(I am looking for a job around my town, armed with printouts of my CV doing an old school “door knock.” I’m not having much luck; however, most places have been nice and are kind enough to take my resumé in the hopes that “something may come up.” I’m down to my last resumé when I try the local newsagency. An older woman is behind the counter.)

Me: “Hi, I was wondering if—”

Worker: *rudely interrupting* “We’re not hiring and if you give us that resume I see in your hand it’s just going to go straight into the bin!”

Me: *a tad shocked, but hastily put on a smile* “Okay, thanks anyway!”

(I turn away to exit the shop thinking I probably dodged a bullet there anyway, when I hear her call me back.)

Worker: “Hang on! How old are you, by the way?”

(I smile, as I know exactly what she is doing. In my country, workers are paid a minimum wage not just by industry, but by age as well. A 15-year-old working in a newsagency, for example, would have to be paid at least $12-14 an hour under the retail award rate, but a 21-year-old would have to be paid at least $20-23 an hour. For this reason a lot of employers don’t like hiring older people, and often turn them away for their younger, much cheaper-to-hire counterparts. Despite this, it is still illegal to discriminate against age and it is illegal to ask any prospective employees their age or date of birth. I am in my early 20s, therefore “expensive” to hire, but I look much younger then my age, with people always thinking I’m in my mid teens. She probably thinks I’m only around 16-17 years old. It is perfectly acceptable to decline answering a question about age, as I do here.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel comfortable answering that.”

Worker: “Look, it’s ok to admit your age. I’m not going to judge. Just tell me, then I might be able to have a look at your resume and see if we have something.”

Me: “I’m not going to tell you my age. I don’t have to and I don’t want to. Thank you for maybe considering my resume if I’m a certain age, but I’m going to have to decline. Thanks again.”

(I go to leave, when I hear an angry outburst behind me.)

Worker: “FINE! I wouldn’t even want to accept some pathetic high school drop-out anyway! There’s too many of you in this god-**** town and the reason why is because all you teenagers are the same: f****** lazy little f***s!”

(Angry, I march up to the counter.)

Me: “First off, I’m in my early 20s. Secondly, I am no high school drop-out. I have been working since I was legally able to at 15 all while finishing school and probably far more capable then you are. For starters, I actually know how to treat people, including job-hunters that could also be customers in the store. I couldn’t care less if you offered me $100 dollars an hour for this job. I would hate to work alongside a vile co-worker such as yourself, and if you are the manager I have a lot more self-respect then to take orders from you. I think I’ve done the right thing to decline your offer. Now, thank you for time. You’ve shown me what kind of worker you are and should avoid. Have a nice day.”

(I work at a 24 hour pharmacy/convenience store. We use scanner guns, or ‘symbols,’ to locate items, determine inventory, etc. Our store has five symbols, and while I’m very careful not to leave mine unattended, as my manager has told me not to many times in the past, some of the other employees are a bit blasé about it. One day I’m taken off register to start hanging sale signs. I notice the girl who has replaced me on register left her symbol on a stock cart in an aisle, so I pick it up and put it on my sign cart, not wanting to leave it unattended. I see another abandoned cart with a symbol, this one belonging to my supervisor who had gone up ten or fifteen minutes earlier to help a customer. I do the same with this one, as I figured he would be a while and he could just grab it back from me later. I see yet ANOTHER symbol left in a crate of stock that a coworker had been working on before her shift ended. I grab that one, too, and finish up my signs. I head up front to throw away some trash, and bump into my supervisor. At this point I have four of the five symbols our store has on my cart.)

Supervisor: *looks at the symbols, then at me* “Wha…?”

Me: “I’ve been collecting.”

Customer: “I’m looking for some chips my wife asked me to get.”

Me: “Sure, what kind?”

Customer: “She said ‘pixie conifer.’”

Me: “Sorry… what?”

Customer: “Pixie conifer. In a green bag.”

Me: “I’ve… never heard of anything like that.”

Customer: “Well, she used to work with trees. That might have something to do with it.”

Me: “Hang on, let me check here…”

(I pull out my phone and Google ‘pixie conifer’ just to see if anything comes up. Unsurprisingly, nothing.)

Me: “You said ‘pixie’, right? Like a fairy?”

Customer: “Yeah. Pixie Conifer. Green bag.”

Me: “Sorry, I’ve never heard of such a thing. All of our chips are on those shelves if you want to look, but that’s a new one to me.”

Customer: “Hang on.”

(He pulls out his phone and dials, wandering off so I can’t hear his end of it.)

Customer: “All right, I talked to her. She wants ‘pickle vinegar.’”

Me: “Thaaat makes more sense. Right over here…”

(There are several small, family-owned corner stores around where I live. The nearest is just five minutes away and the staff are very friendly and welcoming when I go in, but it closes around nine pm and I frequently work until nearly midnight. There’s another store that’s open 24 hours just two minutes around the corner but I stopped going there after several uncomfortable experiences with one of the workers. I never reported it because all the workers are the owner’s family.  One late night about a month ago, I needed to pick up something. Peering into the 24 hour store, I didn’t see the worker and decided I had to chance it. I didn’t see him any time I checked for about a month after and thought that maybe something had happened like he’d quit or been fired or was working a different shift. Two nights ago I didn’t check for him before I went in and he was there when I got to the till. For context I am mid-20s but I look younger. He looks between 35 and early 40s.)

Me: *places items on the counter, clearly avoiding looking at him*

Worker: “Oh, hello. I haven’t seen you in a while. I was beginning to think you’d moved away.”

Me: *refusing to engage him*

Worker: “I still think you’re very pretty, you know. And you’re still not married? No boyfriend?”

Me: *still not answering*

Worker: *scanning my items and bagging them* “I still don’t understand why you won’t give me your number. I’m kind of heartbroken. Why won’t you give me your number? I could make you very happy.”

Me: *realising that he isn’t going to take my silence as an answer* “Like I told you last time, I don’t want you to have my number.”

Worker: “But I would be a nice person for you. We would be happy. I was very worried about you. I know you have a phone.”

Me: *give him my card to pay* “I don’t care. I don’t want to give you my number.”

Worker: *as he is processing my payment* I think you are being very silly. We could be very happy together. You should give me your number.

(I see the receipt print and snatch my card off him because I’ve had enough.)

Me: “I don’t want to give you my number. I am not interested in you. I have never been interested in you. I have said no multiple times as politely as I can and if you don’t take ‘no’ as an answer now, why the h*** would you take it as an answer at any other part of our non-existent lives together? You always ask very invasive questions and I always ask you not to. You once tried to hold my items hostage in an attempt to get me to give you my number and you constantly tell me how pretty I look despite me telling you how uncomfortable that makes me feel. You don’t even know my name yet you constantly pass judgement on me for ‘not being married’ and then you promise to ‘save me from the shame if only I’d give you my number.’ You want to know why I haven’t been here in a while? It’s because of you. It’s because I don’t want to deal with you and frankly I’ve had enough. Thank you. I will not be coming back.”

(He looked like a kicked puppy as I took my items and left but I refuse to feel sorry. I don’t even walk past that store any more.)

(A good 90% of our customers speak Welsh, so I end up speaking Welsh 90% of the time.)

Me: *in Welsh* “Good evening, sir. Would you like a carrier bag for your shopping?”

Customer: *unintelligible grunt*

Me: *still in Welsh* “Was that ‘yes’ to a bag, sir?”

Customer: *in English* “What?”

Me: *in English* “Sorry, sir! Would you like a bag for your purchases?”

Customer: “Do I look Welsh to you?”

Me: “I couldn’t say, sir. I noticed a daffodil and a dragon pin in your jacket and took you to be local. I am sorry if I caused offence.”

Customer: “You shouldn’t speak Welsh.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “You shouldn’t speak Welsh. It’s rude.”

(I pondered arguing back about his own rudeness for telling me I should not speak my language in my country, but settled for just saying “sorry” again and completing his transaction in silence.)