A year or so ago, I was at the Swedish furniture store to get some things for my new flat. As one does, I needed some garbage bins and couldn’t find the particular one I was looking for, so I asked for help.

Employee: “You won’t find those downstairs; you’ll have to upstairs to the kitchen section.”

So, I began my journey back through the masses and upstairs to collect my desired garbage bin. Since I was given directions and know the place quite well, I was going quite fast and confidently toward the kitchen section when I was stopped by someone.

Customer #1: “Hi, excuse me! Can you help me?”

Me: “Sorry, I don’t work here.”

I gave them a puzzled look because everyone knows the employees in this store wear blue and yellow uniforms, and I was wearing a combination of a crop top and jeans, but I went on.

Just one minute later, the next person got in my way and started:

Customer #2: “Yeah, hi, can you help me find [item #1]?”

Me: *Confused* “Sorry, I don’t work here.”

And I rushed by. Mind you, my boyfriend was waiting for me, and I didn’t want to leave him waiting so long while I idled around.

Lo and behold, yet another woman approached me.

Customer #3: “Hi! Where can I find [item #2]?”

To be honest, at that point, I was a bit fed up.

Me: “Why? Do I look like I work here?”

I pointed at my not-yellow-and-blue attire.

Customer #3: *Angrily* “Yes!”

I must have looked very competent that day since I walked fast and knew where I was going.

I was working at one of the only bookstore chains left in the USA when I got a call from an older woman. It started out unremarkable, with her asking for directions to our store. Then, she asked if we had a certain beauty store next to ours. In fact, we did. Then, she launched into a line of questioning that went like this.

Caller: “Does [Beauty Store] have [product]?”

Me: “I’m not sure, ma’am; I don’t work there. I’d be happy to answer any questions about [My Bookstore]’s products, though.”

Caller: “Well, can you tell me how much [product] is?”

Me: *Pauses* “No. I have no idea about any of their products. I don’t work there. I hardly ever even go in there.”

Caller: *Sounding annoyed* “Can you at least give me their phone number, then, so I can talk to someone that knows?”

Me: “I don’t have it on hand. Why don’t you look it up?”

She then hung up on me, but not before telling me how unhelpful and rude I was.

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

Yesterday, my wife convinced me to go to a tulip farm. Spending time picking up tulips, paying for them, and having to stand and walk around for three hours for Instagram pictures was not fun. By the end of that event, we were tired and hungry. I wanted to eat somewhere fun and found a hibachi place. My kids were excited, and my wife was happy with her haul.

We arrived at the hibachi place and were led to our seats. We had great service from the staff. (More on that later.) I forgot to mention that I had a toddler and wanted a high seat for my daughter so she could see the griddle. The employee who seated us pointed to one of the waitstaff and indicated that I needed a high chair. I was ten feet from the chair and the waitress was further away, so I waved her off and grabbed the chair myself.

As I returned to the table, another couple was being led to the other side of our table (each hibachi setup sat nine or ten people) so I stopped to let them pass. After passing, a woman turned around and said something to me, but it was noisy and I was concentrating on getting my daughter seated. As I struggled with the seat belt, I felt a tap on my shoulder, but I seated my daughter first.

Then, I turned around, and the same lady was literally inches from my face telling me a bunch of things.

Me: *Giggling* “Sorry, I don’t work here.”

I don’t know why she thought I did at all. Everyone who worked there was dressed in black and white; I was wearing a T-shirt and had mud on my shoes, and my hair was tossed around like I haven’t slept in days. However, she insisted and kept raising her voice at me. (Granted, it was noisy.)

Me: “Ma’am, I don’t work here.”

She was heated, yelling, and getting angry. She said it was about her food allergies and that if she got sick, she would sue me.

Me: *Tired of this* “I don’t care about your allergies because I don’t work here.”

She put her finger in my face, still yelling. My wife noticed, got up, swatted the woman’s hand away, and stood between this lady and me.

Wife: “Ma’am, this is my husband. He doesn’t work here.”

Then she turned around and sat me down. The lady kept raising her voice to my wife.

Lady: “But he was so rude to me!”

At that point, the lady’s husband was red and grabbed to sit her down. This interaction lasted for less than a minute. The staff came by and calmed everyone down and made sure everyone was seated. They asked if I wanted to be moved, but I said no, I was fine where I was. Then, they asked the lady if she wanted to be moved, and she said no, but she seemed pretty pissed off.

The hibachi chef noticed all this as he rolled his cart in. He started his routine, and my wife and kids loved it. I just sat there, happy as a clam that everyone was having a great time and I would get to eat.

At one point during the dinner, the hibachi chef started spraying my kids with water, which they loved. For the adults, he would spray them with white wine from a bottle to loosen them up. When he got to me, he gave me a really long douse.

Chef: “You need a double! you work overtime today.”

I thought this was hilarious. When he got to the lady, he gave her the tiniest spray.

Chef: “Maybe not too much for you.”

She giggled but was obviously not entertained.

As the chef did his routine, we had a good time and ate good food. My kids loved it, and to me, that was the important part.

After the routine, the chef started cleaning up. He tossed a clean rag and scraper near me, and without missing a beat, I yelled, “Yes, boss!”, got up, and started scraping off the grill. The chef started barking at me even more. I moved faster and more frantically. Then, a member of the waitstaff brought a mop and bucket, and I started mopping. Everyone was laughing, and my kids were going crazy. It was hilarious — to me, at least. So, to add to it, I spontaneously asked everyone to give a generous tip for the show, even though it wasn’t necessary, and they did — except for you know who.

I was finally urged back to my chair with clapping from my family. The chef gave me a handshake for being a good sport and went on his way. We finished eating and were served dessert. We then heard talking from the corner where the lady and her husband were now arguing; she was mad at me, and her husband allowed it all to happen. I really felt bad at that point and just wanted everyone to leave on a good note. I apologized it was easy for me and I had no stake in their argument.

Me: “Hey, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, but I was tired and hungry. I just want to have some fun with my kids.”

It did seem to help. We finished eating and packed up our stuff to leave.

As we were leaving, this lady was in the lobby complaining to the manager about everything. My wife stopped and chimed in. Apparently, the manager already knew and made it clear to the lady to calm down. Then, he spoke to her in the most stereotypical Asian accent.

Manager: “Oh, so sorry, no refund. Now you go home.”

The lady’s husband pulled her out to the parking lot at this point. Sorry, dude.

Then, that manager turned to us and spoke with the most New Jersey accent.

Manager: “I can’t believe that accent worked. I hope you guys had a great time.”

He talked to my wife and kids while his staff helped me get our stuff into the car, walked us out, and gave my kids some takeaway snacks. They loved it.

Overall, it was a fun day.

I am in restaurant management and have been in the industry for almost twelve years. I am very comfortable in the workplace and walk pretty confidently. I am also very aware of my surroundings having been burned, run into, dropped things, etc. If you know the industry, we call “corner” and “behind” and stick our arms out to let people pass.

My family and I are on a road trip. We’re driving through a sleepy town and it is getting late. The ONLY thing in town open is [Seafood Chain], so we go in. It is PACKED.

After we order, I get up to use the restroom. I pass a server with a very full tray who looks like she is struggling. I stick my arm out to let her through.

Me: “You good, girl?”

Server: *Laughing* “I’m fine!”

I come out of the restroom, and as I’m walking back to the table, an older woman grabs my arm hard and starts screaming about their lack of cheddar biscuits.

Me: *Pulling my arm away* “Ma’am, I’m so sorry, but I don’t work here.”

I kind of chuckle as I talk to ease the tension. She gets angrier.

Woman: “I SAW YOU HELP THAT GIRL! I KNOW YOU’RE THE MANAGER! HOW RUDE OF YOU TO IGNORE A VALUED CUSTOMER!”

I just laugh and walk away. I walk up to the host stand and tell the host about what happened, just in case the server runs into trouble because of it.

Host: “Which table?”

I casually point to it. His response has me almost on the floor laughing.

Host: *Rolling his eyes and shaking his head* “Motherf****** Ethel… I’m sorry. She is probably the evilest person on the planet, but her family owns like half the town so, unfortunately, we are at her f****** mercy.”

A few minutes later, the manager came over to our table, super apologetic, and said he’d comp our meal. I told him absolutely not; I do the same job and have dealt with SO much worse.