(I am fourteen years old, working at a hardware store. Our uniform is a black t-shirt with the name of the store on front. An older lady and her husband are inspecting a large solar rooster — it lights up when it gets dark. The couple are arguing about whether not it lights up.)

Me: “Miss, that rooster does light up.”

(The lady turns around, looks me up and down, and proclaims:)

Lady: “You don’t work here! You wouldn’t know!”

Me: “Yes, I do, and that rooster does indeed light up.”

Lady: “NO! YOU DON’T WORK HERE!”

Me: “Yes, I do, ma’am. See.” *pointing to the logo on my shirt*

Lady: *stares at the logo, then gasps, looking shocked* “You stole that! You can’t work here. You can’t work here. You are too young to work at a place like this. Twelve-year-olds work at lemonade stands! Why are you being idiotic?”

Me: “I don’t know, ma’am.”

(I hurried away, wondering why someone would pretend to work here.)

Related:
I Do Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 2
I Do Work Here, Does Not Work Here

(I work at the local hardware store in the garden department. It is during one of our spring sales events where some of our weed killers are on sale, when a customer walks up pushing a stroller with a rather young child.)

Me: “Hi, how are you doing? Can I help you find something?”

(I am near the fertilizer and weed killer aisle, which really stinks.)

Customer: “I don’t want to expose my kid to that stuff, so can you tell me where your five-dollar [Pesticide] is?”

(I nod understandingly and show her where it is.)

Me: “You realize that this stuff is highly toxic, and you can’t have your kid or pets on the area for a minimum of three hours?”

Customer: “I’ll take four gallons.”

(She then grabs a box of four, put it in the bottom of her stroller and walks away.)

(I work as a cashier at a popular hardware store. It can be pretty boring, but I still enjoy it, and I enjoy talking with customers. I have just finished scanning items for a woman who came with her mother and her daughter. She goes through her purse for a way to pay for her purchases.)

Customer: “I think I have a card in here somewhere.”

Customer’s Mom: “What are you looking for?”

Customer: “A gift card. I have a gift card I want to use.”

Customer’s Mom: “Why? Are your other cards maxed out?”

Customer: *her jaw drops* “MOM!”

(She found the gift card, and after using it up, she paid with a credit card that was, fortunately, not maxed out.)

(I was recently in a pretty bad car accident that left me with a broken jaw which had to be wired shut. While I can talk, I tend to avoid it since it is painful at times, and it is sometimes hard to understand me. My boss understands this, and has even gone so far as to have these big “Cannot Speak” signs made up with some details to explain my problem. For the most part, the customers have been nice and understanding about it. One day, around noon, I’m sweeping the front of the store when a smartly-dressed woman steps through the door. She walks over to me and asks where something is, and I don’t answer. Instead, I wave in the direction of the manager who comes over and asks what it is she wants, while I go back to sweeping. The woman asks and is directed to what she needs, and the manager comes back and tells me to ring her up.)

Woman: “Oh, hell no. I don’t want him ringing me up.”

Manager: “And why not? Did he do something wrong?”

Woman: “No, it’s just that he’s obviously a [disabled slur]. I don’t want this waste of human space screwing up anything.

Me: “Not [disabled slur].” *my words slur due to clenched teeth*

Woman: “See? They can’t even talk right. If I were president, I’d have all of them aborted before birth.”

Me: “Not [disabled slur].” *slurred again*

Woman: “Oh, shut up and let the adults do business.”

(I held up a finger to my manager, who I could see was VERY pissed. Walking over, I picked up a piece of paper from the copier, snagged a marker, and wrote out, “You ignorant, uneducated bigot. I can’t speak because I had a car accident, which you may have read about in the newspaper. My jaw is wired shut.” I turned the paper around so she could read it. I watched her look at it, look at me, and then look at the manager. You could almost hear the gears working in her mind as she started to blush, and refused to look at me the entire time. Shortly after she left, one of the regulars who overheard the conversation noted that it was everything he could do not to smack her in the head, in the hopes it might knock some sense into her.)

(This customer is on his phone.)

Me: “Do you have a rewards card with us?”

Customer: *gives number*

Me: “I’m sorry, that number isn’t coming up; is there another I could try?”

Customer: *gives another number*

Me: “I’m sorry, that number isn’t coming up, either.”

Customer: *gets off phone* “What?!”

Me: “Neither of those numbers are coming up in our system.”

Customer: “Well, that’s not my problem, is it?! I’ve been coming here for 15 years!”

Me: *tries numbers again* “Sir, I’m sorry, but those still aren’t coming up.”

Customer: “Are you checking to see if I have an account?”

Me: “A rewards card, yes.”

Customer: “I don’t have one. I was on the phone, so I didn’t know what you were saying.”