” *Looks left and right and then leans in to whisper* “He was… defecating!”

Me: “And you know it was a man?”

Customer: “Of course! A lady doesn’t do that outside her own home!”

Other Customer: “If you’re talking about taking a loud s***, love, that was me! The vindaloo from last night got the better of me, and I just had to… well… release it into the wild!” 

Customer: *Looking horrified* “But… but you’re a lady!”

Other Customer: “I’m a woman, aye, love, but I’m no lady!” 

The customer looks at me, pleadingly.

Customer: “You let… you let customers defecate in here?!” 

Me: “Well… it is a customer toilet, so, yes.”

Customer: “But… but… this is the ladies’ toilet! Ladies do not defecate outside their own homes! You need to stop that!”

Me: “Sorry, madam, but how would we do that?”

The customer continues to stare at me frantically, desperate to find an answer to my question. With none forthcoming, she throws her hands up in the air, declares that she’s never coming back to this “disgusting store” ever again, and storms out.

Other Customer: “I just passed a vindaloo so spicy it made my a**e look like the flag of Japan, but that woman was a more painful experience.”

I am training a new worker at the checkouts. They’ve gone through the scripts in the training guide and have been putting them to use in the real world. A customer who is obviously blind is checking out and has purchased a bottle of wine.

New Hire: “Can I please see your driver’s license?”

Me: “[New Hire], he won’t have one.”

Customer: “I’m afraid he’s correct, my friend.”

New Hire: “Then I am afraid I have to refuse this sale, sir.”

Me: “No, [New Hire], you can ask for alternative forms of ID.”

New Hire: “But the guidebook said a driver’s license is best.”

Me: “Because it’s the most common, but not every customer is going to have a driver’s license.”

New Hire: “But the guidebook said—”

Me: “[New Hire], the customer is blind.”

The customer waves, smirking. He may be blind, but he can “see” exactly what’s going on here.

The new hire stops in their tracks for a moment to process this new information. The cogs sloooowly turn, and they gradually come out of their mental “blue screen”.

New Hire: “But the guidebook said—”

Me: “Here, sir, let me take over for you. Is that your passport I see there? Excellent!”

The new hire didn’t last much longer.

I used to work in a small liquor store that was attached to a parent supermarket chain. We were right at the entrance to a mall, beside the outdoor car park.

On this occasion, I was updating the specials ticketing on the shelves by myself on a quiet morning, when a customer came in and started milling about where I was, by the boxed/cask wine, making little huffing noises to herself.

Me: “Something I can help you with?”

Customer: “These boxes are three dollars cheaper at the store across the car park.”

It was probably true. There was another liquor store about fifty metres away across the car park, and they were usually a little cheaper than us.

Me: “Sorry, but these are our prices. You can always go across to the other store if you want the better deal.”

Customer: “But I’m here now. I want you to make a better deal for me.”

This was a corporate store. Not even my manager could change prices like that. But also, what liquor shop has ever worked on haggling rates? I could see the other store through the window from where I was standing. The sun was shining.

Me: “I can’t change prices like that, I’m sorry.”

Customer: *With an exceptionally self-righteous tone* “You’re changing them right now!”

I was done with this.

Me: “Ah, see these are all coming off special. And I’ll let you in on a little secret! Our prices are slightly higher due to our proprietary pixie dust blend. Unfortunately, belief in pixies has fallen off, and it’s decimated their population, so we’ve sadly had to raise the prices. Supply and demand. Now, if you clap your hands and loudly proclaim, ‘I DO BELIEVE IN PIXIES!’, then you should see the prices actually fall right before your eyes!”

The customer was staring in shock, clearly winding up to really give it to me.

Me: “Or you could have walked across the parking lot and gotten your cheaper wine in as much time as it took me to tell you about our specials system.”

Customer: *Storms out*

The next day my manager pulls me into the back room about a complaint he’d received about me. 

Manager: *Chuckling* “I recognised the voice on the phone immediately. She’s tried that on everyone. Maybe next time just leave the fairies out of it.”

About ten years ago, I worked as a merchandiser for a national soda company. One of the biggest problems we had would occur every holiday when stores had serious sales on soda, like getting four twelve-packs for ten bucks.

The problem is that there simply wasn’t enough room in the backroom to store enough product on a really busy holiday like the Fourth of July. Our sales representatives would order way more stuff than we ever had room for, and then it was up to me to Tetris it all into the space for us in the back.

The way it SHOULD have been done would be sending multiple orders on days like that as space became available, but of course, that would mean sending drivers to stores multiple times, which costs time and gas.

I had one store that had a really strict backroom manager with a no-exceptions policy of pallets never being stacked more than three high.

On this particular Fourth of July, we literally had twice as much product as what would fit. I called my boss.

Me: “You need to send a driver to buy back some of the excess load.”

Boss: “Stack the pallets as high as the forklift will allow you to.”

Me: “I just want to remind you that, at this location, I’m only allowed to stack pallets three high.”

Boss: “Figure it out.”

Cue malicious compliance.

I KNOW that the backroom manager will get lava-level mad when he sees this, but it’s the boss’s orders, so I am up to four high when the manager sees it and goes banshee apes*** on me.

Me: *Shrugging* “It’s my boss’s orders.”

I finish stacking — leaving one tower at FIVE pallets high — and then start walking out as my shift is now done.

Backroom Manager: “If you leave it like that, you can kiss your account with our store goodbye!”

I shrug again and leave.

I get a call from my boss thirty minutes later, around 8:00 pm.

Boss: “There’s a driver on the way to do buy-back. You need to go back to [Store] ASAP.”

Me: “My shift is done for the day. I have already returned the company truck and am on my way home to see some fireworks.”

Boss: “Turn around and go get it sorted!”

Me: “The only way I am going back is if I get double time for the entire day, plus a 10% raise.”

My entire day is about fourteen hours at this point.

Boss: *Yelling* “That’s never going to happen!”

Me: “Then me returning to [Store] is never going to happen. If you change your mind, you can send me an email, agreeing to my terms in writing.”

I had other side gigs at the time and wasn’t concerned at all about this job.

I got an email thirty minutes later from my boss’s boss agreeing to those terms. It was immediately followed by a phone call from him apologizing, telling me that I was needed, and saying that I needed to go back to the store ASAP.

My boss’s boss ALSO sent my boss, who was already at home, to help sort the mess out. Hearing him apologize to the backroom manager was gold.