I work at a Home Depot, we have a preset range of music stations to listen to – it’s commonly left on the 80s or 80s/90s mix station, But one of our managers love country music, but most of the staff either hate the genre with a passion, and the ones who like country hate that station in particular due to the very short playlist and most of the songs being awful.

Every time someone complains about the station being switched to country, said manager tried to figure out how make us beg to get back to country by trying to find a music station even more disagreeable to us.

First time (before I was hired), he switched to the Spanish station, most of the staff didn’t mind, but they gotten so much virulent racist comments from customers that they switched.

Second time, he switched to 2000s-2010s music, aside from that one earworm song, nobody minded, then he switched to the 70s station.

The 70s was basically the favorite due to its very large playlist and variety (soft rock, disco, folk, GOOD country music, and pop), which frustrated him even more as apparently, he hates disco as much as we hated the country station.

Then I come in, and was confused by a warbling aria… apparently, we have an opera station?

We had a channel for opera music. I’m not sure who was more confused, the customers or us. I actually like opera, and even my coworkers who didn’t care for opera tolerated it because at this point we all knew what was going on and decide to wear him out.

Eventually, he gave up and left the music on the 80s channel.

Years ago, I worked at a well-known Canadian hardware and automotive store. While many of these stores can be quite large (upwards of a hundred aisles), this particular one was only thirty-two aisles, plus a small garden section.

I’d been hired to work in the hardware department, but, due to the size of the store, “hardware” basically meant “not automotive”. I covered hardware, housewares, sports, seasonal, and garden.

One day, while stocking shelves in the electrical aisle, I was approached by a customer.

Customer: “Excuse me, I need some help in Automotive.”

As that wasn’t my department, I was about to do what I usually do, and direct her to speak to someone at the automotive service desk. However, from where I was in the aisle, I could see that there was already a fair line-up at the desk.

Me: “Well, it’s not actually my department, but what is it you’re looking for? I may be able to help.”

Customer: “I need new wiper blades for my car.”

Me: “Okay. I’m fairly certain there’s a book we can use.”

I take her over to where the wiper blades are located, and sure enough, there’s a reference book mounted in the center of the aisle. I flip it open and quickly see that it’s organized by vehicle make, model, and year. Perfect, this should be easy.

Me: “Okay, I can help you with this. What type of car do you have?”

Customer: “Oh, I have a blue one.”

Me: “…You know what? Actually, I think you’ll need to go stand in that line and talk to someone at the auto service desk.”

A customer wheels in a garden table. The legs are bent, there’s a huge hole smashed through the top, and it honestly looks like someone got drunk and used it as a trampoline. He drops the receipt on the counter.

Customer: “I want to return this.”

I check the date. Five months ago. Our return policy is thirty days on non-electrical items.

I also recognize the table, not because we sold it, but because we didn’t. We never carried this model, and the competitor that did stopped months ago. The item on the receipt definitely isn’t the same table.

Me: “I’m sorry, but I can’t return this. It’s outside the thirty-day window, and this isn’t the table listed on the receipt.”

Customer: “Get your supervisor.”

I call my supervisor on the private line.

Me: “Hey, I’ve got a return that’s five months old—”

Supervisor: “—you know how to do returns.”

Me: “…yes, but it’s the wrong item, damaged, and—”

Supervisor: *Snapping.* “You know how to do returns. Just do it and stop complaining.”

He hangs up. I call the line again. No one answers. So, I process the return exactly as instructed. When the returned table is actually LOOKED AT by the returns team, there are actual squeals.

Next shift, I get called into the office. My supervisor is at the desk, and the store manager is sitting in the background.

Supervisor: “What happened with that return yesterday?”

I start explaining.

Me: “The table was damaged, five months old, not ours. I called—”

Supervisor: “—You should have checked the policy properly.”

Me: “I did check—”

Supervisor: “You didn’t explain it clearly.”

I pause, then look at the store manager.

Me: “I tried explaining it then, just like now. But as you can see, I’m not being allowed to finish. That’s what happened on the floor, too. If you still want to blame me, you’ll have to replace me, and we’re already short-staffed and losing people.”

The room goes quiet.

The supervisor gets chewed out for the incident. He ended up quitting less than a month later.

I work in a large hardware store. I’m stationed at a key cutting station, which, as you can imagine, is quite loud, so I usually have to speak up. I’m asking an older guy what he wants cut when he interrupts me and says:

Customer: “You’re too loud for a woman!”

Me: “Sir, I am talking to you at a very busy key-cutting station. If I don’t shout, like you are right now, you won’t hear me.”

Customer: “You’re a woman! You should speak softly and demurely.”

Me: *Speaking at a normal volume.* “You’re a sexist pig, and your mother regrets having made you, you human root canal.”

Customer: “What?!”

Me: *Shouting again.* “See, sir, you can’t hear me at a normal volume.”

Customer: “Ugh, fine, I’ll allow it. They shouldn’t have women working so close to the machines anyway.”

Me: *Speaking at a normal volume.* “You’re lucky there are cameras here, or I’d show you what happens when a man gets too close to one of the machines.”

Customer: “What?!”

Me: *Shouting again.* “So, what keys did you need cut?”

A customer comes up to me and asks me a technical question in the electrical department.

Customer: “What’s the maximum load allowed on a twenty-amp breaker?”

Me: “Sixteen amps if it’s a continuous load.”

Customer: “You knew that pretty fast.”

Me: “It’s part of the 80% rule. Under the US National Electrical Code, a continuous load is one that runs for three hours or more at a time, and if so, those same codes require circuits to be loaded to no more than 80% of their rating. 80% of twenty amps is sixteen amps.”

Customer: “Thanks.”

Me: “You’re welcome!”

He then walks literally five feet down the counter and walks up to my coworker (who is male, unlike me) and literally asks him the exact same question. He does this shamelessly, at a volume he knew I could hear:

Coworker: *Confused, looking at me.* “[My Name]… did you just lie to this customer?”

Me: “I did not.”

Coworker: “Huh, that’s what I thought.” *Turns back to the customer.* “The answer she gave you is the correct one. This is her department, so she would know.”

Customer: *Somehow surprised that his behaviour is being looked down upon.* “I just wanted a second opinion!”

Coworker: “Opinions are for things like paint colors and how soft furnishings look next to each other. You asked her a technical question that could only have one answer. That’s not opinions, that’s facts. Now, either you think she’s incompetent or lying.”

Customer: “I… uh… thanks.” *Slinks away.*

Coworker: *To me.* “How do you deal with that every d*** day?”

Me: “I’m a girl who made up a song about Ohm’s Law as part of a middle-school talent contest. I’ve been dealing with it since I was eleven.”