I had a customer return something. She came up to me about fifteen minutes after the return and handed me the original receipt.

Customer: “Why wasn’t the money taken off?”

Me: “That’s the original receipt. The receipt for the return will show the refund.”

Customer: *Waving about the original receipt.* “But why doesn’t it show it on THIS one?”

Me: “…because this is from last week? See, the one with today’s date shows that the money was refunded.”

Customer: *Still waving about the original receipt.* “But… why not this one?”

Me: “Because this is Home Depot, not Hogwarts.”

I’m visiting a tourist spot that has a view of the Rocky Mountains. I overhear a tourist talking to one of the workers there:

Tourist: “What’s that white stuff on top of those mountains?”

Worker: “It’s snow.”

Tourist: “Is it cold up there?”

Worker: “No, actually, due to the low pressure at that altitude, much like the boiling point of water being lowered, the melting point of snow is raised. It’s actually quite warm up there, and the snow just never melts.”

The worker sounded so authoritative, and the spiel was so well-rehearsed, that for a moment, he had me questioning basic science. It took me an embarrassingly long few seconds for my brain to go “wait a minute…”.

Tourist: “Oh, that’s so cool!”

Worker: “Yeah, that’s where all the Jackalopes live.”

Tourist: “The… what?”

Worker: “You know, the jackrabbit but with the horns like an antelope. Vicious little things. If you see one, run. If you see something that looks like a normal jackrabbit without the horns, that’s a female. That means you’ve stumbled into a male’s nest, and you’d better run for your lives.”

Tourist: “Oh… my goodness!”

This ‘worker’ went on a spiel about the evolution of Jackalopes, that the Smithsonian had a diorama from the Pleistocene with jackalopes in it, talked about conservation efforts during the 1930s as their numbers dwindled, which explains why you don’t see them much anymore…”

The tourist walked away, and a woman wearing a manager’s badge walked over to the ‘worker’ with a tired look on her face:

Manager: “Jacob, you said you’d stop doing this…”

I’m giving a guy some change, and accidentally give him two nickels instead of two dimes.

Customer: *Holding up the offending coins.* “Hey! What gives?!”

I look at the coins, and about a second later, I realize my mistake.

Me: “Oh! I’m very sorry, sir! It’s been a long day and—”

Customer: “—I don’t care! I come here and expect the cashier to know how to count!”

Suddenly, there’s a voice from a few feet away, storming down the aisle. It’s coming from an angry-looking older woman:

Older Woman Customer: “And I expect your momma would wanna know when her boy is actin’ a fool over a few cents!”

This woman is the living image of a true Southern Belle. I’m surprised she hasn’t said, “bless your heart”.

The customer’s eyes go wide.

Customer: “Grandma, I was just…”

Older Woman Customer: “…I heard what you ‘was just’ and I know you weren’t giving this nice young man all that grief when I know you have to take your drawers* off to count to eleven. Now apologize to the nice man and be on your way.”

The customer, face now red, turns to me, mumbles the softest apology known to man, takes his correct change from my hand, and runs out. The Belle nods at me and goes back into the store to resume her shopping. To be a fly on that household’s wall when grandma spills the beans!

Related:
These Southern Belles Need To Hang Out With The Old Scottish/Irish Women, Part 3
These Southern Belles Need To Hang Out With The Old Scottish/Irish Women, Part 2
These Southern Belles Need To Hang Out With The Old Scottish/Irish Women

*Underwear.

Years ago, I was a cook at a well-known fast-casual restaurant known for its large burritos and charging extra for guac. I worked hard because the place was very understaffed, given the number of customers that came in. Management was understanding when we had to cut corners to make sure people did not wait for food. 

One of the rules we had to follow before cooking the rice was to “rinse the raw rice three times until the water runs clear”. Vague? I know. How clear is clear? What if, after three rinses, the water is not clear? Three times AND runs clear? Or three times OR runs clear? Who knows. I did not ask. Most of the time, we would give the rice one or two rinses before throwing it into the cooker. Never had any problems with customers complaining about it, and we never ran out of rice. Since there were never any problems, management did not care. Everyone was happy.

That is, until one day, Miss Manager decides it is time to enforce every single rule exactly. Not sure why. To get to the position she was in, she knew how to do all the individual tasks in the kitchen, so she knew the rules.

However, she did not know how to conduct the symphony of the dozens of simultaneous tasks at the speed and accuracy required to keep customers moving and to never burn anything. I did. She did not know which corners were okay to cut and which ones were not. I did.

As I was getting ready for the busy shift, the kitchen was not in busy mode yet. I am rinsing rice, and Miss Manager approaches me.

Miss Manager: “Make sure to rinse the rice until the water runs clear.”

Me: “I always do.”

She knew I was lying, but she knew why. She knew that it would take longer to make the rice. But I was the only one who could make sure that rice never runs out. Her life would be very difficult if we ran out of rice. She had a chance to let it go. She did not, though.

Miss Manager: “[My Name], I know you don’t follow that rule. Keep rinsing the rice until the water runs clear, and before you put this rice in the cooker, come find me and show me that it runs clear.”

I looked at her with a straight face and replied:

Me: “Keep rinsing the rice until the water runs clear? Got it.”

I begin. I fill the pot of rice with water, agitate the rice, pull out the perforated part of the pot, and dump out all of the cloudy water. After three times, the water still resembles skim milk. I look up. She is watching me. She asks:

Miss Manager: “Does that water look clear to you?”

It was rhetorical. I see how it is. I start rinsing again. Satisfied, she walks away.

I continue repeating the process. A while goes by, and yes, I am counting the number of times. The long grains of rice are breaking apart, and the entire pot is turning into a strange, mushy mixture of white rice. Given the time I am taking on this dumb task, everything else that needs to get started in the kitchen is falling behind. Finally, Miss Manager appears in the kitchen again.

Miss Manager: “You’re still rinsing rice?”

The timing was perfect. I dump out the water in front of her and ask:

Me: “Does that water look clear to you?”

As I dump out the precursor to slightly watered-down horchata, she softly says:

Miss Manager: “No.”

I step away from the sink.

Me: “How many times do you think I’ve rinsed this rice?”

Miss Manager: “Seven?”

Me: “No, try thirty-seven.”

I wasn’t joking. Cooking tasks do not scale as many people expect. Cooking a cup of rice is different than cooking thirty pounds of rice.

Me: “I have rinsed this rice thirty-seven times, and the water is not running clear to your satisfaction. Should I continue?”

She looks at the rice, knows it is unusable, and that she has lost the fight. On one hand, she cannot tell me to keep going because the ground-up rice was only a few rinses and a cook away from becoming grits.

On the other hand, she cannot tell me to stop rinsing because then she would be in violation of the sacred rice-rinsing commandment. Additionally, she cannot fire me, otherwise the store could not open. She scheduled me to work the entire day, and she sure knows that she could not do what I do in the kitchen.

She relents.

Miss Manager: “Fine. Get back in there and make sure we’re ready when it’s time to open.”

I laugh to myself as I go back to work.

I used to work at the online order pickup desk at a large retailer. This store is known for a certain type of clientele (there is an entire website dedicated to the People of This Store), and the man who approached the desk looked like he would blend right in, except for his happy-go-lucky attitude.

Customer: “Hi there, [My Name], nice to meet you! I’m [His Name]. I’m here to pick up an order.”

Me: “Okay, I’m here to help! Let’s see… I’m not seeing your name in our system. Could it be under someone else?”

Customer: “Oh.” *Finger snap.* “You know, I think I am the alternate. I forgot, I’m sorry.”

Me: “No problem, let me look again.”

The order is for six new iPads. I also see the order is under a completely different woman’s name, the billing address is out of state, but the phone number is local. I follow the procedure for alerting loss prevention and management of a potential theft issue and talk into my walkie/headset.

Me: “If someone sees Jim, can you let him know I’m due for a break at online pickup?”

Management: “I’ll look for him. Stand by.”

Customer: “Oh, nice! What’s for lunch?”

Me: “I packed some leftovers. Let me just—Yup, there you are. And who is the primary pickup person?”

His mood immediately shifts.

Customer: “Why?”

Me: “It’s just for verification.”

Customer: “It’s a gift from a friend.”

Me: “Okay, no problem. What is their name?”

Customer: “Look, you can see that I’m on the order.”

Me: “I just need you to verify the primary information, sir, and you can be on your way.”

Customer: “You just confirmed that I am on the order. Why is that not good enough?”

Me: *Smiling.* “Just following procedure, sir.”

Customer: “Excuse me? Do I look like a thief?”

Me: “No, sir.”

Customer: “So what’s the problem?”

Me: “We are required to verify the identity of the person placing the order.”

Loss Prevention has arrived with two managers, and a local police officer is never far from the store.

Me: “Just tell me your friend’s name, address, and phone number, and I can get you your… six iPads.”

Customer: *Gives the phone number.*

Me: “Mmhmm, and the rest?”

Customer: “Look. I am being very kind to you in spite of this inconvenience. Can you just be kind to me?”

Officer: “I think you’re about to be more inconvenienced.”

The customer turns around and sees the group behind him. He rolls his eyes and puts his hands on the desk, legs apart.

Officer: “Good to see you again [His Name]. You know how this goes by now?”

My manager took me to the back to make my statement, so I missed the rest of the event, but from what I gathered, the man didn’t even put up a fight as he was escorted out of the building. I got a “commendation” in my file and a pat on the back from Loss Prevention.