I was about fifteen and went to a popular chain clothing store — the only one in our small town — after school one day with my mom. This particular store’s uniform was famous for being a red polo shirt and khakis. Unfortunately for me, this was also my school’s uniform. However, we had the distinction of having our school logo and motto emblazoned on the back. While we were shopping, a woman approached us.

Woman: “Excuse me? Where do I find batteries?”

Mom: “Oh, we just passed that. I think aisle four?”

Woman: *Angrily* “I was talking to the employee.”

We both looked around, confused. Finally, I realized she meant me and I laughed.

Me: “No, no, sorry, I don’t work here. But we did just see it; I’m sure it was aisle four.”

Woman: *Even angrier* “Don’t lie! That’s very rude! You clearly work here!”

Mom: “Ma’am, this is my daughter and she is in her school uniform. She does not work here.”

I turned so the lady could see the back of my shirt when my mom said this. It should have been clear at this point that I was not an employee, but the lady wasn’t having any of our “trickery.”

Woman: *Aghast* “OH, I SEE! TOO BUSY CHATTING WITH YOUR MOM TO HELP CUSTOMERS! I WANNA SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER!”

Mom: “SHE DOESNT WORK HERE! We just came from school. It’s on the back of her shirt!”

Woman: “They let them wear whatever they want around here! I’m not falling for this! I’ll have you fired for this!”

Mom: “Listen here, you STUPID—”

I cut her off and politely told the woman I’d be happy to help her. I had noticed we were in an aisle that had one of those phones at the end where you could ring for an employee to come to your location, so I picked it up and asked for a manager to come to our aisle. He arrived in less than a minute, with that woman staring daggers at my smiling face the whole time.

Manager: “Hi, how can I help you ladies today?”

The woman started screaming about what happened and how she wanted me fired.

Manager: *To me* “You go to [Local High School]?”

Me: “Yes, sir.”

Manager: *Sigh* “Every f****** week…”

I burst out laughing and watched as that lady’s face went shock white as she realized (finally!) that I didn’t work there. Mom and I left the aisle and thought that would be the end of it. But it is a small town, so of course, it wasn’t.

I went back to the store three years later to get my first job and the manager remembered me. Apparently, he’d been telling my story for years to new employees as a way to encourage what he called “smart versus good customer service.” He placed me behind the customer service desk, and I had been there about a month when that same lady came up to the desk to be serviced. I could see her staring at me as she waited in line and trying to place me. I watched the color leave her face and the light die in her eyes as she figured it out. When it came to be her turn for service, she let the man behind her go ahead so she could be helped by my coworker. I had to stifle my laughter.

I worked in a women’s clothing store when I was in uni. We were known for having pretty decent prices while also having really good deals and promotions.

The first Black Friday I worked, it was absolutely insane. We had a really good promotion going on so the store was packed. The line to the till was literally almost out the door. Between running to get stock, checking on customers in the dressing room, and just being there to help, I was suddenly stopped by this middle-aged woman.

Customer: *In a pleasant tone* “Hey! I was wondering if you could help me!”

Me: “Of course! What do you need help with?”

Customer: “Well, you see, I want to return this shirt, but I have a wedding to go to in twenty minutes. I was wondering if I could skip the line to get my return done since I’m in a hurry.”

I literally stared at her in disbelief. How could this woman miss the long line snaking across the store (we were one of the biggest stores in our chain) and out the doors and think it was appropriate to skip the whole d*** line?!

Me: “No, but if you get out your receipt as you stand in line, that will help make the return go more quickly once it’s your turn.”

She looked at me like she’d never heard the word no, huffed, and walked out.

As happy as I was that she didn’t yell at me or make a scene, especially on Black Friday, I still question how entitled she had to be to request skipping the whole line as if she was more important. I’m so glad I’m out of retail.

I work in a clothing chain and it is Black Friday, so it is heaving. A customer comes out of the dressing room. The wait to use the dressing room is about forty minutes long.

Customer: “The floor in your dressing room smells like feet.”

Me: “Sorry, sir. It’s very busy today, and—”

Customer: “I want a discount on my jeans because of it.”

Me: “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir.”

Customer: “I don’t want this, then.”

The customer stares at me as he sloooooowly places the super-discounted pair of jeans into the returns tray. He is daring me to stop him and save myself the distress of losing such a valuable sale.

I do nothing.

Customer: “You think I’m bluffing!”

Me: “No, sir. I think you’ve waited forty minutes to try on a pair of $25 jeans on Black Friday and you still want to get it cheaper.”

He harrumphed loudly and stormed off, tossing the jeans on the floor.

It was a long day.

I worked at a popular clothing store for a couple of years and had my fair share of crazy customers. But when people ask me what the weirdest thing I had to deal with was, this comes to mind first.

The store is a two-level store and always has been. It’s located in a huge mall. The top level is for men’s and children’s clothing, and the bottom level is for women’s. Each level connects with an entrance to the rest of the mall, but we have our own escalator and elevator inside the store to allow customers to move between our two levels only. The elevator is hard to find and all the way in the corner, but the escalator is right in the middle and hard to miss.

I am upstairs in the children’s section, walking out of the stockroom and heading to the elevator, when a lady stops me halfway.

Lady: “Excuse me, where is your women’s section?”

Me: “It’s downstairs.”

She looks at me all perplexed.

Lady: “But you don’t have a downstairs.”

I’m not sure what to say; we are standing literally five feet away from the escalator. I point to said escalator.

Me: “Yeah, it’s just that way.”

She turns around, looks at the escalator, and then looks back at me.

Lady: “But you’ve never had a downstairs.”

She looks a mixture of confused and irritated and is talking to me as if I’m stupid. I REALLY don’t know what to say at this point, so I pause for a couple of seconds before replying.

Me: “…well, we do now?”

She stared at me for like three seconds before turning around and getting on the escalator that would take her to this mythical land of downstairs. And I just stood there for the next ten seconds wondering what the h*** had just happened.

The company I work for sells women’s clothing. There’s a section that’s specifically made for loungewear, and it’s known for being super soft. Here’s the issue, which is not new for clothes in general: it doesn’t stay as soft as when you first buy it. From my experience working there for over a year now, it retains the softness longer as long as you don’t put it in the dryer.

And that’s exactly what I tell people when they ask, “Does it stay soft?”

This is understood for the most part. There are usually two reactions: “Oh, okay, cool. I can do that,” or, “Ah, well. That sucks, then.” 

A woman comes in, sees the section of soft loungewear, and immediately loves it.

Customer: “Oh, but does it stay this soft forever?”

Me: “From my experience, it stays fairly soft as long as you air dry it instead of putting it in the dryer.”

Customer: “Oh, no, I put all my clothes in the dryer. I never air dry.”

Me: “Okay.”

There’s silence as she stares at me.

Customer: “Is there any other way to keep it soft?”

Me: “I mean, maybe the dry cleaners know som—”

Customer: “Oh, no, I never take my clothes to the dry cleaners. I do my own laundry.”

Me: *Getting annoyed* “All right.”

Customer: “Is there a technique to keep it soft?”

Me: “The only one I’m aware of is to let it air dry.”

Customer: “That’s not happening.”

Me: “Then I guess it won’t stay soft.”

Maybe I’m just easily annoyed, but this conversation irritated me way more than it should’ve.