Rage-Quit That Rant

, , , , , | Right | November 26, 2020

My family owns several shops on the boardwalk in our town and has for many years. Working at these shops is a common job for high-school-aged kids as it’s basically like any other retail job and has the perk of being right there on the beach. The downside is that kids that age aren’t exactly the most responsible, so when these kids call out of work, we tend to fill in when we can as a family.

I work at a nearby hospital most of the time but am working in the bathing suit shop that night since I am free and no one is available. A woman storms up to me, quite out of breath.

Customer: “This is ridiculous! Where are your bathing suits for women?”

Me: *Waves around the shop* “Everywhere?”

She responds slowly, as if she’s talking to a small child.

Customer: “Women, not kids.”

I realize that she’s shopping for herself. We don’t stock anything above a sixteen, and while I’m not an amazing judge of sizes that aren’t close to my own, this woman is much larger than a sixteen. She’s currently wearing a one-piece suit with a sarong.

Me: “I’m sorry, we have women’s suits up to size sixteen. The front suits on a rack might look small, but as you look behind them, there are larger sizes.”

I’m fairly certain most retail stores work this way. I’m usually an eight and I rarely find my own size at the front of a rack anywhere.

Customer: “Women’s sizes start at a sixteen, you skinny b****!”

I’m… not skinny? I’m an eight, though admittedly reasonably tall. I’m still rather insecure about my body. This touches a nerve.

Me: “Well, I’m a woman and I’m an eight. I don’t think we’ll be able to help you; you can leave now.”

I motion to the door and she slaps my arm down. I’m startled and realize there is no one else in the shop should she become more violent. She’s still quite out of breath and she’s grown red in the face with anger.

Customer: “I’m tired of entitled little girls like you thinking that you can walk all over real women just because you starve yourselves! You’re a f****** joke!”

She is waving her arms, stomping, and generally behaving like a child.

Customer: “I should be able to walk into any store and find an outfit off the rack and I CAN’T BECAUSE OF B****ES—”

She’s cut off mid-rant. For a minute, I think she’s just taking a breath to keep yelling at me. I’m already reaching for my phone to call the boardwalk station to get some police down here to escort her out when she places her hand on her chest.

This woman has literally raged herself into having a heart attack in my shop. She drops to the ground and I hit the speaker on my phone. When the boardwalk station answers, I request an ambulance. I wind up doing CPR on her for a minute before EMS arrives.

My coworkers call me “skinny b****” now, so all she accomplished was giving me a nickname.


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