My mom owns a bridal store. There is a pleasant bride who had picked her dress and was at the store for the fitting and alteration. My mom liked to do the measurements herself whenever possible to make sure the dresses were as perfect as possible.

The young bride brought her mother to the fitting.

Mother Of The Bride: “You! Shop-girl. Are these really the best dresses you can offer?”

She did not realize that my mom owned the shop.

Mom: “Of course, our range is wide, but this is the one that your daughter selected—”

Mother Of The Bride: “Well, it’s not as good a quality material as I was told about. I expect a discount—”

Mom: “Sorry, no discounts. With the cost of the dress and the fitting, we really do offer a competitive rate.”

Bride: “Mom! This is the dress! You said you’d be good!”

The mother of the bride gave a non-committal “Hmph!”, and we continued with the fitting and alterations.

The bride came back another day to try on the dress again with her mother. The bride loved it, but her mother continued to criticize the work and ask for discounts.

Mother Of The Bride: “The way I see it, you have to do what I want because the customer is always right, and if we leave now without paying, then you’re stuck with a custom dress and no sale.”

Mom: “Very well. Leave the dress because I am going to give you a full refund. You will obviously not be happy with anything that I do. You need to leave my store and never come back.”

The bride started to cry and then told her mother to shut her mouth and leave because she loved the dress and thought it was perfect.

The mother of the bride left (angry and humiliated), and the bride apologized to my mother. They were able to finish the fitting and the sale without any more interference!

The bride came back sometime later to show my mom her wedding photos and comment on how good the dress looked. I recall my mom noticing that the mother of the bride was notably absent from all the photos…

Related:
Momzilla Of The Bride, Part 2
Momzilla Of The Bride

I work in the clothing department for a big box store. There are tables and tables of clothing that I am responsible for keeping neat and folded. I keep my head down and fold continually. A customer sees me and gasps!

Me: “Are you okay?”

Customer: “I didn’t see you working there! I was totally destroying one of your tables.”

She is standing at a table where all the neatly folded clothes have been devastated.

Me: “Well, that’s okay. You’re buying them, so you need to try them.”

Customer: “Oh… no… I just come here to destress and doing this helps!”

Me: “…”

Customer: “But hey! At least I’m providing you with job security!”

Me: “Well, I’d love to return the favor! Where do you work? If you don’t work, I could come to your home!”

Customer: *Looking worried* “Uh… bye now!” 

I wondered if I had gone too far and told my manager. He burst out laughing and said he was going to use that line and I didn’t have to worry about getting written up over it.

I work in a relatively small clothing store, usually with a coworker. Sometimes the manager is here, and sometimes he’s not. This situation happened while [Coworker] and I were putting away clothes. [Coworker] had a way of saying it like, “Put those pinks on that hanger,” and, “Let’s put those greens in that box,” which was not a problem at all.

When we were in the middle of the store putting away a type of black shirt, I started to fold and put them away in a box. [Coworker] stopped me.

Coworker: “No, don’t do that. We’re going to hang the blacks.”

A second too late, she realized what she was saying, and then her eyes went wide. The people around her (most of them Black) froze, and some turned to stare at her. After a few painful seconds, [Coworker]’s face turned red, and she looked like she was going to burst into tears when an old Black lady tottered over to her. 

Lady: “Don’t worry, hon. It’s not your fault.”

After that, [Coworker] started crying and ran into the staff room.

Ten minutes later, she came out looking ashamed and apologized sincerely to everyone who had heard what she said. She told me later that she sent the old lady a thank-you note because she left before [Coworker] came back out, and now guess who’s been coming back every month as a regular customer?

I work in a clothing store. I am friends with the manager (we started together but he got promoted), and he’s given me authorisation to “protect” him from certain situations.

A customer slams a pair of underwear on the counter, demanding a refund. They have obviously already been worn.

Me: “Sir, I can’t return these. They’re underwear.”

Customer: “So?”

Me: “We don’t do returns on undergarments.”

Customer: “I didn’t wear them under anything. I just walked around the house in them.”

Me: “The point is that we don’t do returns on underwear regardless of how they’ve been worn.”

Customer: “Are you saying I’m dirty?”

Me: “Sir, I can see skid marks on the undergarments.”

Customer: “What, you expect me to get every last bit when I wipe?”

Me: “That’s normally what wiping is for, sir, yes.”

Customer: “I want to speak to your manager!”

Me: “I am the manager, sir. We will not be processing this refund.”

Customer: “Useless!” 

The customer stormed away. When the actual manager found out what I had protected him from, he gave me a hug.

I am working near the fitting rooms of the clothing store. I notice four adult men walk in, sneak into the fitting rooms, and close the curtains on a single cubicle. Not sure about this, I call my manager and security over.

They get to me at the same time as the smell of the joint those men are smoking. Mystery solved.

Our security guy marches over and pulls the curtain open to reveal all four of them sharing a smoking joint. This is years before smoking weed is legal in my state.

Guy #1: “Hey, man, some privacy!”

Security: “Out! Now! All of you!”

As they’re leaving, they’re moaning and cussing, and one of them stupidly asks:

Guy #2: “How did you know what we were doing?”

Manager: “How about how suspicious it looks that four grown men walk into a clothing store exclusively for eight- to twelve-year-old girls and march straight for the dressing rooms? Or maybe that the tops of all four of your heads were visible over the child-sized dressing room curtains? Or maybe it’s because said dressing rooms are not air-sealed chambers and you’re all smoking a f****** doobie!”

The guys, security, and the manager are now outside the store.

Manager: “Seriously, how else did you think this was all going to play out?”

Guy #1: *Shrugs* “I dunno. We just really wanted to light up.”

Manager: “If I see any of you four near my store again, I’m calling the police.”

Guy #2: “Ha! Nice try! My dad is a police captain!”

Guy #1: “Dude! Shut up!”

They weren’t the sharpest crayons in the box… 

Related:
We Can’t Believe They Thought That Would Work, Part 2
We Can’t Believe They Thought That Would Work