(My boyfriend has very curly, brown, shoulder-length hair, and I have black, straight hair a couple of inches longer.)

Me: *pointing to boyfriend* “I’d like a perm with curls just like those.”

Hair Stylist: *glares at me like I have two heads* “No can do.”

Me: “Er… no?”

Hair Stylist: “You want hair just like his?”

Me: “The curls, yeah. Is it possible to perm my hair that way? His are natural.”

Hair Stylist: “If you want his curls, he’s got to cut his hair.”

Boyfriend: “Are you saying match my length, too? No, I don’t want a cut.”

Hair Stylist: “If she curls, her hair will be much shorter than yours! She just can’t have curly hair your length if you won’t cut yours!”

Me: “I meant only like his in the size of the curls.”

Hair Stylist: “Look… If you curl your hair, it will be much shorter than his!”

Me: “I know!”

Hair Stylist: *to boyfriend* “Are you getting that cut?”

Boyfriend: “No, I’m not.”

Hair Stylist: “Then she can’t have your curls.”

Boyfriend: “Forget the length already. She would like curls that match these.”

Hair Stylist: “I’ve already said, she can’t have your curls if you aren’t getting a cut yourself.”

Me: “I know my hair will be shorter! The whole point is to have curls that look like that.”

(Even a second hair stylist repeated the first one. Nothing was ever said about matching color. We left and went somewhere else where they gave me my shorter, curly perm with no problem.)

(I’m a high school Spanish teacher, but I’m not Hispanic; I learned Spanish as a second language. I have one particular student in my class who shows little interest in the subject. One day, I call on him to answer a question.)

Student: “I don’t know! I’m not Mexican!”

Me: “Neither am I.”

(It is about twenty minutes before we open and I am vacuuming the front of the store. I hear a noise and look up to see a man peering into the door window and rapping on it with his keys. I turn off the vacuum and then unlock and crack the door open.)

Me: “Can I help you?”

Customer: “Are you open?”

Me: “We open at 11.”

(The sign with our hours is literally next to his face.)

Customer: “What time is it?”

Me: “10:40.”

Customer: “Oh! Okay. I guess I’ll come back.”

(I close and lock the door and go back to what I’m doing. Ten minutes later, one of the things I have to do before we open is to drag a bunch of furniture out front and “stage” it so it looks attractive. Since I’m alone, I do this ten or so minutes before open because it takes a while, but I don’t prop the door open and I leave all of the lights and music off inside. The man approaches again as I’m wrestling a picnic bench out the door.)

Customer: “OH, GOOD; you’re open.”

(He goes inside before I can say anything. I get the furniture outside as fast as I can and don’t bother staging it so I can be inside with this early customer. A few minutes before 11, I put the sandwich sign out and go about turning on the lights, music, and logging into the sales computer.)

Customer: “You forgot to turn on the lights! Must be having a frantic morning!”

Me: “Well, I usually don’t turn them on until we open.”

Customer: “I guess you didn’t expect a line of customers at the door this morning.”

Me: “I usually don’t expect customers in the store before open, true. It makes it difficult to finish opening the store properly.”

Customer: “Guess you’ll start earlier next time, eh?”

Me: “…so, was there anything specific you were looking for today?”

Customer: “Nah, I’m just browsing, thanks.”

(He left a few minutes later and, fortunately, it was slow enough to let me finish the rest of the opening duties between customers, before noon.)

(I have discovered that our sandwich chalkboard sign out front has been smeared by a child. This is the third time this week, and I’m a little miffed, but I haul it inside and set up to repair it. I’m in clear view of both the front door and the register, and I greet everyone who comes in so they know to come to me with questions. At one point, I hear a throat clear behind me and I turn around to see a woman standing there and glaring.)

Woman: “Are you going to help me or what?!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t realize you needed help. What can I help you with?”

Woman: “Of course you didn’t know, because you aren’t doing your job. This is something you should do when there are not customers.”

Me: “My apologies. It’s been a bit slow, and I need to get this fixed up so it can go back outside. I assumed most people would ask if they needed something.”

Woman: “You need to do this before the store opens because it’s distracting.”

Me: *finally losing patience* “Ma’am, my boss doesn’t pay me enough to live on during the hours I’m scheduled, as it is. He’s certainly not going to pay for me to come in thirty minutes early and make the sign, which I’ve never had issues doing during open hours before. Now, what did you need help with?”

Woman: “Never mind. I don’t remember my question, and I’ve got better things to do than being told off by some mouthy worker.”

Me: “Very good, then. Have a good day.”

(She stood there another minute or two, glaring, then left. Apparently, she called the next day and complained that I was “messing around” on the clock and ignoring customers.)

(It’s about three minutes before I close. I notice a group of people hovering outside the — unlocked — door, peering in through the glass. When they see me they gesture emphatically, so I approach.)

Me: *opening door* “Hi?”

Customer: “Hi! Are you closed?”

Me: “In about two minutes.”

Customer: “Oh, good, we can come in for two minutes.”

Me: “Uh, sure. Are you looking for a specific item? Maybe I can help?”

Customer: “Oh, no, we’re just browsing!”

Me: “Okay, well, I am going to be starting on closing procedures in a few minutes here.”

Customer: “Of course. Don’t mind us!”

(They were there for fifteen minutes.)