I work at a big box craft store.

Customer: “I’m looking for that thing. It’s metal, one end is a point and the other end holds a pencil and you can make circles.”

Me: “A compass?”

Customer: *Laughs.* “No, I’m not trying to navigate a ship.”

I took her to the drawing aisle and showed her the compasses.

I’m buying art supplies for my class (woohoo, slashed educational budgets again!), and I am keeping a close tally of how much I can get on my meager budget. I think I have managed to get what I need, and I head to the checkout counter.

Cashier: “Miss [My Name]?!”

Me: “Uh… yes?”

Cashier: “You taught me! Like ten years ago! At [School]!”

Me: “Oh, wow! Sorry! I spend so much time with eight-year-olds that I forget you all grow up! You’re… [Cashier], right?”

Cashier: “Wow! You remember!”

Me: “I remember you were great at art! I’m not surprised you work in an art store!”

Cashier: “Yeah, I loved art! Wait… Are you buying all this stuff for school?”

Me: “That’s right! Gotta get the next generation painting like you did! Oh, and I have a coupon!”

I hand my ex-student the coupon, which is for 15% off of one item only. I then notice that my cashier is scanning the coupon, scanning an item, typing something into the checkout computer, and then scanning the coupon again. For every item. He notices that I have noticed, and winks.

Cashier: “I was great at art… not so good at math.” 

I got a discount for EVERY item!

I am buying a lot of craft supplies for a program I help with at the library for children from disadvantaged homes to come and have some creative fun for a few hours on Saturday mornings. The whole thing is run by volunteers, and the money I am using to purchase the supplies is pooled together by said volunteers.

Checkout Clerk: “Oh, wow, this is a lot of stuff!”

Me: “Yeah, it’s for a lot of kids!”

Checkout Clerk: “Are you a teacher? We give a nice discount to teachers!”

Me: “Sadly, I’m not a teacher, but it’s awesome that you do that!”

Checkout Clerk: “What did you mean by the kids earlier?”

I explain what I am buying the supplies for.

Checkout Clerk: “Oh, cool! I didn’t know that! And now I do! You taught me something. I guess you are a teacher!”

She applied the discount and sent me on my merry way with extra change for the volunteers!

A local craft store is having a sale that I’ve been looking forward to. Since I’m an early bird anyway, I arrive a few minutes before the doors open and hang out outside until an employee unlocks the doors for the day. There’s a small scattering of fellow early birds out here with me, so I am not the awkward loner stalking the store. Nine o’clock hits and the doors open.

As I’m going in, the manager is clearly finishing up a morning huddle. I’m only barely aware that people are being sent to do some tasks by name as I snag a cart to raid the sale section.

Manager: “[Employee], you’re late. Come to my office once you clock in.”

Not me, not my business, so I keep on. I put my purse in a shopping cart and clear the way for the other early shoppers while I get situated. In minutes, I’m browsing and have a few coveted items in my cart.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see an employee with a weirdly spiteful grin on her face.

Spiteful Employee: “The boss said he wanted to see you in his office.”

Me: “I think you have me confused with somebody else, ma’am. I don’t work here.”

Spiteful Employee: “If I was you, I wouldn’t play stupid little games, [Employee]. Get in the office.”

Me: “One, I don’t take orders from you. Two, I’m not playing games. You have me confused with somebody else; that’s not even my name. Three, you are about to royally piss off a customer. Go away.”

I spin on my heel and walk a few feet down the aisle to something else that caught my eye.

The next thing I know, my arm is grabbed, hard, and I am aggressively pulled down the aisle by the manager, who is hissing through his teeth that he’s sick of my antics and that I need to learn to do what I’m told.

Welp, that was his last mistake. I have said for years that my dad’s greatest act of love was making sure his little girl could protect herself.

I stumble off balance for all of two steps before I manage to brace my feet and yank backward. The manager’s grip is so painfully tight that I don’t free my arm so much as yank him unexpectedly backward off his balance.

As he’s stumbling back, I bellow in a drill sergeant’s voice.

Me: “GET YOUR MOTHERF****** HANDS OFF ME!”

Then, I kicked his feet out from under him. Since he was off balance anyway, he went down on the tiled floor. Blessedly, he lost his grip on me as he reflexively let go to try to catch himself.

I bolted to the front and told one of the cashiers to call the police, as their manager had just put his hands on me. My arm was throbbing from his grip, and it later developed a hand-shaped bruise that seemed to take forever to heal up.

I whipped out my keys, which had a canister of pepper spray attached, and stood near the front of the store where I’d have witnesses.

The cops arrived on the scene to find me in a defensive stance, the manager barely being held at bay by the threat of getting pepper spray in the eyes, and people literally yelling at the manager to back off. The manager had both fists clenched, and he was yelling at me all sorts of nonsense, including threats of physical violence, and, “You wouldn’t be so tough without that pepper spray!” (That’s hilarious to me in retrospect considering I had just dumped a 200-plus-pound man on his a** a few minutes before.) I was just repeating over and over that I didn’t work there and that he had no right to touch me even if I did.

The cops separated us — no easy feat on the manager’s end — and got the stories while also checking the security cameras.

So that no one has to ask, yes, charges were pressed, and the court date is pending.

I came out of the incident shaken and craving a metric ton of greasy and comforting food, but d*** proud of myself for taking out an attacker. The store was practically hysterical in their apologies to me, and I advised them to investigate how a violent person like that was able to get a management position in the first place.

I’m not sure about the employee I was mistaken for; I was too wound up to focus on anything but trying to gear myself down. All fighty, no flighty. So, of course, I don’t even know if someone looking like me came skidding in sideways, late to work, or if they had just quit the night before with no notice. What I do know is that, apparently, the manager had severe anger issues — no surprise — and had only held his job due to nepotism until the police got involved.

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I work in a craft store.

Customer: “Where can I find the glitter markers?”

Me: “The kids’ section probably has some by Crayola.”

Customer: *Seeming unhappy* “Hmm… I’m not sure those are what I want.”

Me: “Do you want glitter gel pens instead?”

Customer: “Yes!”

I pointed to an aisle we could see from where we were standing.

Me: “They should be in the aisle behind that one.”

She left and came back a few minutes later with no pens.

Customer: “Someone should’ve personally escorted me to the pens. You shouldn’t just point! Some people are bad with directions!”