I’ve been told that I’m pretty; my hair is curly and red and I wear makeup and know a bit about how to wear clothes that flatter me. I’m craving some new reading material, so I go into a bookstore with the intent of finding a good fantasy. As soon as I arrive, the male clerk follows me with his eyes. I find the cookbook section, and, remembering that I still need a birthday present for my friend, I start looking through them, trying to find one that she’ll like. Someone taps on my shoulder. It’s the male clerk from before.

Clerk: “Can I help you find anything?” *Smiles*

Me: “Yeah, do you have any fantasy novels?”

His eyes go wide and he leads me to another part of the store… to books with titles like “Fifty Shades Of Grey” and “Broken Heart.”

Me: “Not these! I meant like vampires, werewolves, ghosts—”

Clerk: “Oh, really? I thought you meant this section. I mean, dressed the way you are.”

Me: “Excuse me? That’s really sexist.”

Clerk: “I’m not being sexist. I’m just saying, you’re really beautiful. I would like to go out with you.”

Me: “Wow. Um, no, sorry. I have to go.”

Then, I realize that he’s cornered me, and I can’t get around him without him being able to grab me. Then, a man comes out of a back room and I give him a pleading look. He walks up and taps the male clerk on the shoulder.

Man: “[Clerk], I need you to go shelve those Stephen Kings.”

Clerk: “Hang on, I’m helping this girl.”

Man: “Do it, now.”

Thankfully, the male clerk goes to the back. 

Me: “Are you the manager?”

Man: “Yes. Was he bothering you?”

I told him what had happened, and he shook his head and promised to write him up for harassment. I put the cookbook back and haven’t gone into that shop again. Now I buy all my books online.

I am interviewing for an electrical apprentice job. I’m sitting in the office next to a woman who is also going to interview for a position. An older man — I presume the owner — walks past and spends a moment looking at the woman. He then pokes his head into the office of the person doing the interviews.

Owner: “Hey, [Interviewer], if you are going to hire chicks, at least hire ones who aren’t [lesbian slur]s and have big t*ts.”

The woman got up and left, and I followed her right out the door.

My husband and I both work at a large national retailer but in different departments. Most coworkers and customers know — it’s a small town — but we keep it professional.

My husband and I are working in our respective areas, within sight of each other, when a creepy old guy sidles up to him and strikes up a conversation.

Creepy Old Guy: “Man, it sure must be nice working here.”

Husband: “It pays the bills.”

Creepy Old Guy: “Lotta lookers around here.”

Husband: “I guess.”

Creepy Old Guy: “I mean, check out that redhead bent over that shelf over there. She’s clearly just asking for men like us to check out her a**!”

Husband: *Raising his voice.* “That’s. My. WIFE.”

He said he’d never seen a grown man scurry away quite so fast.

I’m a woman in my twenties working behind the bar. I’m ringing in an order on the register when a man in his forties approaches.

Man: “Hey.”

I look up at him.

Man: “I’m picturing you naked right now.”

Me: “Oh? Are you impressed by my massive horse c**k?”

I have never seen a grown man rethink his existence so quickly. His friends laughed, many a swordfight joke was made, and I (hypothetically) won them all.

Nothing so satisfying will happen to me at work ever again. Where do we go from here?

I work at a pizza chain, and I am the closer for the lounge. This table of two guys comes in and immediately one guy starts hitting on me. He asks for my number every time I go to get refills for them. I go to my bartender every time and bring it up. It gets so obnoxious and annoying I actually ask one of the other servers — gay, flamboyant, and not working at the moment — if I can hand his number to them. I don’t end up doing that because they will get the wrong idea and they know where I work.

Finally, I bring the table their bill. The guy asks once again while he’s using the machine to pay.

Guy: “Do you have a boyfriend or something?”

Me: “Yeah, I do, actually.”

Guy: “Oh, well, if you didn’t, I’d give you a tip.”

Big. Fat. Zero. Tip.

His friend actually made a comment when he said that.

I don’t understand. I was clearly not interested before; I’m definitely not interested now. Also, I am working. It’s my job to be nice to you; that does not mean I am flirting.