Some years ago, I was working in a minor management position in the Civil Service. I was about to go on maternity leave for six months. My assistant manager was covering part of my duties, and the company had brought in a temp to cover the rest. I was to spend a week training her before I took off.

My department had quite a relaxed atmosphere; I’m one of those bosses who are happy for people to chat and socialise a little as long as all the work is completed first. We were a small team and relatively close, and everyone went out of their way to make the temp feel welcome.

She had only been in the office for around four hours, training with me to use our computer system, when she complained that she had a headache and wanted to go out and buy some painkillers. I suggested that she take her lunch break, pick up the tablets she wanted, and get some fresh air away from the screen.

She went off… and never returned! The company contacted the temp agency later and was given the feedback that I seemed too happy and positive, and she didn’t want to work in a place like that. Personally, I wouldn’t want to work in a place that wasn’t like that…

An older customer storms up to the counter, cutting in line.

Customer: “You ruined my drink last time and the manager said I could get my next drink for free. I’ll get a venti caramel—”

Me: “Whoa, hold up. Which manager said this?”

Customer: “Your manager! Guy in charge! Don’t interrupt me again or I’ll complain to him about you. I’ll get a venti caramel—”

Me: “I’m sorry to interrupt again, but the manager certainly did not offer you a free drink because I am the store manager.”

Customer: “You! But… you’re a child!”

Me: “And yet here you are, an older man, acting like one.”

He did NOT get his free drink, or any drink for that matter!

Related:
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 24
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 23
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 22
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 21
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 20

I work in the wine-tasting area of a vineyard that gets a lot of visitors and tourists. A group has just noticed that we also sell cigars.

Me: “Yes, some of our visitors like to buy cigars as well as wine.”

Visitor: “My future son-in-law Charles likes to smoke cigars, too. He’s also a burglar.”

They walked away like that was the most normal sentence in the world.

Several years ago, I got the chance to participate in a plus-size fashion showcase as a model. This was my first — and so far only — modeling gig, and even for getting into the show, I was still majorly nervous.

Mind you, I had plenty of support! My husband and the rest of my family all thought this was a cool opportunity and were happy for me, and my fellow models, especially those who did this for a living, were encouraging and sweet. On top of that, we were getting to model gorgeous pieces from some stores that I really like.

However, my nerves came to a head at my second fitting. Picking out my outfit to represent [Store #1] was very easy, but at [Store #2], nothing seemed to be working. I’m not only plump, but I’m short, and even with my show-day heels on, the pieces I was trying on just didn’t seem to sit right.

Our fashion coordinator, who did final sign-offs on the outfits we would wear, must have seen my frustration, because she called me over and pulled a sleeveless purple jumpsuit off the rack, along with a faux fur coat.

Coordinator: “Let’s give this a try, okay?”

I changed into the jumpsuit, and I looked at myself in the mirror. I loved the color, but again, the fit didn’t seem right. [Coordinator] seemed enthusiastic, but I was now in a pessimistic mood.

Coordinator: “We’ve got the right look here, especially once you put on the coat.”

Me: “Ugh, I just don’t know! I’m not feeling it!”

[Coordinator] rolled her eyes a bit, but the next comment was delivered with kindness.

Coordinator: “[My Name], this is my job. Do you really believe that I would let you onto the runway in an outfit that I wasn’t 100 percent certain of?”

For whatever reason, that was the comment that finally helped calm my nerves. And of course, she ended up being right. With the coat, the outfit was sensational, and I got MANY cheers when I walked in that particular outfit at the show!

I’m a twenty-two-year-old woman, and I took my little brother (age fifteen) to the mall a few months ago to shop for Christmas gifts for our grandparents. We were in the jacket area of a department store chain, and I was handing him a couple of things to hold up so I could take a photo of one of the sweatshirts.

This big guy came up to me and got in front of my little brother.

Guy: “Where is the shoe section?”

I was in a Horror Nights hoodie and a graphic tee shirt with a kid. Yes, sir, I obviously work here.

Me: “I don’t know; I don’t work here.”

Guy: *Getting all huffy* “You people all work here; you just don’t want to help.”

And he stormed off.

I laughed so hard after he left. I should also note that both my brother and I had very obvious [Restaurant Chain] to-go cups, so the dude really just stopped the first brown person he saw.

Related:
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 48
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 47
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 46
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 45
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 44