(I’m buying yogurt for a no-bake pie recipe when an older man addresses me.)

Man: That’s why I can’t stand you teenage girls.

(I’m not a teenager, and try to ignore him, but he just goes on in a louder tone of voice.)

Man: You eat nothing but yogurt, and I bet you’re going to vomit it up later, aren’t you? You just want to be some gold-digging bimbo trophy wife! Why not do something for your brain instead of your body? Useless self-absorbed teenage-

(I have what I need, so I go to leave.)

Me: I’m a college student, and these are for a pie.

Man: *without missing a beat* And that’s why you’re such a lardass! You should buy a gym membership instead of stuffing your face!

(He kept ranting as I walked away. At least the pie turned out good enough to cheer me up after that.)

(A customer service supervisor and I are working the front desk on a busy Saturday morning. A woman walks in to the store followed closely by a boy, who looks to be about 10-11, who is riding a bicycle. The woman goes to get a cart and the boy starts riding circles in our front area.)

Supervisor: “Excuse me, ma’am, he can’t ride his bike in here.”

Woman: *waving him off* “Oh, don’t worry about him. He will be fine.”

Supervisor: I’m sorry, he can’t ride a bike in here; someone might get hurt. He will have to leave the bike outside.”

Woman: *getting angry* “We can’t leave the bike outside! IT WILL GET STOLEN!”

(Meanwhile, the child is still riding circles and essentially blocking the entire front area. Other customers are trying to get through but can’t because they run the risk of getting hit by the kid.)

Supervisor: “Fine, leave the bike up here and we will keep an eye on it, while you shop. He cannot ride it through the store. We can’t have anyone getting hurt.”

Woman: “Are you kidding me? Do you see how busy it is? If you take your eyes off of it for a second someone will snatch it. He will be f—“

(The woman can’t finish her sentence as the child crashes into a display of grape jelly. The display is about four feet tall and the jars are glass. We watch as the kid crashes to the floor and then the display topples over, sending jars, glass, and grape jelly all over the floor. None of the debris hits the kid, but he is lying on the floor in shock.)

Woman: “I am not cleaning that up!”

Supervisor: “No, but you are going to pay for all the damaged merchandise.”

Woman: “I will not! That display was flimsy. I will sue if he is hurt.”

Supervisor: “I’m calling the police.” *goes to grab the phone*

Woman: *wide eyed* “No, no, no, don’t do that!”

(She grabbed the child and the bike and ran out the door. The supervisor and I started asking the other customers in the vicinity if they were okay. Fortunately, nobody was hurt. The supervisor ran outside to try to catch the woman, but she had disappeared. Two of my coworkers and I spent over two hours cleaning the big mess.)

(A lot of workers in my store, and even a couple of the regular customers, are always confusing me for another coworker in my department. We look similar in that we are both pale and have brown hair. I’m skinnier, have glasses, and my hair is shorter and darker, so neither of us understands why people are always confusing us. Our names aren’t similar at all. I’m in the produce section, talking to the assistant manager of produce, when this happens. I’m still in my uniform, including the name tag.)

Assistant Manager: “So has [My Name] put in for a transfer yet?”

Me: “What?”

Assistant Manager: “Has [My Name] put in for a transfer yet? She was looking to transfer, right?”

Me: “Um, I’m [My Name].”

Assistant Manager: “You are?”

Me: “Yes. I think you mean [Coworker].”

Assistant Manager: “Oh, right.”

Me: “I don’t think she’s put in for a transfer yet.”

(My coworker and I had a good laugh when I told her about this later. She has not requested a transfer, but she is considering it because of how management tends to treat our department.)

(I’m working a few hours into my shift when a man comes up and notices my name.)

Customer: “Meghan? That’s an Irish name. Was it always your name?”

Me: “No, sir, my name was originally Megatron.”

Customer: *completely serious* “Really? That must have been hard growing up, with your siblings and friends teasing you.”

(My brother, who works as a bagger in the store, walks by.)

Me: “I don’t know. Hey, [Brother]! This man wants to know if it was hard for me growing up with you teasing me because of my name being Megatron.

Brother: “We teased her all the time.”

Customer: “Huh, I feel kind of bad for you.”

Me: “Sir, my name has always been Meghan. I was kidding. The Megatron thing was a joke from Family Guy.”

Customer: “Oh. Well I heard something about the Irish calling their daughters ‘Meeghan’ from birth to age 16. Then they are called Meghan as a coming of age thing.”

Me: “Well, sir, I wouldn’t know. I’m mostly French-Canadian and I don’t think my family ever had that in mind. Have a good day.”

(He walked out, still looking very confused.)

(I’m giving out sample cups of French onion dip and carrots in a grocery store. I’m mixing more dip in a bowl on my table when I hear a woman’s voice say “You aren’t smiling enough!” and she flicks the brim of my hat.)

Me: *unsure I heard her correctly* “What?”

Cranky Lady: “I said you don’t smile enough.” *grabs and yanks my hat down over my face* “Are you gonna smile now?”

Me: *I adjust my hat and say in a cheery tone* “Smiles are for people who take samples.” *attempts to give her one*

Cranky Lady: “I don’t want any of that bull-s***.” *walks away*

Me: “…”