I had a new job as a clothing chain store manager, salaried for forty hours a week. The horrible district manager picked apart everything I did and gave me heck for refusing to work more than fifty hours per week when I was six months pregnant with my first child.

I’m talking with a long-time staffer.

Me: “I don’t know why [District Manager] is so awful to me.”

Coworker: “It’s because she’s having trouble getting pregnant, and she’s jealous.”

I did not go back there when my maternity leave was done.

A customer calls our clothing store.

Customer: “How much are your dresses?”

Me: “Can you be more specific about what you’re looking for? We have a large selection.”

Customer: “Just give me the range.”

Me: “Anywhere from $20 to $200.”

I work in a lingerie and adult store. Two women come in and set a lot of erotic stuff on the counter.

Me: “That’s $233.”

Customer: “Can we use this?”

They hand me a food stamp card. Not only that, but the name on the card is something like Xing Hua, and while I never try to assume with a name, both women are white.

Me: “That card is only good for food.” 

Customer: “Oh… okay.”

And they just walked away.

While I was in teacher’s college, I got a part-time, minimum-wage job at a clothing store. They scheduled me against my availability one week, so I called the manager.

Me: “I can’t work the closing shift on [day]. I have a big project due the next day.”

The manager made a big fuss, refused to reschedule, and then stupidly told me:

Manager: “You’re going to have to choose between this job and teacher’s college!”

Me: “Well, that’s easy. I quit.”

And I hung up.

Funnily enough, that whole clothing store chain folded by the time I got my first teaching job.

I work at a high-end bra store. We tailor the bras we sell to fit our clients as best as possible; any alterations done for the fit of a new bra are free. Clients may also in some cases bring back old bras for us to repair or make tighter or smaller so they can extend the life of their bras for a fee. Old bras that leave our shop must be washed before being dropped off for repair.

A lady came in on a busy Saturday and dropped five old, dirty bras on the counter.

Customer: “I want these altered. I want [massive alterations] done, and I don’t want to have to pay the fee for it. I need this done right now.”

Me: “Ma’am, our seamstress isn’t in on Saturdays, so I can’t have these altered today. Also, we require that bras be washed before we work on them.”

They were dirty and smelled awful, and further conversation revealed that they were twelve years old.

The lady tried to fight us on it, and we went back and forth for a while. When she realized she was about to be banned from the store, she caved. She took the bras home, washed them, brought them back another day, paid the nearly $120 it cost to alter them, and waited a week for them to be completed like everyone else. The alterations took our seamstress about three hours.