I’m just a customer, browsing books in the department store’s book section near the checkout, when I hear a panicked voice over the walkie of one of the employees:

Employee: “We’ve got a child, maybe five or six, no parent in sight. He’s fine, just lost. Anyone free to stay with him until Mum shows?”

The child is sitting cross-legged by the luggage section, happily eating raisins. All the employees are men. They glance at each other, then, in perfect unspoken agreement, swivel and look at me, the lone female nearby.

Employee: “Uh… hey, would you mind just keeping an eye on him for a minute?”

Me: “I’m a stranger in a store. You’re all wearing name tags and earpieces. And I’m the best option because…?”

Employee: “You know. You seem… nurturing.”

Before I can respond, a woman runs in from the other side of the store, frantic and near tears.

Mother: “Oh my god, there you are! I turned around for one second, thank you, thank you, thank you—”

Reunited, kid’s fine, mom’s fine. Everyone breathes again. The employees start drifting off, clearly hoping the situation’s been smoothed over.

As I walk past the group of staff, I smile sweetly and say:

Me: “You know, next time you find a lost child, maybe try paging a manager instead of the nearest uterus.”

I purchased the book somewhere else.

A man hands over a wristwatch for a battery replacement. I slide it onto the little mat, open the back, and confirm the battery size.

Customer: “Make it fast. I don’t like leaving it out of my sight.”

Me: “No problem. This should take just a couple of minutes.”

I pop the old battery out, replace it, and reset the hands.

Customer: “Careful with the back. One scratch and it loses its value.”

Me: “I’ll close it gently.”

Customer: “Good. If I see even one mark, I’m telling everyone online that you ruined it.”

I hand it back with the lens polished, band wiped, and hands ticking smoothly.

Me: “Please do. I’ll be happy to explain how you’re doing that over a $5 battery going into a fake Rolex.” 

Customer: “My Rolex is not a fake!”

Me: “Real Rolexes don’t have batteries.”

The look on his face…

I’m working in the perfume department. A customer walks over, already looking ready for an argument.

Customer: “Why don’t you guys ever carry normal scents? Everything smells like a hotel lobby or a fruit salad.”

Me: “We do have a range, actually. Was there a particular scent you’re looking for?”

Customer: “I just want something that smells feminine! Not a tree. Not a candy shop.”

Me: “Well, ‘feminine’ means something different to everyone. Some go for florals, some musks, some sandalwood—”

Customer: *Grabbing a bottle and spraying it into the air.* “—Ugh. This one smells like someone trying too hard.”

Me: “That’s actually one of our top sellers.”

Customer: *Shouting.* “Of course it is! People have no taste anymore. This generation couldn’t sniff out elegance if it slapped them!”

Me: “Well, that’s the good thing about true elegance, it doesn’t need to slap… or shout… or make a scene.”

Customer: *Turning red and deflating.* “Well… nothing here is elegant enough anyway!” *Stomps off.*

I work in the home electronics section. A customer walks up holding a boxed smart thermostat.

Customer: “Excuse me, I need you to explain why this is so expensive. It’s just a thermostat!”

Me: “Well, it’s a smart thermostat. It learns your heating and cooling patterns, optimizes energy usage, and can be controlled remotely with your phone.”

Customer: “I don’t want it learning anything. I want it to listen, like I want my husband to!”

Me: “Riiiight, well, this model is just popular because it can help lower energy bills.”

Customer: “My house isn’t that big, and I don’t need an app telling me it’s cold! I get enough of those annoying and useless updates from my husband!”

She scoffs and shoves the box back on the shelf, backwards, of course, before marching off muttering about technology ruining society

A different customer, who’s been quietly browsing nearby, catches my eye and deadpans:

Other Customer: “Don’t need a smart thermostat to tell us that it’s very cold in her house.”

I work by a battery recycling kiosk in a department store. A man approaches the clearly labeled battery drop-off bin. It’s got big signage: “Used Batteries Only: No Trash, No Electronics, No Liquids.”

He’s holding… a full pint of milk.

Customer: “Where do I put this? It says ‘no liquids,’ but it’s sealed.”

Me: “Sir, that’s… milk.”

Customer: “Yeah, but I figured it’s expired, so it counts as used.”

Me: “Used batteries. Not used dairy.”

Customer: *Pointing to the bin.* “Well, can’t you just take it this once?”

Me: “If that bin starts smelling like spoiled milk, we’ll never get people to recycle anything again. Unless that milk can hold a charge, it’s not our department.”

He storms off muttering something about customer service, but leaving the milk behind, of course.