Really Putting His Foot In It

, , , , , | Working | May 20, 2018

(My older brother and I are at the skating rink. I’m tall — six feet- and he’s about average — 5’7” — but we wear the same shoe size, which is a reasonable size for a guy, but rather large for a girl like me and hard to find in women’s sizes. As such, I decide to ask for my skates in men’s sizes, and this happens when we get to the skate rental:)

Brother: *to rental attendant* “Yeah, can I get a nine?”

Rental Attendant: “Sure, man. And how about you?” *looks at me*

Me: “Same as him.”

Rental Attendant: *looking skeptical* “Uh, okay, sure. Coming right up.”

(He goes to the back to get skates and then returns with two pairs of skates that are clearly not the same size. One is a women’s nine and one is a men’s nine. It’s an understandable mistake. He gives the men’s skates to my brother and starts to hand the women’s skates to me.)

Me: “Oh, no, I meant I wanted the same size that he got.”

Rental Attendant: “You mean a men’s nine?”

Me: “Yeah, that’s what I meant.”

(I have always thought that “their jaw dropped” was an inaccurate representation of shock, but then I see this guy’s jaw quite literally drop.)

Rental Attendant: *incredibly loudly* “What? Really? D***, girl, your feet are huge!

Me: *a little surprised and quite embarrassed* “Yeah, um, I know. Can I just get my skates, please?”

(The rental attendant goes to the back to change out the skates, all the while muttering about huge feet. He brings my new skates out, and my brother and I go to put them on.)

Brother: *while tying skates* “How is he less okay with someone your size having big feet than a short guy like me?”

Me: *shrugs* “I don’t know. Weird logic.”

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Certainly Has Some Issues

, , , , | Right | April 16, 2018

(I work in a used bookstore that sells books and media. We often have large coffee table books for a dollar or two. A lady comes up to my register with an armload of large books and I ring her out.)

Me: “Would you like a bag or two for these?”

Customer: “IT’S YOUR ISSUE!”

Me: “Y…yes? Would a box be better? I can make a box!”


(She waves off a box and quickly becomes exasperated, as if we are forcing her to buy this giant pile of giant books. I put them in a couple of bags. She’s still not happy.)


Me: “I can help you to your car. Where are you going?”

Customer: “HOW FAR?!”

(I then realized that she was walking, and imagined carrying her books around town. I repeatedly asked where she lived but only got, “IT’S YOUR ISSUE,” in return. She came back a few more times and yelled, “IT’S YOUR ISSUE,” at different booksellers, to the point it became a catchphrase at the store. Was she on a personal crusade against bags? Or books? We still see her occasionally, but she has stopped buying large amounts of large books.)

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He Likes Them Green

, , , , , | Romantic | August 29, 2017

(I am a high school sophomore who is required to log service hours, and I decide to log some at a community center’s fundraiser. I’m a biracial [black and white] female, and though I have hazel eyes that often look green, with my hair pulled up I appear decidedly African American. A middle-aged male customer walks up to my station with a few relatively inexpensive items and puts everything onto the table.)

Customer: “Hello.”

Me: *sits up straight* “Good evening, sir. Will this be all for you tonight?”

Customer: *nods* “You’re a pretty girl, honey.” *sounds somewhat creepy*

Me: *thinking that this is one of those polite compliments that adults give children* “Um, thank you.”

(I begin to enter the amounts of his items onto the iPad that is being used for transactions.)

Customer: *almost to himself* “I didn’t know they came with green eyes.”

Me: *thinking that he’s talking to himself* “Okay, sir, that comes to—”

Customer: *interrupts* “Are your eyes real, honey?”

Me: *confused* “Um, yeah, of course they are. Your total is twelve—”

Customer: *interrupts again, in a creepily soft tone* “Honey, I like green-eyed girls.”

Me: *beginning to be weirded out* “Uh, your total is twelve-fifty. Card, check, or cash?”

Customer: *suddenly gets uncomfortably close to me* “I have cash. Lots of cash. You like cash, honey? I can make you a lot of it.”

Me: *now incredibly paranoid* “Um, sir, I-I’m fifteen…”

Customer: *suddenly steps back, looks at me like I’m crazy, pulls a twenty out of his pocket, slams it onto the table, grabs his items, and hurries out*

(I was immediately switched to another position when I informed the volunteer leader. It turned out they were trying to get that guy the heck out of the fundraiser for creeping out other volunteers.)

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