Customer: “I want to return this book.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but this book has very clearly been read, and probably more than once by the look of things!”

The book has a broken spine, some folded pages, etc.

Customer: “It’s okay to read something once and then return it if you didn’t like it! It’s like keeping the tags on a nice dress!”

Me: “Well… you probably shouldn’t do that with a dress, either, but even if you did you wouldn’t be able to return the dress if you’d worn it enough times for it to have some wear and tear.”

In an example of “that escalated quickly” she immediately throws the book on the floor and storms off — but weirdly pauses to check out the new releases before she leaves.

I work at a bookstore as I thought it would be the perfect workplace for a bookworm like me. My manager bends over backward to kiss the a**es of the customers and then constantly berates the staff when that causes problems in the long run.

I’ve been there for half a year and realized it’s not getting better, so I’m seeking employment elsewhere. A new bookstore opens in the city, and after a couple of weeks, I decide to pay it a visit — mostly to browse their selection.

As I step in, I’m greeted by a worker whose face and voice are both very androgynous.

Worker: “Welcome to [Bookstore]! Can I help you find anything?”

Me: “I’ll be good, thanks. Just looking to browse.”

Worker: “All right. If you need assistance, let me know.”

They turn back to what seems to be an abandoned pile of books. I go to browse for a moment, and I soon hear this.

Worker’s Voice: “Welcome to [Bookstore]! Can—”

Man’s Voice: “Go f*** yourself, [trans slur].”

I look up to see [Worker] holding their arm out to block a young-looking man, their customer service smile gone.

Worker: “Aaaand you’re not welcome here.”

Young Man: “What the f*** is wrong with you? Get me your manager!”

An older man in a suit approaches from across the store.

Young Man: “Tell your f****** employees to—”

Suit: “No. Get out of my store.”

Young Man: “Excuse me?”

Suit: “I heard the way you addressed my employee. Get out of my store, or I’ll have you trespassed.”

Young Man: “F*** the lot of you!”

The young man storms out of the store. I approach [Suit] with admiration.

Me: “Are you guys hiring?”

I work in a used bookshop in a small row of shops. We have a good selection of books available on the shop floor arranged in proper alphabetical order, and a large storage area where extra books are stored by surname initial letter only.

We have far too many books coming in several times a week to have the time to completely alphabetise the stock. We’re perfectly willing to go look in our storage if a customer wants a particular book. It’s important to note that the storage area for the shops is out the back (staff only) door, down a flight of steps, across the staff car park, and up another flight of steps to the storage units.

Customer: “I’m looking for a book I read years ago. I can’t find it on your shelves. Can you see if you’ve got any in the back?”

Me: “Sure! Which book are you looking for?”

Customer: “It’s by Stephen King.”

Me: “Okay, what’s the title?”

Customer: “I’m not sure.”

I know there is a HUGE number of Stephen King books in the storage.

Me: “He’s written a lot of books. Can you remember anything at all about the title? Or what the book is about?”

Customer: “No, but I’m sure the cover was dark blue. Or black. It was really good.”

Me: “Okay, was it about a person? Or animal? Can you remember anything at all?”

Customer: “It was a horror story. I do remember that, but that’s about it.”

Me: “Sorry, but without a title, I’m not going to be able to find it. He really has written a lot of books.”

Customer: “Can you bring them all up here and I can look through them?”

Me: *Pauses* “No, sorry. There are several boxes worth.”

Customer: “Well, this is terrible service!”

I checked later, and at a rough guess, there were around thirty crates of books stored under K, and I’d guess around a quarter of those were Stephen King! Sorry, but I’m not carrying seven crates of books into the shop so you can buy ONE and then carrying them all back again!

I work in a popular bookshop chain in my country. We do sell things like board games and stationery and gift-related things, but that’s it. It’s a bookstore.

I’m tidying the display in front of the counter when a man approaches me, looking confused. He’s holding a vacuum cleaner, which I assume he bought from the appliance shop next door.

Me: “Hi, sir, can I help you with anything today?”

Customer: *Holding out the vacuum cleaner* “Can I buy this?”

Me: *Thinking I’ve heard him wrong* “What?”

Customer: “Can I get this?”

Me: “Um… I’m fairly sure we don’t sell those here.”

Manager #1: “What do you need, sir?”

Customer: “I want to get this!”

Manager #1: “Uh… Okay. Come over here?”

The man follows him around to the other end of the counter. Then, as I’m watching in disbelief, he walks BEHIND the counter and puts his bag down. 

Customer: “So, how much for the wrapping paper?”

Manager #1: “Oh, you wanted this… wrapped?”

Customer: “Yeah!”

Manager #1: “I don’t think we have enough wrapping paper here. Would you like to buy some?”

Customer: “Okay.”

[Manager #1] goes to get more wrapping paper. The man follows him, BEHIND THE COUNTER the entire way.

Manager #2: “Does he know he’s not supposed to be behind here?”

Me: “I… honestly don’t know.”

[Manager #1] comes back. The man acts as if he’s going to follow him behind the counter again.

Manager #2: “Sir, you can’t be behind the counter.”

Customer: “I’m just getting my stuff.”

Manager #2: “Then go around.”

The man huffs and goes around. By this point, I’m hiding behind a display so he can’t see me trying not to laugh. The man spots me.

Customer: “Don’t be scared.”

Me: “I’m not. It’s just the first time someone’s come into a bookshop and asked me if they can buy a vacuum cleaner, that’s all.”

I very quickly turned and walked away so he couldn’t see me cracking up again. I ended up laughing so hard I cried once I’d made it into the break room. I don’t know what happened next, but when I came out, he was gone.

I am browsing in a bookstore when a family of four clustered around a table of graphic novels suddenly cries out in excitement.

Mother: “Look! They adapted the movie To Kill a Mockingbird into a comic book!”

Employee: “Actually, the graphic novel is adapted from the book.”

Son: “Why would anyone base a comic on a book?”

Employee: “It’s not so uncommon anymore. Look, there’s an adaptation of The Handmaid’s Tale right over there.”

Son: “No, that’s a TV show.”

I leave the poor employee and walk into the next room to browse the fiction section. The daughter, who is about eighteen years old, breaks off and approaches me.

Daughter: “I can’t make sense of these shelves. Are they alphabetical by title?”

Me: “Um, no. Alphabetical by author.”

Daughter: “Really? It doesn’t make sense to do it that way.”

Me: “It’s by author. Were you looking for something? I don’t work here, but maybe I can help.”

Daughter: “Oh, no, I’ll find it.”

The daughter stands and stares at the fiction shelves with her brow furrowed. I find the book I am looking for and go back to the other room to pay, where I find that the rest of the family is still debating whether or not the “To Kill a Mockingbird” graphic novel is based on the movie or the book.

Mother: “See, this has to be based on the movie because it has the aunt in it.”

Employee: “…?”

Mother: “The aunt isn’t in the book; they invented that character for the movie.”

Employee: “Scout’s aunt? She’s in the book. But it doesn’t really matter; the story is going to be essentially the same regardless.”

Mother: “No, the aunt is not in the book. You should read it sometime.”

The aunt is definitely in the book, but I don’t want to get involved. The employee politely excuses herself to ring me up. As we are finishing the transaction, the daughter comes up and points at me.

Daughter: “You were wrong. Those shelves aren’t alphabetical by author. I don’t even know what they are, but they’re not that.”

Me: “Sorry? I believe they are.”

Employee: “The fiction section? It is alphabetical by author. Can I help—”

Daughter: “No. It’s not.”

She walked away, leaving the employee confused. The family left at the same time as me.