I’m working over the summer at a big box sporting goods store. A customer is buying something that needs to be assembled.

Customer: “How big is this?”

I read out the dimensions written on the box.

Customer: “Yeah, but how big is that?”

I hold my hand a few feet off the ground, the same number as the dimensions written on the box.

Me: “This tall.”

Customer: “Take it all out and assemble it for me.”

Me: “That’s not a service we provide, sir.”

Customer: “So you’re happy to lose the sale?”

Me: “Do I, someone who works part-time and makes $9.50 an hour, care about you not making a $30 purchase? I think I won’t lose any sleep over it, sir.”

Customer: *Grabbing the box and angrily storming off.* “This is why your generation can’t get jobs!”

He shouted to me, at my job.

Customer: “Is this like bug spray?”

She holds out some bear mace.

Me: “Absolutely not! That’s to go on the bears, not on you!”

Customer: “That’s so stupid! Why would I walk up to the bears and spray this on them when the whole point is to keep them away?”

Some people are not made for the outdoors…

I work at a ski shop. Some parents and their son come in.

Father: “My son’s outgrown his boots. I want the most inexpensive option to replace them, as he’s only going to outgrow them again.”

I measure his foot, go out back, and grab the cheapest boots we had in his size, something left over from the previous year that was on sale. When fitting kids for boots, we typically go a half size bigger, so at least they won’t outgrow the boots halfway through the season.

If boots are sized too big, it’s incredibly dangerous. I’ve personally been with someone who broke their ankle because their boot was too big. You don’t want your foot moving around at ALL. A half size is the biggest anyone should ever go, and for kids, the amount of torque they are using combined with an extra pair of socks, it’s never an issue.

After fitting them:

Father: “How many seasons will he get out of the boots?”

Me: “Well, since it’s October and the resorts aren’t even open yet, he will get through the season just fine.”

Father: *Laughing.* “No, no, no. He needs these to last three seasons. Go grab some boots that are three sizes bigger.”

We constantly deal with parents trying to stretch dollars out, and I completely empathize with him, but I have to explain:

Me: “Sir, this isn’t possible. It’s very dangerous to go over by that many sizes, and—”

Father: “—I want to speak to your manager if you’re not going to help me.

I go get my manager and explain the situation. He goes and talks to him, and as I’m out back, I hear the guy start yelling, DEMANDING we sell him a boot that’s three sizes too big.

He’s calling me:

Father: “—a condescending a**hole who’s trying to get me to spend more money next year!”

Manager: “I’ll tell you what. We have a waiver of liability form for mounting and adjusting bindings, so I will sell you a boot that’s three sizes too big for your son so long as you sign a liability form that says “I understand I am buying and using a boot for my son that is against the master boot fitter’s sizing recommendations, and could potentially lead to serious or fatal injury.” It also has all sales final clause on it.”

Father: “All sales final?! That’s ridiculous!”

Mother: *Lightly taps her husband on the back of his head.* “That’s the part that you’re upset with?!”

The mother took over and purchased the correct-sized boots while the father stood back, grumbling about being scammed.

I am a manager at a Sports Retail Store, and yesterday we had a customer try to return outdoor furniture that clearly had been used all summer. The canvas bag holding everything was wet, muddy, and had holes from transportation and wear/tear.

The guy had already started having a tantrum with my assistant manager before I got involved. I consider myself a fairly stoic person, so I often handle irate customers.

Me: “Hey there, sir, what’s going on today?”

Customer: “Well, I’m trying to get my money back, I’m within the—” *Air quotes from customer.* “—”sixty-day return policy,” so I don’t get why I’m being given excuses, and why I’m not out of here already.”

Me: “Okay, well, I can see from here that I can’t take that back, there’s no way.”

Customer: “What do you mean?! I bought it in August, it’s still September, I’m within your f****** return policy!”

Me: “Yeah, but there’s more to our policy than just time. Products have to be in somewhat good condition for me to take them back.”

Customer: “Where? Where does it say that in your return policy?”

Me: “Do you want me to pull it up? I can—”

Customer: “—Pull it up! Show me!”

I went to the computer near our customer service counter to pull up our public return policy, maybe eight or nine feet away. I called over to the customer to come read the policy on the computer screen.

Customer: “I’m not f****** walking over there, you can bring that over here.”

We got to a point where I printed the return policy, and the customer refused to read it. Instead, he kept jabbing his finger into the counter and demanded that I read the policy to him.

I got less than a sentence in when he raised his head into the air and yelled about what bull-s*** we were putting him through. That’s when I put my hand up.

Me: “We’re done.”

Customer: “Oh, we’re done?!”

Me: “Yes, sir, we’re done. I’m not helping you, you gotta go.”

He starts ranting to me, but one tactic I’ve learned over the years is to just let people talk and not respond. Leave the room silent, but maintain eye contact the entire time. I’m very comfortable with silence, but most people are not.

When he saw I wasn’t saying anything back, but kept looking him in the eyes, he slammed his hand on the counter and got in my face.

Customer: “I’m looking at you, bro! You want me to go, call the f****** cops!”

I called the cops. I took my phone out of my pocket and dialed 911.

Customer: “What are you going to do to me?”

Me: “I’m going to have you removed from the premises and trespassed from the store.”

Customer: *Now putting on a voice.* “Oh, I’m so scared, you’re gonna call the police and have me trespassed, oh I’m so scared.”

911: “911, what’s your emergency?”

Me: “Hey, my name is [My Name], and I need a few officers—”

Before I finished the first sentence, he was jogging out the door and out to his car. I followed him from a distance and still had law enforcement show up just in case he decided to hang out in the parking lot. 

This happened at 9 AM on a Sunday. These kinds of things are happening more and more often, and I do not understand what’s wrong with people.

Customer: “Can I use the bathroom?”

Me: “The nearest one is across the hall in the food court.”

Customer: “Y’all don’t have one at the back that y’all use?”

Me: “It’s not for customers.”

Customer: “Hmm, okay.”

He doesn’t leave, but instead starts to shop. He finds some clothes and asks to try them on. He goes into the fitting room, has a fashion show, and decides he doesn’t want anything and leaves.

Later that night, we start to smell pee from that fitting room.

Manager: “Yeah, I can smell it too. Did he pee on the clothes?”

Me: “No, they were all dry, and besides, they’re not in there anymore.”

Manager: “The walls, the carpet?”

Me: “No, it’s all dry.”

Manager: “But I can still smell it! It’s gross!”

He leans back to stretch a little and sigh, and as he’s looking up, his eyes go wide.

Manager: “Of all the f***ed up, petty things…

That borderline psycho had unscrewed the fitting room’s light fixture, PEED IN IT, and screwed it back up.