(When I was twelve years old, I was about 5’2” or 5’3” – about 155 or 160 cm for you non-Americans. Not the tallest girl in my class, but taller than average for my age. One day, my mother takes me and my younger sister shopping. While she is in the fitting room with my sister, she tells me to wait just outside the door. Bored, and seeing that a display table of shirts is a stirred up mess, I start folding shirts.)

Customer: “Hey! I’m talking to you!”

(I realize a woman I’d heard and tuned out is looking at me.)

Me: “Me?”

Customer: “Yes, you! Where are your capris?”

Me: “Uh, I… I don’t…”

Customer: “Don’t give me that. I know you sell them! They’re in your flyer.”

Me: “I don’t know.”

(The woman steps into my personal space and raises her voice, berating me about a sale being advertised. I am frozen, wide-eyed, and speechless. A sales associate on the other side of the store starts toward us, but my mom comes out of the fitting room first.)

Mom: “You don’t talk to her like that!”

Customer: “She was being rude to me!”

Mom: “I don’t care! You don’t talk to her like that; you don’t need to talk to her at all!”

Employee: *finally arriving* “Ladies, how can I help you?”

Customer: “Are you the manager? This girl ignored me and then refused to help me!”

(I am wearing a girly-girl sundress, while the store uniform is a polo shirt and khaki pants.)

Employee: “She doesn’t work here, but I can help you.”

Customer: “But she WAS working!”

Mom: *catching on* “She’s twelve!

Customer: “Then WHY was she FOLDING SHIRTS?!”

Employee: “Just to be nice. Ma’am, what do you need? How can I help you?”

(The employee guided her away from us, while the customer threw a parting shot over her shoulder that I shouldn’t fold shirts if I didn’t work there.)

Mom: *loud enough for her to hear, and earning a dirty look* “Next time a strange adult yells at you, you run away from them and you find me.”

(Later, the employee came back and made a point of thanking me for being helpful – even though I later saw her refolding the shirts more neatly. And for a few years it was a running joke in my family to ask me WHY I was FOLDING the laundry.)

(I am waiting in line to make my purchase. There are plenty of cashiers.)

Lady In Front Of Me: *beckons to an employee* “Can I return this here?” *shows the employee a bag with something in it*

Employee: “Should be no problem, if you have the receipt!”

(The lady is then called by the cashier, who is shown the receipt and the merchandise she wants returned.)

Cashier: “I can’t return this!”

Lady In Front Of Me: *turns around to the employee and points* “SHE said I could!”

(The employee rapidly comes up to the cashier, who points out.)

Cashier: “This receipt is from ten years ago!”

Lady In Front Of Me: *wails* “YOU SAID I COULD RETURN IT!”

(We’ve just opened up the store and I’m ringing up the first customer of the day. At the end of the transaction, I hand the woman her receipt and the customer scans it carefully.)

Customer: “The sign back there said that the flip flops were two for $6. Why was I charged $4.95?”

Me: “Oh! You only bought one, so they’re regular price that way.”

Customer: “But the sign says two for $6, shouldn’t they be $3?”

Me: “If you bought two pairs, yes, they’re $3 each. But… you only bought one pair of flip flops. The sign clearly says ‘Two for $6.’”

Customer: *getting angry* “Yes, but at some stores that doesn’t mean anything! You can buy just one and still get the sale price!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, you only get the $3 price if you buy two pairs.”

Customer: *angrily storming away* “You know, you people should really put that on the sign!”

(I’m in the dressing room of a small mom-and-pop clothing boutique. This particular store doesn’t have mirrors in the stalls but instead has several mirrors around the common part of the dressing room area. I just tried on a dress and am looking in the mirror. I’m overweight, which makes it hard for me to find outfits I look good in, and this one seems to fit the bill. All of a sudden:)

Attendant: “Excuse me?”

Me: “Yes?”

Attendant: “Just wanted to mention… we have a lot of mirrors, and, um, we call this one our skinny mirror, um, because it makes you look skinnier than, um, you are, and, like, we just try to tell customers, so, um, they can look in other… mirrors…”

(I am really upset; it feels like a comment on my weight. I turn to her, about to say something about it, when I see that she’s bright red and stammering.)

Attendant: “I’m so sorry! We have to tell that to customers! The dress looks beautiful on you! I’ve only been here for a week and I haven’t figured out a nice way to say it yet!”

(I had to feel bad, so I just told her it was fine. I looked in another mirror… I ended up not keeping the dress.)

(We’ve recently gotten a new coworker who I can tell is not going to work out. Our lingerie store caters to a wide variety of sizes, and our plus size lines are very popular as it’s hard for bigger women to find decent looking but reasonably priced lingerie. My co-worker constantly finds a reason not to serve these women and then makes fun of them as soon as they leave, much to our disgust. She’s been spoken to by our supervisor and our service staff manager, but usually cries until they feel bad and send her on her way. Being a slightly larger woman myself at a size 18, she makes me very uncomfortable and often makes disapproving noises at me while I’m eating in the office on my break. She also constantly flirts with customer’s boyfriends or husbands, often right in front of their girlfriends or wives. A very, VERY attractive man in his mid-20s comes into our store, looking around, a little embarrassed. This is pretty normal. My co-worker sees him and instantly makes a beeline for him, even though she is supposed to stay on the register.)

Coworker: “Hi there! Welcome to [Lingerie Store]. I must say I’m a little sad to see you shopping in here. Does that mean you’re spoken for?”

(She says all this breathily while batting her eyelashes and standing way too close. The guy is clearly uncomfortable.)

Customer #1: “Uh, well, yes. I’m married.”

Coworker: *giggling like an idiot* “Aww, that’s too bad…”

Customer #1: “Uh, it’s my wife’s birthday next week, and she really hasn’t felt too great about herself since she had our daughter a few months ago. I’d like to get her something that would make her feel pretty.”

Coworker: “Oh, women absolutely ruin their bodies having children. I’ve never had any, so I’m still perfect all over!” *winks*

(At this point I’d like to go and help the poor guy escape, but I’m helping a customer. I can see that the two women standing by the front door looking at the racks are listening.)

Customer #1: Uh, I think she’s still perfect. It’s just that, well, SHE doesn’t.”

Coworker: *finally realising he’s not taking the bait* “Hmm, okay, if you say so. Do you know her size at least?”

Customer #1: *visibly relieved* “Yes actually, I checked the tag in one of her bras. She’s a 24; she used to be a double D but—“

Coworker: “She’s WHAT size?!”

Customer #1: “A 24?”

Coworker: *steps back* “Ew, that’s disgusting! Get out of here you sick freak!”

(At this point I drop the bras I’m holding and RUN to the customer.)

Me: “Sir, I am so sorry!” *to coworker* “What the h*** are you doing?!”

Coworker: “Get him out! There is no way a guy who looks like THAT would marry someone like that unless he’s one of those freaks who gets off on it!” *shouting at customer* “You sick freak! Get out!”

(The poor guy is standing there, mystified, when suddenly one of the customers from the entrance comes over.)

Customer #2: “Sir, I would like to sincerely apologise for the way this woman is acting. I assure you that’s not how we do business here, and if you’d wait just a moment for me to deal with this, I will get you anything your wife would like, on the house.”

Coworker: “Excuse me, who the h*** do you think you are?”

(The woman flips out the lanyard from inside her shirt. On it hangs one of our store IDs, with the words REGIONAL MANAGER written under her picture.)

Customer #2: “Hi. I’m your boss’s boss. Well, not anymore. You are officially being let go. Get out of my store, NOW.”