(I am managing a small bookstore, and a coworker who is usually very good at guessing what book someone wants based on minimal description comes up for help.)

Coworker: “There’s a guy on the phone, and I can’t tell what he wants. He says he’s looking for something called The Death of a Toad.”

Me: “That doesn’t sound familiar.”

Coworker: “He’s getting annoyed with me because I don’t recognize the title. Can you handle it?”

(I grab the phone. The customer sounds like a teenage guy, and he’s irritated.)

Me: “Hi, can I help you?”

Customer: “I hope so, that other girl was useless. I need Death of a Toad; how hard is that?”

Me: “I’m sorry she couldn’t help you. I see she’s looked it up in the computer, and we don’t have any records of it in our system. Is it a new book?”

Customer: “No, it’s a classic or something. I need to read it for school.”

Me: “Okay. So it’s regular adult fiction, and it’s called Death of a Toad?”

Customer: “Yeah, why is this so hard to understand?”

(I do a more general search on the computer system, looking for any book with “toad” in the title, and don’t get any relevant results.)

Me: “Is it spelled toad, like the animal? And death, like dying? I want to make sure I’m looking up the right search terms.”

Customer: “Duh, yes! Death, like death, and toad, like frog. Wait… it’s not Death of a Toad; it’s Death of Four Toads.”

Me: “That doesn’t sound familiar either. Do you have all or part of the author’s name?”

Customer: “I don’t know, some guy. Look, how hard is this? It’s Death of Four Toads by some Mexican guy or whatever, and it’s a classic! Are you completely stupid? Death. Of. Four. Toads.”

(As he says this, a light bulb finally goes off in my head.)

Me: “…are you maybe looking for Chronicle of a Death Foretold?”

Customer: “Yes! Fine! It’s CHRONICLE of the Death of Four Toads! Do. You. Have. It?”

Me: “Actually, I sold my last copy over the weekend. Have a nice day!”

(We are having a book drive for a local school that has had a terrible fire, causing it to lose its entire library. When customers come up, we are allowed to tell them about the drive and ask if they would like to donate. If not, it is okay, but we ask just the same.)

Me: “Would you like to donate a book to the St. [Name] book drive?” *I clearly explain their situation*

Customer: “No, I don’t give money to poor people. If they want money, they have to work for it like the rest of us. I don’t like lazy layabouts.”

(I am about to remind the customer that it was a fire, when the customer’s husband interjects.)

Customer’s Husband: “Do you really feel that way, dear? I wonder if you felt this way 27 years ago when we had an infant, no jobs, no money, and had to ask my parents for an allowance so we could live. Now that we have money in the bank, a Volvo in the driveway, and a designer handbag on your arm, suddenly we are too good to help others?”

(The husband then turns to me.)

Customer’s Husband: “Are these the books you are selling?”

(The husband indicates a pile we have beside the register. I nod, dumbfounded.)

Customer’s Husband: “We will take them all.”

(We have signs all over the store advertising 30% off hard cover books in huge letters. A customer approaches, holding a paperback.)

Customer: “So, this is 30% off?”

Me: “No, sorry it’s only the hardcovers that are on sale, as the sign says.”

Customer: “Well, that’s very misleading.”

Me: “Sorry? Why is that sign misleading?”

Customer: “Well, it’s misleading because I didn’t read the sign properly.”

(Note: I am a 28-year-old blonde girl.)

Cashier: “Can I help you, missy?”

Me: “Urm, can I get a book on the 1700s?”

Cashier: “Yes, it’s past the stairs. Now, stairs are what an elevator is, but you have to use your legs.”

Me: “I know what they are. Please stop doing that.”

Cashier: “Now, the books are on a shelf, with 18th Century written on it.”

Me: *giving up* “Just show me.”

Cashier: “Right there!”

(He points, but as I leave he mutters…)

Cashier: “…Bimbo.”

(I turn around, furious.)

Me: “Now listen to me, mister! I know I’m blonde but that doesn’t mean I don’t have brains! In fact, I work at [chain of shops] as a manager. I also graduated five years ago with a degree. So, stop being so bigoted and actually show me the books!”

(At an event for a popular but literary author, I take a seat behind two women who appear to be in their early 20s; they are discussing how their professor is giving extra credit to students who attend this event. In the Q&A part, one of them raises her hand.)

College Student: “Our professor told us that [Character]’s room being blue is a symbol of his loneliness and isolation. Is that what you meant?”

Author: “No. I just like blue. You can tell your professor they’re full of s***.”