Male, Female, All Hose

| New London, MN, USA | Right | March 25, 2015

(I am a female working in a hardware store, so I get a lot of grief from male customers who think they are smarter than me.)

Elderly Gentleman: “I need to get a new end for my garden hose.”

(I show him to the section where we carry hose repair parts.)

Me: “Do you know what size hose it is?”

Elderly Gentleman: “A regular one.”

Me: “Sir, they come in various diameters, usually from 1/2 up to 7/8.”

(He pulls a section of the hose out of his jacket pocket.)

Me: “That helps me a lot! Which end do you need? The male or female?”

(I have somewhat grown out of giggling to myself over those words.)

Elderly Gentleman: “The female. That’s the end that you put the nozzle on.”

Me: “No, you put the female end on the faucet. The male end is for the nozzle or sprinkler.”

Elderly Gentleman: “No, you’re mistaken, miss. It’s the female end for the nozzle.”

(I have dealt with this issue many times, and I pull out the visual aid.)

Me: “Sir, male goes into female. Just like people.”

(I use my index finger to show the male end going into the female circle I made with my other index finger and thumb. He pauses and looks at me like I slapped him with a fish.)

Elderly Gentleman: “By God, you’re right!”

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This Is How Musicals Are Born

| IL, USA | Right | March 10, 2015

(My dad and I go to a hardware store needing eight bags for a gardening project.)

Employee #1: “Hi, can I help you?”

Dad: “Yeah, we need eight bags of mulch.”

Employee #1: “How many?”

Dad: “Eight bags.”

Employee #1: “Eight bags of mulch?”

Dad: “Eight bags of mulch.”

Employee #1 *shouting to Employee #2* “Eight bags of mulch!”

Employee #2: “Eight bags of mulch!”

Me: “Eight bags of mulch!”

Customer Behind Me: “Eight bags of mulch!”

(I laugh pretty hard at that. Later on, I’m putting the eighth bag into the trunk.)

Dad: “Wait, why are you putting that bag in there?”

Me: “…Don’t we need eight bags?”

Dad: “Oh, right! Eight bags of mulch!”

Me: “Eight bags of mulch!”

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The Mother Of All Rejections

| Stillwater, OK, USA | Romantic | January 14, 2015

(I had recently transferred to a hardware store location in my college town after I moved there. This woman in her late 40s walks up to me smiling. I remember her from earlier because she had gone through my line.)

Pushy Mom: “My son wants me to get your number.”

Me: “Oh! Uhm… we’re not really allowed to give out our personal phone numbers.” *looks around for help*

Pushy Mom: “Oh, come on. Just give me your number! He’s out in the parking lot in the car right now. He sent me because he just got off of work and is really dirty and didn’t want to make a bad impression!”

Me: “I’m not really comfortable with this. Maybe if he came up to me himself?”

Pushy Mom: “Just give me your NUMBER!”

Me: “I just moved here and I don’t know my number yet. I wrote down the number of the landline where I’m staying in my pocket… hold on.”

(I really didn’t want to give her my cell number. But, I did have the rejection hotline number with the area code in my pocket just in case. I copy down the rejection hotline number on a slip of receipt paper, and then she stomped away in a huff after badgering me for my phone number for her son… who was in the parking lot the whole time watching all of that unfold. I really hope he learned his lesson and stopped sending his mom to ask out ladies for him!)

Sadly That Is The Uniform Response

| The Netherlands | Right | November 4, 2014

(I work for a company that supplies company clothes. I need something from a hardware store so I go there after work wearing my company’s clothes. The employees there are naturally wearing work clothes of this particular DIY store, of a different style and color to the work clothes I was wearing. Some customer there walks up to me.)

Customer: “Do you still have [item] in store? It doesn’t seem to be on the shelves.”

Me: “I really couldn’t tell.”

Customer: *immediately interrupting me* “Always the same. You people are really unhelpful. Never know anything and I guess you’re not even going to check, right?”

Me: *pointing at the logo on my shirt of a totally different company* “I don’t work here. I just happen to need something here.”

Customer: *slowly realising my clothes in no way resemble the clothes of the store employees* “Well! How am I supposed to know that you don’t work here?!”

Me: “Perhaps by seeing that my clothes are completely different from the employees here?”

Customer: “It’s your fault! I can’t be bothered with such things.”

I Quit From This Stupid Situation

| Canada | Right | November 3, 2014

(I’m shopping in the hardware store, wearing jeans and a green gaming shirt. All the employees of that store wear red shirts. When this happens, I’m pushing my cart while texting a friend about what I should buy.)

Client: “Excuse me, miss?”

Me: “…yes?”

Client: “Where are the rugs?”

Me: “Eh… I have no clue, sorry.”

Client: “What kind of employee are you?”

Me: “An “employee –“” *I make a big emphasis on the word employee while making a quote mark move with my fingers* “— who’s wearing a Dungeons and Dragons shirt while texting on the job?”

Client: “I’m gonna report you to your manager!”

Me: “You just have to look for someone with a red shirt to report me; all the employees here are wearing them.”

Client: “And you’re not even wearing your uniform? How did they not fire you yet? You don’t know where your products are in the store and you don’t respect your work rules! Find me your manager, NOW! I want to complain immediately!”

Me: “Did it not occur to you that I’m not working here?”

(At this point, I go around him and start texting again while leaving the aisle. He follows me.)

Client: “I’m not leaving you until you lead me to a manager.”

Me: “Okay, then.”

(I go to the service counter and ask for a manager.)

Client: “You’re so gonna be fired!”

Manager: “Hi! How may I help you?”

Client: “How can you let someone work here dressed like that, and text on the job? I demand she be fired immediately for such bad behavior! On top of that, she refused to help me and was about to get away with it, but I followed her until she accepted to ask for a manager. ”

Manager: “Uh… she’s obviously not an employee here.”

Client: “You’re protecting her! I want to see the general manager! It’s not going to end up good, I promise you!”

Manager: “I assure you, she’s a client like you! Look around. All the employees are wearing red shirts!”

Client: “Yeah, she’s not wearing her uniform. I WANT TO SEE A HIGHER MANAGER!”

Me: *a bit pissed off by the situation* “Hey. Let’s get this over with. I quit. I’ve had enough of this low paying job with stupid clients like you. That’s it. I’m done. I’m leaving now. I’ll come in to get my last paycheck next week. It was a pleasure working with you, but I can’t anymore.”

Client: “Ha! I was right. You do work here! Well, worked. Thank you, sir!”

(He leaves, leaving both the manager and I with baffled looks on our faces.)

Manager: “Well, that’s a good way to solve a problem! It was nice being your coworker for… two minutes!”

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