AN OLD man queued at my till at 10 o'clock last Sunday and with a face like thunder too.
When I came to serve him I asked if he would like any help with his packing and the usual friendly customer service.
Declining my offer, I began the transaction. I then asked my friend Angie what hours she was working that day, she answered me, and then I told the man how much his shopping had come to,as I held my hand out to receive his money.
The man viciously threw his £10 note in my hand and then when I came to look at his face, he looked as though he wanted I start a fight. I said thank you.
The man huffed, puffed and mumbled something using the word 'customers.'
It was obvious he had a problem with me, so I replied "I'm sorry?"
"Oh, YOU fucking heard me!"
Confused, I said, "actually, no I never which is why I asked you again."
"Well maybe you should WAKE UP THEN!" He replied.
Embarrassed for him and trying so hard to think of a come back I said "£2.49 change, there's your receipt and if you're got a problem with my service then there's a supervisor there for you to complain to."
The man replied: "What's the fucking point? They aren't any good either."
"Yeh, ok then. Can I help who's next please?"
The next customer said to me, what the hell was that all about?
My thought's exactly.
"I know I may look tired and look like shit with bags under my eyes, but asking a colleague one question doesn't affect my scanning rates.
Fuck off, you sad, old, lonely loser.
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