(I work at a hardware store. One evening right before closing, a man comes running in the front door out of breath.)

Me: “Welcome to [Hardware Store]. What can I help you with today?”

Customer: “I was sitting by the library over on main street and I saw some zombies.”

Me: “Zombies, sir?”

Customer: “Undead.”

Me: “Huh?”

Customer: “Shambling corpses!”

Me: “Ah, zombies!”

Customer: “So, I thought to myself, I need some defenses. And everyone knows that improvised weapons are the premiere form of anti-undead utilities.”

Me: “Come again?”

Customer: “I want to buy some tools!”

Me: “Certainly, sir. What would you like?”

Customer: “Well, how about a crowbar?”

Me: “I’m afraid we’re fresh out of crowbars, sir.”

Customer: “Oh, never mind. How about a tire iron?”

Me: “We never have those at the end of the week, sir. We get more on Monday.”

Customer: “No matter. Any baseball bats by chance?”

Me: “You should try the sports shop next door but they’re closed now.”

Customer: “Not my lucky day, is it? How about a hammer?”

Me: “Sorry, sir.”

Customer: “Ball peen hammer?”

Me: “The truck was late today.”

Customer: “Club hammer?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “Cross and straight pein hammer?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “Cross pein pin hammer?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “Sledge hammer?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “Soft mallet?”

Me: “Ah! We have soft mallets, sir.”

Customer: “You do? Excellent.”

Me: “Yes, sir. Ah, it is a bit soft…”

Customer: “Well, I’d expect it to be softer than a normal hammer.”

Me: “Well, very soft, sir.”

Customer: “No matter. Bring it out!”

Me: *fetches mallet* “Ah, it appears to be a bean bag, sir.”

Customer: “So it is.”

Me: “Yes, it appears to be.”

Customer: “Well, hacksaws?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “Circular saw?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: ”Do you have chainsaws?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “But they’re the most popular anti-zombie weapon around!”

Me: “Sorry, sir.”

Customer: “Have you in fact got any tools at all?”

Me: “Yes, sir.”

Customer: “Really?”

Me: “No. Not really, sir.”

Customer: “You haven’t.”

Me: “Not a single nail. I was deliberately wasting your time, sir.”

Customer: “Well, in that case, I think I might have been bitten on my way over here. I’m afraid I’ll have to bite you.”

Me: “Very well, then.”

(Customer walks around the counter and bites me.)

Customer: “What a senseless contribution to the hoard.”

(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!”

(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!”

(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!)

(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.”

This story is part of our “I Don’t Work Here” roundup!

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