I’m working at a counter in the children’s department, reading a lengthy memo about sales from corporate. I’ve been looking down reading for perhaps two minutes and when I look up there’s a man standing there, fuming. I’m startled since he hasn’t said anything and has been standing out of my line of sight.

I ask him if he needs help and he continues to rant and rave to me about how awful I am at my job. He looks at my name tag and keeps repeating my name and saying how I need to “get it together.” I explain to him that he was out of my line of sight and that I’m visually impaired.

That shuts him up.

He then, of course, goes and complains to my manager saying that if I’m so visually impaired I should have a bell he could have pressed. He could have just said something to me while I was reading, but he was silent. Idiot.

Being an avid reader, I spent lots of time after school in a bookstore. One of the clerks there came to know me quite well and sometimes asked my opinion on some books, what I would recommend to a certain age group and similar questions. Sometimes, when there was a customer she thought I might be able to help, she would go and ask me to come over to try and find something, so I was used to dealing with people in this store.

One day, I was browsing through the teenage section when a woman with her boy walked up and started asking me what book I would recommend for her son. So, I talked to the little guy and we found a book that he might enjoy.

Just then, the clerk walked up and asked if she could help them. The woman looked puzzled, and the clerk explained that I didn’t actually work there.

The mother looked affronted, took the book out of the boy’s hands, turned to me, and started accusing me, “You pretended to work here, giving unsolicited advice, and I’m sure the book you just told us to read is crap! How dare you?! Who do you think you are?” and kept going on in this vein for some more time.

Despite the boy saying, “Mom, I actually like this book!” she returned it to the shelf, took his hand, and dragged him away.

The clerk and I stood there, speechless.

(I work at a bookstore. A man comes in and asks me to recommend him a book. I ask the usual questions: what sort of thing does he like, what books has he liked in the past, and so on. With that information, I select a book, which he buys. A few days later, he comes back in.)

Customer: “That book was great! Couldn’t put it down! Can you write me another one?”

Me: “Can I recommend you another, you mean?”

Customer: “No, I mean are you going to write a sequel?”

Me: “Oh. I’m not a writer. The book was written by [Author]. I don’t think it has a sequel, but I can find you other books they’ve written if you like.”

Customer: “Oh. So… you didn’t write the books in the shop?”

Me: “I… No. I just sell them.”

Customer: “Oh. I always thought you guys wrote all the books in the shop!”

Me: “I wish. I’d be a lot richer if I did. We just sell them; we don’t write any of them.”

(The man look suddenly dejected and a little embarrassed, so I quickly add:)

Me: “I mean, it’s not uncommon for writers to work in bookshops. Some of my colleagues are writers, but as far as I know, none of their books are sold here. But somewhere there’s probably a writer who has their books in the shop they work in.”

(The man goes red, obviously embarrassed, so I decide to change the subject.)

Me: “Would you like me to recommend something else? [Author] has written quite a few books. If you liked that one, you’d probably really like these.”

(I led him over to a shelf and grabbed a few books, talking him through each one. I’m an avid reader and have read many of the books in the store, including the ones I am recommending. The man bought several books, apologised for what he said, and left. He’s been coming in every week for a while now to find a new book. Sometimes he apologises again for thinking we wrote the books but I always tell him it’s not a problem and that actually, I’m flattered that anyone would think I could write such good books.)

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(A woman and her young daughter are looking at an advertisement for ebooks. The girl looks about nine years old.)

Daughter: “Oh, look, mom! They have Life of Pi!”

Mother: “What’s that?”

Daughter: “It’s a movie. They have a book version of it now!”

Mother: “Oh, okay.”

Daughter: “Yeah, I liked it. It was really funny. But serious, too! But funny. But serious.”

(I work in a bookstore during college. A classmate of mine also works there, and is cleaning the glass windows by the entrance. A father with a young son walks up and stops near my classmate.)

Father: *talking to his son* “See this, [Son]? That is why you go to college.”

Classmate: “Excuse me. I’m in college. This job helps me pay for it.”

Father: “Yeah? Well, I bet it’s not a good college.”