(An older lady comes into the fabric store where I work. She gets some fabric and several other notions and comes to the register to check out. I ring her up and give her the total amount due. She hands me a gift card and I look at it.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t take this. It is for [Chain Grocery Store].”

Customer: “But my son said it was good anywhere.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, it is good anywhere at one of their stores. But this is [Fabric Store]. We can’t take it.”

Customer: “But you take gift cards, don’t you?”

Me: “Yes, but we take our own gift cards, not other stores’ gift cards.”

Customer: “But I know I’ve used gift cards here before.”

Me: “It would have been one of ours, then.”

Customer: “Then why can’t you take this one?”

Me: “Because that is a card from [Chain Grocery Store] for groceries, not one of ours for fabric.”

(This went on like this for several minutes before she pulled out a credit card and paid. She left saying she was going to get her son to come in and see why I wouldn’t take her gift card and he would straighten me out good. Not surprisingly, he never came in to straighten me out.)

(I have quite a few people from other countries come into my store. It is pretty common for us to attempt to communicate with charades. I am working the service desk, and a woman comes up to me.)

Customer: “I need strippas.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “STRIPPAS! I need strippas for my panties!”

(I am staring at her as though she is insane.)

Me: “I don’t believe we sell strippers here…”

(She then takes a bag and demonstrates what panties are by holding it against herself.)

Customer: “Strippas for elastic. My elastic no good. Need strippas.”

(I figured she was talking about elastic coming out of her panties. So, I pointed her toward the fabric counter. A few minutes later she ran out of the store, screaming, “TOO MUCH!”)

(I have anxiety and thus I have panic attacks. I do have tricks to try to prevent them, and the management at my workplace know about it. This day, for reasons unknown to me, my anxiety is high. Coupled with this, several customers accuse me of ripping them off because price changes were not made for some sale items. My break has been delayed a few hours, so as soon as I am told to go to break, I make a sprint for the break room to have a panic attack there.)

Manager: *comes in and sees me* “[My Name], are you okay?” *grabs tissues*

Me: “Anxiety bad. Customers upset.”

(With these short sentences, along with what she witnessed, the manager pieces it together. She stays until I calm down a bit.)

Manager: “Are you all right now?”

Me: “Uh-huh.”

Manager: “Good.” *she gets called on the radio* “I’ll be at the cutting counter if you need me.”

Me: “Okay.” *as she leaves, I realize something* “Before I forget, I got three email signups, one mailer, and one purchase with purchase sale.”

Manager: *befuddled, but marks this down on her clipboard* “Okay.” *mutters as she leaves* “No way am I letting her go if that’s what she can do when she’s near panicked.”

(The last comment made me laugh and helped me calm down enough to go back to work after my break.)

(The latest ad we have shows patterns at six for $15, or $2.50 each. I start to ring up patterns and the customer interrupts.)

Customer: “You’re charging me too much. You’re ringing them up at $2.50, and I’m buying six.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. $2.50 is the correct price.”

Customer: “But I bought six. I should get the sale price.”

Me: “$2.50 is the sale price.”

Customer: “But that makes them $18.00.”

Me: “No, ma’am, that makes them $15.00. If they were three dollars each, they would be $18.00.”

(The customer doesn’t believe me, even after I total the sale and it comes to $15.00 plus tax.)

Customer: “I’m sure that’s wrong.”

(Finally, I just start handing them a calculator so they can check, and I still hear, “That can’t be right.” Don’t know who at corporate thought up that promo, but whoever it was never worked at the actual store.)

(I’m a young woman with short hair that I wear spiked up. Today I’ve been helping a woman who is a beginner sewist with various questions. I’ve been showing her where the fabric she wants is in the store, helping her choose between sewing patterns, telling her young daughter where the bathrooms are, helping her figure out how much fabric she needs, and finally cutting her fabric.)

Me: “Will that be all for today, ma’am?”

Customer: “Yes, and now I know who to look for when I come in next: the lady with the fluffy chicken hair!”

(Best compliment I’ve ever gotten on the job.)