(I am standing behind the till, serving customers. I wear a wig; I had Alopecia when I was 16 and haven’t had any hair for three years. A male customer goes past the till, heading for the children’s section, and sees me.)

Customer: “Oh my god, your hair looks amazing! How did you get it like that?!”

Me: “It’s a wig, actually! I lost my hair when I was younger.”

(The customer looks very shocked, but then suddenly gives me a thumbs up.)

Customer: “Darling, you look smashing.”

Me: “Thank you, you just made my day!”

(The customer who took the time to give my self esteem a boost?! I honestly hope he wins the lottery one day!)

(Just after the election in 2008, we sell out of Obama’s two books, as well as most books portraying him well. In order to sell more of the other candidates’ books, we put them out on a display with lower sales prices. A young man approaches.)

Customer: “Dude, what’s with the Anti-Obama section?”

Me: “What?”

Customer: “Yeah, what do you guys have against Obama? Seriously?”

Me: *noticing what he’s pointing at* “Oh. We’re sold out of his books, and we need to get rid of a few of these.”

(Our city is overwhelmingly liberal, so we have a hard enough time selling these books as it is.)

Customer: “Why do you even have this trash anyway?”

Me: “It’s got nothing to do with politics. We just would rather sell these books than toss them out. If you need me, I’ll be shelving.”

Customer: *to his friend as they walk away* “God, Obama just gets no respect.”

(I’m a customer at a bookshop. As I’m browsing, I overhear a nearby mother spending five minutes patiently explaining to her young daughter that dragons aren’t real. The daughter is only about 3 or 4.)

Mother: “For the last time, they’re just made up! For fun! They don’t actually exist!”

Daughter: “But they’re in this book! Look!”

Mother: “Oh, for… I’ve already explained this. Come on, we’re leaving.”

Daughter: “Can I buy the dragon book?”

Mother: “Of course not! That’s the last thing I need.”

(They make their way over to the cash register, where the mother pays for a few books. The daughter looks up at the salesman with big eyes.)

Daughter: “Excuse me, mister. Are dragons real?”

Salesman: *leans in close* “Well, that’s what we have to tell you.”

(The daughter’s face lights up instantly and the mother lets out an exasperated sigh. That man just made my day, and the day of a tiny little girl who loves dragons.)

(I’m browsing in a bookstore in Taiwan, when I notice two Caucasian customers looking in the Young Teenage Girls section and laughing.)

Customer: *to his friend, in English* “Watch this.”

(He grabs a random book and hands it to an employee.)

Employee: *in somewhat broken English* “Can… I… help you?”

Customer: “Yes. I should like that you would exemplify the thesis behind the philosophies illustrated in this literature.”

(I’m looking at them now, rolling my eyes, but the pair are having a good time of it and don’t notice me. The employee is very confused and mutters in English as best he can.)

Employee: “Eh… uhh… sorry?”

Man: *gesturing as he speaks* “You. Need to. Exemplify. The. Theories. Of the. Thesis. As manifest. In this literature.”

(It’s obvious the customer has no idea what he himself is saying, and is just having a laugh at the employee’s expense. The other guy with him has a wide grin on his face like he’s thoroughly enjoying the exchange. I’ve had enough, so I go to the employee, take the book out of his hands, turn to the synopsis given on the back cover and turn to the two guys.)

Me: *in perfect English* “A girl’s parents have just divorced and the father moves her to a new school. She’s having difficulty adjusting to a new environment and life as a young woman and the changes to her body as he matures. Because she’s new, she’s having a difficult time telling anyone about it and doesn’t know how to tell her father about the various changes she is experiencing with her body. She falls for a popular boy, but she’s new and awkward and nobody likes her. Eventually, she contemplates suicide.”

(The two customers are staring at me like I’ve got ten heads. I decide to rub it in a little further.)

Me: “What the h*** is this? You managed to find the girliest book in here!”

Customer: *opens his mouth, as if to say something*

Me: “Where’re you from?”

Man: “Uh, uh, uh, uh… CANADA!”

(Embarrassed, he and his friend dash out of the store.)

Me: *to the employee in Mandarin* “They were just screwing with you. There’s only one thing you need to know in English if something like that ever happens again: you tell them:” *in English* “F*** off!”

(I work in a bookstore and our main clientele are business-types. As such, we have a fairly small science-fiction section, though I am more of a sci-fi reader myself.)

Customer: “Hi, do you have a science fiction section?”

Me: “Yes, we do. Right this way…”

(I lead him to the sci-fi section.)

Me: “Did you have anything specific you were hoping to find?”

Customer: “Do you have any Isaac Asimov?”

Me: *scans the section* “No, I’m sorry. It doesn’t look like we do.”

Customer: “Well, how about Arthur C. Clarke?”

Me: *looks again* “No, we don’t have him either.”

Customer: “Edgar Rice Burroughs?”

Me: “Unfortunately, based on demand, we don’t get a lot of the classic stuff—just the really new or big titles.”

Customer: “Well, that’s pathetic. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Me: “Believe me, I am…”