Customer: “There are too many children in this store! I am this close to asking to talk to your manager about it!”

Me: “But… this is Disneyland Paris.”

I am the author of this story. As promised, here is another story of working in this American bookstore in Paris thirty years ago.

One day, I notice a client behaving in an odd manner. He is staying around the table where we have the recommended books and picking them up, covering part of the book with his hand, mumbling something while shaking his head, and then putting the book back.

I approach and offer the usual friendly request:

Me: “May I help you with anything?”

The client looks at me and then looks back at the books. He grabs one them.

Client: “It’s unbelievable, isn’t it?”

He puts his hand on the cover, removes it, and puts it back again. I do not remember the book precisely, but I think President Bill Clinton was on the cover.

Client: “They really seem human — until you cover half their face!”

He puts back his hand on the cover and removes it again, and I notice that he is actually covering the bottom part of Clinton’s face.

Client: “It’s only when you do this that you can notice the lizard eyes. They are well camouflaged.”

Me: “…”

He does the same thing with another book while mumbling and shaking his head.

Me: “Ah, I’m sorry, someone is calling for me.”

And yes, I beat a hasty retreat.

The client was not bothering anyone and not doing anything untoward, so I left him on his quest — but I made sure to stay safely away while keeping an eye on him.

Related:
At Least It Isn’t Blue This Time

The store I work in is set up on a tiny side road next to a few other stores and a fast food place. Parking costs money, but each store had the opportunity to rent spaces for their customers and those spaces would be free. Unfortunately, our store was the only one to choose this option, so keeping everyone out of our two free spaces is an absolute nightmare, especially since the fast food place doesn’t have a drive-thru, so everyone parks to wait for their food.

In come two people wearing some kind of work uniform.

Customer: “Hi. I’m just coming in to tell you I parked in one of your spaces. It won’t be long.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but that’s for our store only. You’ll have to move.”

Customer: “My coworker and I have an appointment next door. We parked his car in paid parking but mine is in your parking. It’s only for fifteen minutes.”

Me: “Perfect. The paid parking is free for the first fifteen minutes; you can move to one of those spots.”

Customer: “It’s fine. I just came in to tell you it’s me parked there so you don’t wonder.”

Me: “I appreciate you coming in, but you can’t park there.”

Customer: “No, no, it’s fine because I’m telling you.”

Me: “No, it’s not fine. You’re taking up my last open spot.”

Customer: *While walking out the door* “I’ve told you it’s fine because you know it’s me and I’ll be gone soon.” 

Something like this exact conversation about how it’s fine because they told me happens at least once a week, and the police won’t do anything unless they’re parked for at least seven days.

I was in charge of Public Relations for a large IT company, and as a result, I had to handle an American executive as we did press interviews in six different European countries in five days. The main problem was that I was with an American who hated Europe. He was grumpy because there was no jogging track around the Eiffel Tower and because no UK journalists wanted to meet him for breakfast meetings at 6:00 am. In Paris, he insisted we eat dinner at an Angus Steak House.

At the departure lounge in the Charles De Gaulle airport in Paris, he went into total meltdown.

Client: “I can’t stand all these French people smoking. Make them stop.”

Me: “Yeah, good one.”

Client: “I’m serious. Go over there and tell them to stop smoking. Now.”

I walked over to the group of French students who were chain-smoking Gitanes and asked them if they knew the time. I went back to the client and told him they had said, “Go forth and multiply.”

I live in France, and I’m a native French speaker, but I can speak English quite fluently. I also took German when I was in high school and college, and I remember some of it.

I’m hanging out at my home, and I get a phone call.

Me: “Allo?”

Scammer: “Hello! Do you speak English?”

He speaks with a strong accent I cannot identify, and he sounds awkward, like English is definitely not his mother language.

Me: “Yes?”

Scammer: “This is Microsoft. There are three dangerous viruses on your computer, and I’m here to help you get rid of them.”

This is an obvious scam attempt. I could just hang up, but I decide to play with him instead.

Me: “I’m sorry, I don’t speak English. I really, really don’t speak a single word in English, so I guess I cannot help you.”

Scammer: “You’re telling me that you don’t speak English, in English.”

Me: “Yes!”

Scammer: “There’s a problem with your computer. Whenever you use Google, it attracts dangerous programs, and you need to get rid of them.”

Me: “But I don’t have a computer!”

Scammer: “Are you Mrs. [Not My Name]?”

Me: “No, and I don’t speak English at all!”

He hangs up. I shrug it off and start going about my business again. Then, the phone rings again and it’s him. I decide to answer in German until he hangs up.

Me: “Hello!”

Scammer: “Hello. I need your phone number to help you get rid of this virus.”

Me: “I don’t understand.”

Scammer: “What are you saying?”

Me: “I don’t understand. I only speak German.”

Scammer: “I don’t understand. Speak English.”

This goes on, and then I hang up. One minute later, guess who phones again? This time, I answer in French.

Scammer: “This is Microsoft. Are you Mrs. [Not My Name]?”

Me: “No, I’m not Mrs. [Not My Name]. Would you like me to sing you a song?”

Scammer: “I don’t understand what you’re saying. There’s a problem with your computer.”

I sing something and go about my business again. He has hung up when I come back. I think I’ve gotten rid of him, but then he phones again. This time, I answer in English.

Scammer: “You have a virus on your computer. Please, give me your phone number.”

Me: “Why would I do that? I’m a married person, and I will never, ever cheat on my wife!”

Scammer: “Your wife or your husband?”

Me: “My wife! She’s beautiful!”

This is a lie as I’m a happily single lady. However, this seems to trigger the scammer.

Scammer: “This is wrong! Really wrong! You should be ashamed of yourself!”

He hung up and never called again. This scammer was stoic no matter how silly I acted, but the single idea of interacting with an LGBT person was enough to make him run away. This is a very sad way to win the war against telemarketers.