(I’ve worked for this store for around three years, in three different locations. Tonight was the first time I’ve ever encountered a customer that made me want to take a shower after speaking to him. About five minutes before my shift ends and the customer on the other side wants a kids book called ‘Trick or Treat.’ I know we haven’t received our stock of Halloween books yet but I figure I can go ahead and order him one.)

Me: “Do you know the author’s name?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Okay, do you know if there’s any special character or animal associated with it, such as [Popular Children’s Book Character #1] or [Popular Children’s Book Character #2]?”

Customer: “No, it’s just called Trick or Treat.”

Me: “Well, unfortunately, there’s many books with that title, so without a character or author I can’t order it for you.”

Customer: “Try [Author #1].”

Me: “She does have a book called Trick or Treat, Smell My Feet. Is that the book you’re looking for?”

Customer: “What’s the title?”

Me: “Trick or Treat, Smell My Feet.”

Customer: “Wow, really? What’s the description?”

(I pull up the blurb and tell him the first couple of sentences. At this point, he asks me to repeat the title and then the description once more. Alarm bells start ringing in my head and I remind him that the book is not in store and that we won’t have any Halloween books for a couple of more.)

Customer: “Right, I guess I’ll try again in a few weeks. What about books on torture?”

Me: “In… the… children’s section?”

(Yes, I did say it exactly like that. This being my second day at this new location, my new coworkers definitely gave me some strange looks at this point.)

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “Sir, the children’s section won’t have books like that.”

Customer: “Oh, okay. What about in your historical war reference section?”

(Those alarm bells from earlier are now a full-fledged siren. Around a year or so ago, I heard a story about a guy who would call stores until he got a female worker and then ask them to describe different books, which was later determined to be his kinks. These books included torture books, especially foot torture. Now I’m just looking to get off the phone in as quick as a manner possible.)

Me: “We don’t have any in the store, unfortunately. Do you have an author in mind?”

Customer: “What about [Author #2]?”

Me: “Unfortunately my system doesn’t pull anything up for that author.”

Customer: “Oh, that’s too bad.”

Me: “Have a great night, sir.”

(I hung up the phone, called my manager, and told him I was leaving, and clocked out before the phone could ring again.)

Related:

On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 17

On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 16

On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 15

(I work in a bookstore.)

Customer: “You sure have a lot of books in here!”

Me: “Yes, I was thinking about selling some.”

I’m standing at the till in the bookshop where I work. There are a few customers walking around, but no one seems to need my help. To my right, between the till and the door, are several displays with cards; we call it the jungle.

I’m pricing books when an unexpected sound comes from the jungle. I turn my head to witness a woman with a head of iceberg lettuce in her hand, browsing the cards. As I watch, this deer in disguise tears off a good chunk of lettuce and eats it, chewing matter-of-factly, causing the sound I wasn’t expecting to hear in the bookshop. I slowly turn back to my pricing, too surprised to even ask if she wants help.

I am convinced that she was a hardcore vegan, and that was her version of a snack.

Customer: “I need a book on homosexuals?”

Me: “Fiction or nonfiction?”

Customer: “Probably nonfiction, although I don’t really know. My son wants something to school his eight-year-olds on how homosexuals evolved.”

Me: “Umm, I think you might mean ‘homo sapiens’?”

Customer: “What’s the difference?”

Me: “Homosexual is gay and lesbian, while homo sapiens is the human species.”

Customer: *blank stare*

Me: “Why don’t I pick something out, and if he doesn’t think it’s right he can return it within 28 days?”

(I picked a book and she purchased it. A week later we got a call from her son thanking me for putting her right, as apparently, every bookstore she had been in prior to mine had laughed her out of the door for confusing the two terms.)

(A customer holding her baby approaches me at the help desk.)

Customer: “I just asked my husband to go change the baby’s diaper in the restroom, and he said there was no changing table in the men’s room.”

Me: “Well, ma’am—“

(She cuts me off.)

Customer: “I mean, it’s the twenty-first century; men are parents, too. Parenting is a partnership. This isn’t the 1950s.”

Me: “Ma’am, we—“

Customer: “I just think it’s really embarrassing that a store like yours is still enforcing these gender stereotypes, and it’s not fair to only have a changing table in the women’s restroom. I mean, come on! Get with the times!”

Me: *finally getting a word in* “Ma’am, there is a changing table in the men’s restroom.”

(The customer stares at me, looking confused, for a moment.)

Customer: “Then why did my husband say there wasn’t one?”

Me: “I don’t know. Maybe he just didn’t want to change the baby?”

(She thinks for a moment and it dawns on her. Suddenly, her frustrated expression turns angry.)

Customer: “Thank you. I’m going to go find my husband now.”

(And with that, she stormed off. I guess she’s living in the twenty-first century, but her husband has some catching up to do.)