I worked in a beer retailer once, and saw my share of unpleasant experiences.
(Disclaimer: This was some years ago, and I haven’t worked in retail since.)
There were customers who would hand you a ball of bills. Not separate, but all crumpled into a ball. You had to uncrumple them, sort them, count them, and then make change. Meanwhile, they’re complaining about the slow service.
Others thought nothing of handing you rolls of coins. If they were from the bank, they were OK, but you’d get coin rolls that were obviously rolled at home. (Here’s a hint folks: you can’t make me believe you got it from the bank because banks don’t wrap coins in newspapers or grocery lists.) Especially with the loonies (dollar coins) we have in Canada, a roll that is short a few dollars will result in a variance at the end of the day. So you had to open these rolls and count them. More complaints about slow service.
Of course, there were the ones who nickel-and-dimed you literally. Nothing like spending $25 and paying it off with loose change. Yes, it’s legal tender, but please–no complaints about how long it takes me to count $25 in pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters.
Note that I never complained about people paying for their purchases in any of the above ways–it was perfectly legal to do what they did. But if they were in such a hurry, why couldn’t they make it easier to do a quick transaction?
And having to ask for ID. Kids, here are a few hints for when you try to get beer when you’re not old enough:
Those big windows at the front of the store are there for a reason: I can see you and your friends gathering at the corner of the plaza. I’ve got each of you pegged before you decide who your next candidate will be–each member of your group that you send in will walk out empty-handed unless they can show valid ID.
When it’s your turn to come in and I ask for ID, don’t give me an excuse like “It’s in the car” or “It’s in my other pants.” You were coming to get beer and you knew there was a chance you’d get carded–in most cases, those excuses pretty much tell me that you’re not old enough. Besides, valid or not, I don’t care where your ID is; if I ask for it and it’s not here where I can see it, you’re not getting any beer.
Don’t complain that “The guy at the store up the street doesn’t ask me for ID.” Do you honestly expect me to say, “Oh, well in that case, here you go”? No, if you could get it from the guy up the street without being carded, I wonder why you didn’t go with the sure thing up there instead of our place, which had the reputation for carding kids.
I can accept just about any valid government-issued document showing your photo, signature, and date of birth. I cannot accept library cards, high school student cards (you’re joking, right?), credit cards (as ID), a long-expired passport with a photo of you at age five, or anything where your age is handwritten in pencil. Oh, and your friends vouching for you either nicely (“Seriously, he’s old enough”) or rudely (“He’s old enough, shithead”) doesn’t work either.
And finally, remember that when I refuse to sell to you, you cannot call me anything that surprises me. I’ve been called every name in the book, and plenty that aren’t.
Like I said, this was some years ago. But damn, that felt good!