Like many others, I had a terrible school experience growing up. Middle school was especially hellish thanks to relentless teasing, both from students and teachers. It was the 1990s. What can I say? 

One teacher, in particular, was a bully, plain and simple. He’d tease me along with other students. He forced me to cut up my brother’s toy dinosaur for a Viking ship project. He made fun of the way my cat scratched at my arms. And so on and so forth. 

After high school, I thought I’d never see him again, but when you have a retail job in the city near where you grew up, it is inevitable. I came across him three times.

I wasn’t working the first time; I was with my sister at a popular gas station/food place. We were on our way out when the teacher came in. He lit up, as teachers do I guess when seeing old students.

Teacher: “Girls! [Dumb Nickname we had in school]! How’re you?”

I briskly walked past without acknowledging him. He looked at my sister questioningly.

Sis: “What’d you expect?”

She walked away, too.

The second time, I was working at a fast food place, taking drive-thru orders when he pulled up. My friendly demeanor immediately turned icy. It took him a moment but I saw the recognition in his eyes.

Me: “That’ll be [total].”

Teacher: *Handing me money* “You probably don’t recognize me, do you?”

Me: *Giving back change* “I know who you are.”

I closed the window and had a coworker give him his order.

The third time, it had been about ten years since school. I was a shift leader at a bookstore, I was married, and I figured I’d moved on from the trauma of school… but when I saw this teacher approach the cash register, I felt anxious as though I were in middle school again.

Me: “Will this be all today?”

I was trying to be cordial and ring through the transaction quickly. I gave him his total. He squinted at me, almost accusingly.

Teacher: “You know who I am.”

Me: “Yes.”

Teacher: “Then why—”

Me: “Your receipt is in the bag. Have a good day.”

He struggled for a moment, his face red. I have no clue what was going on in his head, or why he would think I of all people would be happy to see him. Maybe he was confused that this was the third time his former student was “mean” to him.

It definitely made him angry. He was with two little girls, and I think that’s the main reason why he just grabbed his bag and walked away.

Where I use to work, probably similar to a lot of retail locations, we’d have one item on the front page of our sales flyer which would be discounted heavily — like seventy-five percent off or so. And it would usually say, “While supplies last.”

There was one item we had on the front page, and I was curious to see how much money our store was making per item, and since I have access to look up that info, I decided to take a look. We were making three cents per item sold.

I had a woman come in and she was buying a whole bunch. I can’t remember how much, but she took a huge chunk of our inventory.

Customer: “Since I’m buying a whole bunch, can I get them cheaper?”

Me: “No. Sorry. We are only making three cents for every one sold.”

Customer: *Defeated* “Oh.”

She put them back where she got them. I don’t remember the sale price, but I think it was below five dollars.

I worked in a camera store many lifetimes ago when digital cameras had only just started coming out. To go along with the then-new tech, we started doing in-store printing from digital media, but only certain media like CDs or USB or Floppy. I had this one customer come in with one of the latest Kodak Digital cameras wanting to print the images from it. He took the memory card out, a very flimsy smart card, and told me to print from it.

Me: “We can’t print from a smart card, so I’ll need to transfer it to a CD before printing, which will cost nothing.”

Either he didn’t understand what I was telling him or he didn’t hear me, so I repeated it. He then went into a full meltdown.

Customer: “I spent so much on a camera that I can’t even print from! It’s a hunk of crap!”

And on and on. Even my manager was telling him that we COULD print but he needed to give us a moment to get things set up to do it. Nope! The customer wasn’t having it and continued his rant. Then, he threw his camera in our bin.

Customer: “I’m going to go buy a better one!”

My manager and I, along with a customer or two that were there, just looked at each other, bewildered. We retrieved the camera from our bin, downloaded the images, and found a picture of the man’s driving license. We then packaged up the camera and posted it out to him with a CD copy, with a pay-postage-on-receipt label — like h*** were we paying out to send him his property, which was also damaged after the bin toss.

We never saw that customer again.

I work for a company that sells backup power sources for both residential and commercial customers. My job is to go into big box stores and set up displays and represent my company while trying to get potential leads. I am not an employee of any of these stores, but I technically work there when my show is there.

A few months back, about three months into the health crisis, I came to the store I was working at that week. Normally, I go in through the back, but the back door was closed and locked. I went around front as I had just remembered that they started the senior/disabled-only shop hour. There was a crowd of younger people sitting outside waiting to be let in.

I am thirty years old, but I was wearing my business suit and store vendor name tag, so the employee let me go straight in with no questions asked. I was also holding part of my display, so I was clearly going in to work. I saw a lady and she, like most of those outside, looked a little annoyed.

Lady: “HEY! HOW COME THEY GET TO GO IN AND WE DON’T?!”

I thought she just didn’t see my name tag, so I turned around to face her so she could see it.

Me: “I work here.”

Lady: “NO, YOU DON’T! YOU DON’T HAVE A STORE BADGE!”

I pulled my lanyard up to show her my tag.

Me: “You’re right; it’s a vendor badge for this store.”

Employee: “Ma’am, they do work here.”

Lady: “You have no right to be here! You don’t look disabled, and you’re clearly not over sixty-five!”

I just started to walk away, and she attempted to follow me in. The employee stepped in her way.

Employee: “Ma’am, please go back outside.”

She pushed him. I saw this out of the corner of my eye, so to try to deescalate the situation, I stopped and said:

Me: “Ma’am, I have two things that allow me to be here during the shop-early hour. One is my vendor badge and the other is my disability card.”

I showed her the card my county issued to me.

Lady: “I WANT TO SEE THE MANAGER!”

The employee radio calls for a manager.

Employee: *Politely to the lady* “Please wait for the manager outside, ma’am.”

Lady: “NO! I WANT TO SEE THE MANAGER NOW! THEY AREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!”

The woman is making enough ruckus to get other waiting customers to defend us. She still waits inside. The manager comes over and asks me what the problem is. The lady cuts in.

Lady: “They’re not supposed to be here! They don’t work for this store, and they’re faking a disability!”

This manager is aware of my disability in case of emergencies at work.

Manager: “You’re right and wrong. They don’t for my store, but they do work at my store, and they have every right to be here during the senior- and disability-only hour. You need to leave the store until we’re fully open.”

Lady: “I will not! I demand you have this person removed!”

Manager: “You can either leave willingly or be removed by police.” *To me* “Go ahead and head to your station.”

I did just that, as I now had ten minutes to set up a display that normally takes me thirty minutes to set up.

About an hour later, I realized I had forgotten a cable in my car and went to go get it. On my way, I saw a police officer leaning over the passenger window of his cruiser. He was telling the lady that she could either leave quietly now or he could take her to jail. She saw me and was livid. Priceless.

The officer took her to jail. She was charged with criminal trespass and disturbing the peace.

I was working at a store and an old lady approached me.

Lady: “My grandson got ripped off by one of your quarter machines!”

Me: “Okay. I need to tell my manager so she can reimburse you and keep track of it.”

I went to the office, which was like seven feet away, and told my manager what happened. When I came back:

Lady: “How dare you turn your back on me?! How rude!”

I don’t know what the h*** she expected me to do — keep facing her like she was a Weeping Angel? There were two other people who saw the whole thing and even they said, “I don’t know what her problem was.”