(I am waiting for a hair cut. Next in the queue is a boy that can’t be older than four or five.)
Little Boy: “I want you to cut my hair spicy!”
Hairdresser: “…’spicy?'”
Little Boy: “Yeah, spicy! Like, super spicy!”
Hairdresser: “…don’t you mean ‘spiky?'”
Little Boy: “That too!”
(We have a counter where customers can pick up online-only items that have been shipped to the store at no charge. Customers can designate an alternate pickup person, and it’s not uncommon for a spouse or parent to pick up an order, though usually they know it’s not their name on the order.)
Customer: “It’s under [name]. It’s a stroller.”
(I search, and find nothing on computer or on the shelf.)
Me: “Could it possibly be under your husband’s name?”
Customer: “I’m a lesbian.”
Me: “Okay, well, what’s your wife’s name?”
Customer: “It’s [other name].”
Me: “Here we go!” *brings out stroller* “Your name wasn’t on the box, so that’s why.”
Customer: “Well, you should have known!”
Me: “I should have known your wife with a wildly different name always sends you to pickup the order under her name?”
Customer: “YES!”
(I have worked with a customer for about 10 or so minutes to find a pair of jeans. I hear a beeping from what sounds like a cell phone coming from the customer, but he is ignoring it.)
Me: “We have some of these on clearance here—if you need to take that, it’s fine.”
Customer: “Oh naw, that’s just my bracelet.”
(The customer leans down to his ankle to reveal a huge black bracelet for house arrest.)
Customer: “The battery is dying.”
Me: “Oh, okay.”
(We move to the register.)
Me: “We have a [drugstore] close by if you need any sort of battery.”
Customer: “Naw, I gotta go home and charge it. Can I go put these on?”
Me: “Sure, let me take the tags off for you, and we can process it when you come back.”
(He returns after this, and we process the exchange. He thanks me, and his bracelet begins to beep again…)
(I am breastfeeding my three-month-old baby quietly in a corner of a medieval festival. I am a participant. In front of me is a display of medieval stuff that I make. A tourist is passing by, and sniffs.)
Tourist: “Like they did that in the middle ages!”
Me: “Do you mean the breastfeeding? Of course they did; how else would they feed their baby?”
Tourist: “If you knew a bit about history, you would know that they hired other women to feed the baby.”
Me: “It is true that high-born ladies hired nursemaids to feed their baby and look after them, but how do you think these hired women fed the baby?”
Tourist: “With a bottle of cow’s milk of course! Jeez!”
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(I’m a cashier at a large store, and it’s nearly the end of my shift. Its fairly busy, and the customer I’m checking out is putting in her information for the check she’s writing.)
Me: “Okay, go ahead and press ‘okay,’ and then sign.”
Customer: “Alright.”
(A couple comes up behind her with a three-year-old boy in the cart, and starts loading their items on the conveyor belt.)
Young Boy: “F*** off!”
Customer: “Excuse me!?”
Young Boy: “F*** off! F*** off!”
Customer: “Ma’am, shouldn’t you do something about your son’s mouth?”
(The mother and father look shocked.)
Mother: “Oh, h*** no! My son can say whatever he wants to some uppity b****!”
(The customer looks surprised and hurt, and walks off after I give her the check and receipt. The manager comes over.)
Manager: “Your son needs to stop yelling that to other customers in line.”
Mother: “H*** NO!”
Manager: “Then you can leave.”
(The mother makes a fuss and leaves, while watching me like I have done something wrong. Afterwards, the manager turns to me.)
Manager: “You wanna go home early?”
Me: “Absolutely.”
