When my elder brother was barely two years old, he already had a reputation for being even more rambunctious than the average little boy. It got to the point that my parents needed to get a fence installed between the back porch and the backyard to keep him from escaping into the yard without supervision and sneaking out into the street from there.

When they contracted someone to build the fence, the work order explicitly said that it needed to be suitable to prevent a child from climbing over it. The work order got signed off, the fence got built, and then Mother got called over to inspect and sign the work off.

Mother took one look at the fence and declared that it was not fit for purpose. It was not childproof. The workmen tried to argue with her that she was mistaken. The foreman swore up and down that the fence would work.

Mother: “[Brother], come here, please!”

My big brother barrelled out of the house, did not even pause for one second to scale the fence in its entirety, and was right at Mom’s feet before a few seconds had gone by.

Brother: “Yes, Mommy?”

The fence was removed.

Related:
Oh, Brother! – Part 8
Oh, Brother! – Part 7
Oh, Brother! – Part 6
Oh, Brother!, Part 5
Oh, Brother! – Part 4

I’m a head cashier at a large home improvement store chain. A big part of my specific job is coordinating the cashiers throughout the day to make sure we have coverage at all required tills — including the front tills, the Garden Center, the Lumber department, the customer service desk, and self-checkout — and scheduling their break times accordingly to make sure everything runs smoothly.

I’m a petite female, and as such, I’ve always struggled with leadership positions because there are, sadly, some people who take issue with answering to a “little girl”, even though I’m great at coordinating, organizing, and managing. (Thanks, autism!)

One of my cashiers is a grumpy older man; for this story, we’ll call him Stan. He complains about everything every head cashier does as part of our jobs; he hates being in Lumber, Garden Center, and self-checkout, and he refuses to learn the customer service desk. He gets upset if his break times are “too early” or “too late”, and if someone isn’t at his station to relieve him within one minute of his clock-out time, he throws a little hissy fit. Stan is quite difficult to deal with. None of the head cashiers enjoy his attitude, and we frequently avoid him, if possible. He also happens to be Black and I happen to be white, which I only mention because it’s relevant to this particular incident.

On the day of this story, our front end manager has scheduled Stan for the Lumber till. When I arrive for my shift, I see on the break board that Stan is currently on his lunch break and is slated to return to Lumber for the last three hours of his shift before another cashier arrives to take over for the rest of the day.

When I see Stan emerge from the break room and set up shop at one of the front tills, I approach him.

Me: “Hey, Stan, could you go ahead and head back down to Lumber and send [Cashier who covered his break] back up front, please? Thanks.”

Stan: *Grumbling* “No. I’m fine right here.”

Here we go again.

Me: *As nicely as I can* “Well, we do have you scheduled for the Lumber till today, so could you please do that for me? Thanks.”

Stan: “I’ve already been down there for four hours! Make someone else do it!”

Me: “We rotate the cashiers daily to keep it fair, as you know. Some cashiers are frequently at Lumber — or anywhere else — for their full ten-hour shifts. I haven’t placed you in Lumber for a week since I know you don’t like it, but that’s where [Front End Manager] has you today.”

That’s when Stan storms away from the till and up to me, getting only a few inches from my face. He’s about 5’10”, at least, so he’s kind of towering over me, and he shouts:

Stan: “QUIT BEING A RACIST!”

I’m so stunned that I just kind of stand there with my mouth open in shock for a few seconds. My autistic meltdown button gets activated, and I honestly can’t even remember how I respond, but I know it’s along the lines of stuttering out that I’m just trying to do my job.

Several customers are at the self-checkouts only a few feet away and stop to stare, and (thankfully) the cashier at the self-checkout also witnesses the encounter. Stan continues to yell in my face, calling me a “racist” several more times, making a big scene, and sending me into an instant meltdown (but I try my hardest to keep it together for the sake of this being a very public spectacle).

Since my brain is essentially frozen, again, I can’t recall exactly my response other than requesting that he follow me to [Store Manager]’s office immediately. I drop him off there, quickly say something about what he called me, and excuse myself to the Garden Center to continue my meltdown in private and pace around in the fresh air by the flowers for a few minutes to try to calm down.

I head back inside and see Stan up front at the till, where he wanted to be. I’m confused but still too flustered to even bother questioning it. [Store Manager] radios me to come to his office. I do so, and he asks what happened. I relay the encounter, still shaking a bit, and citing that a coworker did witness the entire thing.

Store Manager: “If he does it again, let me know. Just let him stay up front, and avoid sending him to Lumber from now on.”

I’m a little shocked. That’s it? I go to [Front End Manager] to confer.

Front End Manager: “Yeah, we’re just gonna let him stay up front. So, just hang out at Customer Service and avoid him until he leaves for the day.”

Me: *Still a little in shock* “So… who should I send to Lumber, then?”

Front End Manager: “Ummm, I dunno. Just maybe have one of the Lumber guys cover it until the next cashier comes in.”

I’m still upset from the confrontation, and now I have to scramble to figure out the Lumber situation, and no one but the self-checkout cashier seems to actually care about what just happened. I struggle through the next few minutes until my brain completely turns on me and I feel the tears coming. I quickly duck around the corner to the bench by the training room and completely break down crying.

Another coworker, who has always been very nice to me, wanders in and sees me. He sits down next to me and asks what’s wrong. I lay it out as best I can between sobs, and he does his best to comfort me, gives me a little (work-appropriate) hug, and tells me to go outside and sit in my car for a while and he’ll tell [Front End Manager] where I am.

I cry in my car for a little while and call my mom to vent. Yes, I’m forty and still need my mommy sometimes. She’s also autistic and the most supportive mom ever, so she always understands and is a great help when I need to calm down quickly. I calm down enough to return inside. 

I struggle through the next couple of hours but find that I just can’t focus, and I feel trapped since I can’t leave Customer Service, as Stan is at the tills right behind me. I’m getting so stressed out that I’m fudging simple tasks, customers are getting impatient and rude with me, and I’m spiraling. 

I step away to speak to a manager. I tell her what happened and that my mental state is not stable enough to focus or think. She tells me to go home for the day after I show her the break board I coordinated, showing we have adequate coverage for the rest of the day.

I come back to work a few days later for my next shift, and EVERYONE is talking about what happened, so I get bombarded with questions. My coworkers agree that it wasn’t right how management handled it — which was not at all, from everyone’s understanding — and the consensus is that I at least deserve an apology from Stan.

I bring this up to [Front End Manager].

Front End Manager: “Well… I would let it cool down for a little while longer. Just… avoid him right now.”

Me: “So… did anything even happen? Because I don’t think we should be able to just treat each other that way, you know?”

Front End Manager: “No, you’re right. But let’s just leave it alone for now and let Stan cool off.”

Me: “Um, but what about me? Stan just got his way in the end. I couldn’t even finish my shift because I was so upset. And how am I supposed to avoid him as head cashier? This isn’t right.”

Front End Manager: “Yeah, I mean… I dunno…”

Then, he conveniently got called away at that moment for a manager issue, so I was left standing there in disbelief. I went to the training room to quickly do our required daily work questions, and it happened that one of them was about “Violence in the Workplace”, which the correct answer defined as including physical or verbal aggression that makes an employee feel nervous, uncomfortable, or unsafe. The next question/answer was about reporting any workplace violence immediately to be dealt with.

I just stared at the screen for a moment, absorbing the irony. Then, I decided to submit an official Human Resources ticket to the district about the details of this event. As I relayed the encounter in the ticket, I got upset again — this time angry at the injustice, rather than wanting to cry from feeling like a frightened rabbit who was told to just hide in its hole.

After submitting the HR ticket, I left the training room and informed [Front End Manager] that I was submitting my two-week notice. He didn’t even protest; he just quickly (almost happily) logged it in the computer and went about his business like nothing had happened.

I also sent a quick text to my old boss at the job I’d left for this one, asking her if they had any openings. I got an immediate text back: “F*** yeah! Get your a** back here!”, followed by two more texts from two other previous coworkers there rejoicing at my return.

It’s less money (which is why I sadly had to leave in the first place), but I’m excited to return to a job where I feel happy, respected, and comfortable. I was never properly trained at [Home Improvement Store] — which was just one of the many issues I had there (including sexual harassment, which was also swept under the rug, and then there was the Stan incident) — but one thing I definitely learned there is that mental health and feeling safe are more important than a fat paycheck. Good riddance.

This story is part of our Not Always Working Most-Epic Stories roundup!

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I work for a company that reset displays at home improvement stores. I don’t actually WORK for the store; I’m just there on behalf of the company that’s creating a display of their products there.

I don’t wear any kind of identifying uniform or apron or anything, but even so, I usually have to field questions all day long from people looking for stuff in this huge store. Most of the time it’s old guys just barking products at me in lieu of an actual question: “Wood glue!” or the like.

This most recent time:

Customer: “Wall brackets!”

Me: “I’m sorry, I have no idea. I don’t work here.”

Customer: “Stop being a lazy punk and do your job!”

Me: “I am. I don’t work here because—”

Customer: “Go get your manager!”

Me: “He’s in Connecticut.”

Customer: “What?!”

Me: “I don’t work here! I work for another company!”

Customer: “Well… I still want to talk to your manager!”

Me: “And tell him what?”

Customer: “That you don’t know where the wall brackets are!” 

Me: “Sir, I’m going to lunch. Moan at a manager here if you feel so inclined, but they’ll tell you the same thing I told you.”

And with that, I walked out to enjoy my sandwich.

Related:
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 46
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 45
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 44
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 43
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 42

We bought an entire set of cabinets (kitchen, three bathrooms, and family room) from a big box home improvement store. At every step of the way, they messed it up. The kitchen measurements were wrong, but I caught that before the order. The boxes all arrived, and their inspector just peeked in but didn’t really open the boxes. At that point, we gave the okay to our guy to do the demolition.

A week later, the carpenters came in, installed a few cabinets (not the ones needed to put sinks back), and discovered that five were broken. They got offended and left, even though I begged them to install the unbroken ones.

We had to wait three more weeks for new ones. All that time, there were no sinks anywhere, so my family was staying in a hotel.

I was pretty steamed, but I documented everything with diagrams, dates, and photos, and went into the store. I calmly explained to the top manager what had happened. I said it had been rough and was unnecessary. If the inspector had found the broken ones, we could have reordered them before the demolition.

I asked what could he do for us, and he took $7,000 (this is in the US, back in 2006) off the price — almost the entire price.

And that is how you complain.

To this day, this is the most ridiculous (and thankfully final) customer encounter of my entire retail career.

Customer: “I called ahead to pick up [mildly heavy hardware item].”

Me: “Ah, yes, I see that in the system. I’ll go get that from the back for you. The total will be [total].”

Customer: “I won’t pay a penny until I have seen the item.”

Me: “Absolutely, sir. I will go fetch that for you.”

Customer: “I’ll need you to carry it to my car for me.”

I bring the item out to the desk, and the customer looks at it disapprovingly.

Customer: “It’s dirty!”

Me: “Sorry, sir, where is it dirty?”

Customer: “All over! It’s filthy!”

Me: “There’s some dust from the warehouse, but I can wipe it down for you.”

Customer: “Well, I don’t want you to touch it!”

Me: “I just carried it from the warehouse.”

Customer: “Don’t touch it!”

Me: “You want me to get this into your vehicle, but you don’t want me to touch it?”

Customer: “Wear gloves.”

Me: “I can do that.”

Customer: “And try not to breathe on it.”

Me: “I’m sorry, what? You want me to… not… breathe while I am carrying an eighty-pound item to your car?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “I can’t do that, sir.”

And then we get to the reason why the customer is behaving this way.

Customer: “Then I’d like a discount.”

Me: “You’d like a discount because I will breathe on your item?”

Customer: “Yes!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do that!”

Customer: “Then get me someone who can.”

Me: “No manager is going to give you a discount because we breathe, sir.”

Customer: “Get your manager!”

I call the manager over, and the ridiculous complaint is carried through.

Manager: “What if [My Name] wears a mask?”

Customer: “Not good enough! I want a discount!”

Manager: *Sighs* “I can give you a 5% discount, sir.”

Customer: “Hmm. Fine.”

I swear silently at my manager, but I run through the total and get ready to don gloves and a mask and carry the item to the customer’s car.

Me: “Okay, sir, if you pull up to the front of the store, I can carry the item to you.”

Customer: “Pardon me? You expect me to drive over to you! I’m paying for a service; you bring [item] to me!”

Me: “It’s more convenient to—”

Customer: “I don’t care about your convenience. I’ve paid, and I expect to get what I paid for.”

I sigh but carry the item over to the car; I work out regularly, so it’s not too onerous, but it’s the principle of the thing. Then I find that he’s parked at the far end of the almost-empty lot, and his trunk is already full of messy items. He is just standing there staring at me expectantly.

Me: *Still holding the item* “Sir, I need you to move some of your things so I can place the [item] in your trunk.”

Customer: “Excuse me! You expect me to move my things around for you?! Who do you think you are?!”

Me: “Sir, the item will not physically fit.”

Customer: “I have paid for a service—”

Me: “Sir, I don’t care if you’ve paid your body weight in gold; I cannot physically fit this item into your trunk.”

Customer: “Make it fit.”

I put the item on the ground so I can move some of his things around, and—

Customer: “You put it on the ground! How dare you?! I should get this item for free for this—”

I clap my hands together.

Me: “Sir, you asked me to bring this [item] to your car. I have done so. The rest is up to you.”

I washed my hands of it and walked back to the store. The customer, enraged, followed behind me and started shouting at my manager when we both got back to the store. The manager giving the customer a voucher to appease him was the last straw for me, and I put in my two-week notice before the end of that shift. 

I never went back to retail. It’s not worth it.