One day in Highschool a friend and I went to a fast-food burger place inside of a large department store. This friend had an issue with one of his knees, a lasting injury from a nasty fall he had taken last year. Due to the issue with his knee he needed to brace himself when sitting down, this included using the crossbars in most Handicap stalls in public bathrooms.

He and I both go to the bathroom; he takes the stall but I am just there to wash my hands when an elderly gentleman comes in in a wheelchair. He isn’t too pleased that the stall is occupied and keeps hammering on the door with his fist and swearing.

Me: “Hey! Knock it off, he’ll be out when he’s out.”

Man: “He shouldn’t be in there; this is a handicap stall!”

Me: “You don’t even know who is in there, how do you know they don’t have a disability?”

Man: “Tell him to get the f*** out!”

Me: “Wait your d*** turn!”

The door opens and my friend steps out.

Friend: “You’re very rude.”

Man: “SEE! YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN IN THERE! MOVE!”

He tries to ram himself through the door even though my friend is still in the way but he pushes him back with the stall door.

Friend: “The f*** is wrong with you!?”

Man: “Get the f*** OUT OF MY WAY!”

Friend: “Let me get out of the stall first!”

Man: “You shouldn’t be in there in the first place!”

Friend: “I NEED to use this stall, I have a knee injury!”

Me: “Not all disabilities are visible.”

Man: “Bull-s***!”

He attempts to ram my friend again but he pushes back once more.

Friend: “You f****** touch me again and we’re going to have a problem, buddy!”

Me: “Dude, just let him out of the stall”

Man: “Fine, but hurry up!”

My friend steps out of the stall and pulls up his pants leg, displaying the deep, pitted scarring on his knee, it looks like a centipede on his skin.

Friend: “You see this? Huh!? You see this!?”

Man: “…”

Friend: “Yeah! That’s what I thought! F*** you.”

He storms out of the bathroom and I follow him.

Me: “You alright?”

Friend: “I’m sick and tired of this. Why does everyone assume just because I am young I can’t have a lasting injury or disability? This is the fourth or fifth time I’ve had to deal with some angry jack-a** in a bathroom.”

Me: “I dunno man, just… look older I guess.?”

We shared a laugh and went to sit down.

I work in the women’s clothing section of a department store. It’s a slow midweek afternoon and my department is empty when I get a call.

Customer: “Hello. I was wondering if you could give me some advice about an outfit?”

While the customer is speaking softly with a feminine pitch, the voice sounds masculine to me. I have just been warned by security that morning about men calling the lingerie department to sexually harass the female employees under the guise of “asking advice,” so I’m polite but on my guard.

Me: “Sure. What can I help you with?”

Customer: “Well, I’m going to be performing in a nightclub downtown soon. It’s my first time. I’m so excited! I have a black dress, but I’m not sure what jewelry to wear with it.”

To my delight, what follows is a very pleasant conversation about accessorizing, matching earrings and necklaces, matching jewelry with shoes, how much is too much, etc. As one of those people who kept her Barbies well into her teen years, being asked for fashion advice is my favorite thing ever. The customer thanks me for my time, and after hanging up, I immediately go to my coworkers to brag about my good fortune. As they were also raised on the “Barbie Fashion Designer” game, they are all suitably jealous and share their own stories about customers who were willing to become dress-up dolls.

A manager comes by and listens to our conversation, and her eyes go misty in fond remembrance.

Manager: “I had a customer who had just started her transition. She needed a whole new wardrobe and had no idea what she wanted. Complete blank slate. I got to spend hours putting outfits together for her. She let me pick everything.”

There’s a lot I don’t miss about working in retail, but the rare customers who would make me their fashion guru were the best part of that job.

My friend and I were in the bedding department shopping for a set of sheets. She had looked at several but hadn’t chosen anything yet. I walked away for a minute and came back to find her holding a sheet set in each hand with a puzzled look on her face.

Me: “What’s wrong?”

Friend: “I like these but I don’t know which to get. I can’t get both.”

I looked at the display, then at the sets in her hands, and then at her.

Me: “Just pick one.”

Friend: “I can’t decide!”

The sheet sets were identical! They were same colour, the same thread count, the same texture, the same price — the only difference was the brand. And she couldn’t decide between them!

Me: “They’re exactly the same! Just give them to me, close your eyes, and pick one.”

After a couple more minutes of indecisiveness, she put them down and walked off. She bought neither.

Shopping for shoes is even worse.

I was working in the window department of a large department store. A woman made her way over to the clearance section of our window coverings. She scanned the shelves for a bit before bringing over about six of a specific type of curtain.

I began to ring them in as she watched the total add up.

Customer: “Whoa, your system is wrong. Those are supposed to be $30 each. Why are they ringing up as $60? There was a sale sign!”

Me: *With a brief smile and nod* “I can go check that sign with you if you’d like so we can make sure they aren’t ringing incorrectly.”

Customer: *With a huff* “Yes.”

We made our way over to the sale sign. It simply stated SALE with a list of three different styles of curtains reduced to $30.

Me: “Ah, I see the confusion. This sale only applies to [styles #1, #2, & #3]. The one you picked is [style #4].”

Customer: “I want a manager now!”

I radioed my manager over. As soon as he arrived, she started to yell.

Customer: “THIS! IS! FALSE! ADVERTISING! DO YOU SEE THIS?! This is RIDICULOUS! I want these reduced to $30 as you are all trying to trick me into getting attached to this curtain and then selling it for MORE money than listed!”

My manager stared in astonishment before gathering his composure.

Manager: “Ma’am, this is not false advertising. It is clearly listed on the sign which items are discounted to $30, and I know for a fact that the one you picked out is discounted, as well. That is a $150 curtain you have in your hands, and it is now reduced to $60. It is simply not listed on the sign. False advertising would imply that the sign is presenting false information, which it is not.”

She ended up just throwing the stuff on the ground and storming out. My manager was defeated. He kind of just looked at me like “WTF?” and walked away to the back of the store.

I’m ringing up a customer. We get to the end of the transaction, and I ask her if she wants to buy a bag for fifteen cents. Her eyes get very round, and her mouth drops open in shock.

Customer: “Fifteen cents?!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, we have to charge for bags.”

Customer: “Even [Department Store]?!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, it’s state law.”

We’re a nationwide company, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have to follow state law. She reluctantly agrees to pay for a bag and complains to her friend about the policy while I’m finishing the transaction.

Customer: “It’s just ridiculous. [Department Store] can afford to cover the cost for their customers; they shouldn’t be making us pay for bags.”

One, no, we legally can’t, and two, way to completely miss the point of what a bag tax is trying to accomplish. But whatever, I held my tongue and let her complain. She then handed me her ID so I could run her credit card.

She was from California, a state that had a bag tax years before we did.