I’m thirty-nine, and I do the grocery shopping for my parents, who I live with — mainly because I have the time, but also because I enjoy it. It gets me away from the house, and I’m a bit of an organizational nerd. I enjoy playing grocery “Tetris” in the cart. I like finding deals. I enjoy clipping coupons. I even have a list of each aisle and what’s on it for maximum grocery list planning! So, my grocers know me. They recognize me. If they don’t see me for a while, they charge up like my favorite auntie, hands on hips, asking, “Where have you been? Why haven’t you been in to see me?” I love my store.

This happened a few years ago, around the first year of the global health crisis. I stopped in to pick up a few things. I had written things down a bit out of order because I’d scribbled it while I was at work. I had my store “map”, though, and was consulting it when I nearly bumped into an older gentleman. When I say, “older”, I don’t mean fifties; this man was closer to eighty. He apologized and seemed flustered, so I asked him if he was all right.

Gentleman: *Despairingly* “I’m lost. I can’t find [simple item].”

I glanced at my “map” to confirm before telling him which aisle. He thanked me, and then, completely bereft and almost seeming to give up, he said:

Gentleman: “My wife used to do the shopping for us. Fifty years. She’s been gone a month, and I don’t know how to do this.”

My heart instantly broke.

Me: “What else are you looking for?”

He showed me his list. I accompanied him while we found all the items he’d come looking for and a few others. It wasn’t much — the bare essentials for a single man for the week — and we were done in about fifteen minutes.

As we shopped, we talked. His wife had caught [contagious illness] and fought for almost four weeks before passing away. I ended up giving him my “map”, hoping it would help him as he acclimated to this new task. As he headed for the checkout and I prepared to go back to my shopping (I still only had two or three of my own items in my basket), I heard him say to one of the floor managers:

Gentleman: “That young lady right there deserves a raise.”

The floor manager smiled at me.

Manager: “Oh, I’d love to, but she doesn’t work here.”

The old man looked at me, tears in his eyes, and thanked me. I told him I was happy to do it.

I still am. It’s been three years, and I still think about him from time to time, wondering and worrying about whether he’s okay.

Earlier in my career, I had the kind of job to which people dressed up. It was my first big-girl office job, and I liked finally having regular hours after years of working retail.

One day after work on a cool December day, I headed over to a big box store where, at the time, employees wore red shirts and khaki pants. I was standing in the shoe section wearing a pink ruffled shirt, black dress pants, and one sandal. Why one sandal? Because the other one was in my hand, while I tried on shoes.

An older man approached me.

Older Man: “Do you sell garden hoses?”

I looked at him for a moment, but my retail training kicked in, so as I stood there doing my best flamingo impression, I smiled.

Me: “I don’t personally, no, but [Store] might. I don’t think they usually have any this time of year, but if they do, they’ll be in the far back corner with the seasonal items.”

He looked me up and down, finally perceiving that I was still holding one shoe in my hand and standing on one foot.

Older Man: “You don’t work here?”

Me: “Nope. I don’t think they’d like it much if their employees spent time shopping for shoes on the clock.”

I was now getting tired of standing on one foot.

Older Man: *Now sounding accusatory* “Then why did you answer me?”

Me: “Because you asked me, sir, and I thought I’d try to help since I shop here a lot.”

Older Man: “You should have gotten me someone that works here!”

Thankfully, he stomped off. I for sure wasn’t going to go hunt down some unsuspecting employee for this man. At least he didn’t try to get me fired? 

Related:
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 47
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

Dear readers,

Picture this. You’re shopping at [Store]. You can’t figure out where they keep those weird little gadgets that do that specific little thing. But, hark! An employee! You approach them and ask them if they know where to find that gadget. And then, they say it: “Uhh… I don’t work here.”

What do you do?

Personally, I think I’d apologize about ten times and then slink home without my gadget to quietly die of embarrassment in my closet. The confused customers in these stories are not nearly so ashamed of their mistakes! Please enjoy these 19 “I Don’t Work Here” stories from the Not Always Right Archives!

I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 4 – Ah, the ol’ “pretending to fire them” gambit. Classic.

The Ministry Of Silly Walks – Sing “Walk Like An Egyptian” by The Bangles, but switch out “Egyptian” for “employee”.

Harry Potter And The Disorder Of The Forks-Flicks – How ever you answered my “What do you do?” question above… just don’t do this.

(more…)

I am shopping at a store wearing a T-shirt and jeans, which in no way resembles the red shirts and khaki pants actual store employees are rocking. I am browsing and not in a huge hurry, so a lady comes up to me and asks:

Lady: “Where are the vitamins?”

I look at the handy-dandy thing on the cart that lists common purchases and the aisle number.

Me: “I don’t work here, but it looks like that’s in aisle 27.”

I point to the thing that tells me that as I say it, and she walks away. I continue shopping, and she tracks me down again.

Lady: “I couldn’t find it!”

Me: “I don’t work here.”

I gesture in the general direction of my cart. I’m not going to interrupt my shopping to scour the aisles with her. She huffs off, and I continue shopping, only to have the lady and the store manager appear a few minutes later.

Lady: “This horrible employee needs to be fired on the spot for rude and unhelpful behavior, not to mention lying about not working at the store, which is stupid because she helped me earlier but refused service when it required a little walking!”

She was smirking because she thought she had just gotten me fired. The manager, of course, realized the problem. He’d never met me before, I wasn’t dressed like an employee, and, oh, yeah, I had a shopping cart full of groceries just like every other customer in the store.

He half-apologized to me and hurried her over to the aisle to find whatever for her. Lesson learned: don’t try to help random people who mistake you for an employee.

I am the biggest night owl I’ve ever met, so I often go into twenty-four-hour stores late at night when I need something from a store but most of them are closed.

One night, I decide to go to the twenty-four-hour store on the other side of town because the closer one doesn’t have what I’m looking for. I walk in, and I’m one of three other people, not including the cashier. I don’t know what the workers at that store wear, so I don’t notice I am wearing the same thing until after the fact.

I’m looking for an Android charging cable when this guy in a tie walks up to me and tells me to take out the trash.

Me: “Huh?”

Guy: “Didn’t you hear me? I said to take out the trash.”

Me: *Confused* “Calm down.”

BIG mistake.

Guy: “Who do you think you are telling me to calm down?! SHUT UP AND DO YOUR JOB!”

That’s when it clicks.

Me: “Look, man. I don’t work here.”

Guy: “Yeah, right. If I have to tell you again, I’ll write your a** up, [Not My Name].”

Me: “My name is [My Name]. I don’t work here.”

Then, a guy dressed just like me — down to the black shoes and haircut — walked out of the staff-only door, wondering what was going on. He looked a lot like me; I could tell he was also Dominican.

The a**hole manager’s face changed from anger to shock as he looked at me and then back to his worker. Needless to say, I was pissed that this white middle-aged man couldn’t tell the difference between his worker and a customer just because we both looked somewhat alike.

He tried to say sorry for the whole thing and said it was just a misunderstanding. I demanded to speak to his boss or else. He gave me his supervisor’s number.

I called and went off on this guy about how one of his managers had treated me like I was trash just because he thought that I was one of his workers. I pointed out that even if I was a worker, it was an unacceptable way to treat someone.

I got a fifty-dollar gift card, and that manager just looks away from me every time I walk into that store and he’s there working the register.

I’m sure the staff had a good story to tell the day shift workers.