My dad moved for work to a small country town in the outback. Actually, I think we were a hamlet or a village, technically. The point is that it was a very small place with a lot of old, white, salt-of-the-earth men. The white-haired Boomer-generation man who ran the local hardware store was exactly what you’d expect from a man running a hardware store in a small farming town. 

That made it even more surprising that said hardware owner agreed to let me work there on weekends. I am weedy, I have never nailed a wall in my life, and my clothing choices lean to the swishy-skirt side of nonbinary. I was not who you expected in a hardware store.

Still, money was money, and I wanted to make a good impression. On my first day, I wore my manliest pants and a nice button-down shirt. The owner greeted me and, in order, showed me how to work the register and how to search his inventory database and then got down to running down with me the details for how I’d be paid and what he wanted me to do if I had to call in sick.

Owner: “Now, I think that’s the basics, so the rest I can show you on the— Oh, no, wait. There are questions I’m meant to ask. What was… Ah, do you have any of them pronouns?”

Me: “Sorry?”

Owner: “Pronouns. My daughter says it’s important these days.”

Me: “Um… I prefer they/them.”

Owner: “That all?”

Me: “Like, do I use other pronouns? Nooooot really?”

Owner: “All righty, you show me how to do that later. And if you change your mind, no tails on the floors.”

Me: “Wait, tails?”

Owner: “My grandkid, she and her mom come up for the holidays, and she’ll wear them cat ears, but tails aren’t safe when you’re moving pallets. The identity stuff is all well and good, but we don’t compromise on safety here, understand?”

Me: “Hold up. It doesn’t bother you?”

Owner: “The old folks round here might say they’re not taking hardware advice from some cat-not-man, but they come in already thinking they know better and weren’t going to take any advice from you kids on the floor anyway. So I don’t see what difference it makes.”

Best job I ever had.

An older customer is ordering a lot of timber for a home renovation product.

Customer: “Can I ask you about your installation services?”

Me: “Absolutely! We partner with lots of verified local contractors, so I should be able to help you find what you need.”

Customer: *Narrows his eyes* “Where are you from?”

Me: “New Zealand, originally, but I’ve lived in the States for over—”

Customer: “All you immigrants coming over here! An American-born man could be doing the job you’re doing right now, but you had to come in and take over!”

Me: “Sir, I am not here to steal anyone’s job. I’m just—”

Customer: “It’s disgusting! But you’re here now, and I have work to do. But I’ll be writing to my Facebook group about this so they know [Hardware Store] hires immigrants instead of Americans!”

Me: *Trying to move this along* “That’s fine, sir. You were asking about our partnered contractors?”

Customer: “Yeah, I’m looking for some guys who have experience with installing kitchens. Oh, and try to get me some Mexicans; those guys are always cheapest.”

I work in a hardware store. I am also trans and transitioning from female to male. Sometimes customers can tell, and sometimes they can’t.

A customer is asking me for advice about some construction methods and has been directed to me since this is my department.

Customer: “Oh… uh… I need to ask a man about this stuff.”

Me: “I can help you, sir. This is my department.”

Customer: *Looking around* “No… can you get me a real man?”

Me: *Staring him dead in the eyes* “I can’t currently see one.”

He got the hint and slunk away like the waste of oxygen he is.

Back in the 1970s, I work the service desk at a big box hardware store.

Customer: “I want to return some tools.”

He dumps some screwdrivers, wrenches, etc. out of a paper bag onto the desk. Along with the tools come about five cockroaches, that scurry off to hide in my desk.

Me: “You get over here and find them and kill them.”

He caught a couple, but couldn’t find the rest, and that’s how we got a roach infestation.

This takes place at my first full-time job. I’ve worked retail jobs before this one during my high school days, part-time, and even in the restaurant business, so I’m used to dealing with people, but sometimes you get someone that’s so off-putting you just want to punch them in the face.

I have been at this job for three or four years now, and I know a lot of the customers that come in. I know their faces, and I can chat with them for a moment or two, but I don’t know their names. (I have trouble remembering names, but faces are easy.) Nearly everyone who comes in to buy is easy to deal with and doesn’t give any grief with prices or inventory.

One day, I’m working in the showroom. The morning rush has ended, and I generally don’t see many customers until lunchtime. However, in walks a gentleman I’ve never seen before. He holds himself in such a manner that he appears to give off that vibe that he’s better than everyone else.

I greet him and ask:

Me: “What can I help you with today?”

Customer: “I’m here for my order.”

Me: “What account is it under so I can pull it up?”

He gives me that deadpan look in the eyes and doesn’t change his facial expression in any way.

Customer: “Don’t you know who I am?”

Me: “Sorry, I’ve never seen you or met you before, which is why I asked what account the order is under.”

Customer: “Are you some kind of f****** clown? You think you’re funny? I need my order now.”

Me: “I’ll get someone that cares about helping you.”

I walk away and leave the showroom. I go to my supervisor and tell him about the current “customer” in the showroom. My supervisor peeks out the blinds of his office (his window looks into the showroom) and gives a sigh of disgust.

Supervisor: “I know who that guy is; he’s a low-level contractor who hardly does any business through us, thinks the world bows to him, and treats everyone like crap. I’ll go help the guy out.”

Apparently, the customer is upset that a piece of wood floor molding doesn’t quite match the color of the wood flooring he picked up, and he wants to find a piece that matches better.

Months go by, and I forget about this customer… until one day when he wanders back into the showroom. He’s irritated — I can tell just from his body language — that he has to wait for a couple of people to get helped first that were there before him.

Once it is his turn, he comes up to the counter.

Me: “Good morning, how can I help you today?”

Customer: “I need a tapping block.”

Me: “We don’t stock any tapping blocks. I can get one ordered for you, but it’ll be a couple of days before it comes in.”

Customer: “I’ve bought one from here before. Why don’t you have any in stock now? I need it now, and that’s why I’m here. Get me a tapping block.”

Me: “We’ve never stocked tapping blocks. We rarely sell them. If you did buy one here before, it was special ordered, or by some rare chance, we were sitting on a sample tool or a special order that no one ever picked up so we put it into inventory. We don’t stock them.”

Customer: “I drove all the way over here from my job site because you’ve had tapping blocks before. Get. Me. A. F******. Tapping. Block. Now.”

There are two other customers waiting in line behind this rude a**hole, and the one guy who’s standing behind him is a very nice guy. He’s very soft-spoken, has long blond hair, and looks kind of like a derpy hippy guy. I’ve never heard him cuss or swear with other installers who come through when they all chat in the mornings. Most installers swear like a sailor; this guy is the only one I’ve never heard swear or say a bad thing about anyone.

As for the customer I’m dealing with, I don’t know what else I can tell him. I’m getting flustered and trying not to snap at him.

Customer: “Your competition carries tapping blocks. I could go there right now and get one, and you’d lose out on a sale because of it. You think this is a f****** joke?!”

Soft-Spoken Guy: *Boisterously lashing out* “If you can get that tool at the competition, then why the f*** are you here harassing this nice young man when he already told you they don’t carry that f****** tool?! Get the f*** out of here before I make you!”

The rude customer didn’t say another word; he just tucked tail and ran out the front door. I never did see him again.

I thanked the other installer, and he said he hates people like that. He said the customer had no right to treat us like garbage just because he wasn’t getting his way.

For the next handful of years that I worked there, I’d always see this nice, long-haired installer stop in a couple of days a week to buy his supplies, and never again did I ever hear him cuss or swear or raise his voice.