I am a manager at the supermarket. One of the workers, [Problem Worker], has been refusing to help customers on the floor — not “go get me something from the other end of the store because I’m too lazy” customers, but “I can’t reach the clearly-labeled ‘REQUEST EMPLOYEE ASSISTANCE FOR ITEMS ON TOP SHELF’” customers. The boss has made clear that if he is reported doing this one more time, he will be fired.

When an angry customer storms up to me and asks if I am a manager, I’m bracing myself for the worst.

Customer #1: “One of your workers is refusing to help me!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, could you take me to him so I can—”

Customer #1: It wasn’t a him; it was a her!“

Call me a pessimist, but at this point, I’m wondering if [Problem Worker] is starting to rub off on his coworkers.

Me: “Sorry, ma’am. Could you take me to her so I can report her?”

The customer leads me into the aisle and… it’s not one of [Problem Worker]’s coworkers. It’s not even someone wearing a [Supermarket] uniform. It’s a woman in a revealing dress, wearing more jewelry than I can account for, a lot of which is dangling — someone who is obviously not doing on-the-floor work.

Customer #1: “That’s the one! Tell her to do her job!”

Customer #2: “Are you still doing this s***? I told you, I don’t work here!”

Customer #1: “Don’t try and pull that with your boss here!”

Me: “Ma’am, that woman doesn’t work here. And if she told you that, why wouldn’t you listen to her?”

Customer #1: “Don’t lie to protect her! I told her to get me a [item on the nearby top shelf] and she wouldn’t help me!”

Me: “Ma’am, she is not an employee of [Supermarket]. She is not wearing a [Supermarket] uniform, her clothes are not suited to working at [Supermarket], and I have never let my workers wear anything that… might get caught on things while they’re working.”

Yes, I just barely stop myself from insulting her outfit, but [Customer #2] still gives me a dirty look that I 100% deserved.

Customer #1: “But she can reach the top shelf! She should help me!”

[Customer #2] is, admittedly, tall enough to easily reach items on the labeled top shelf without assistance, but that does not put her under any obligation to do so, especially from a rude customer like this.

Me: “She doesn’t work here. She told you she doesn’t work here. I told you she doesn’t work here. Why should she help you?”

Customer #1: “Because I told her to! Hey, get back here!”

[Customer #2] has started walking away at this point, and she flips the woman off over her shoulder.

Customer #2: “F*** you very much, you b****.”

Customer #1: “Don’t you talk to me like that!”

Me: “Ma’am, you are harassing another customer. Stop right now, or I will remove you from the store.”

[Customer #1] got removed from the store. Honestly, what part of “She doesn’t work here” did you not understand?

I am shopping at a home improvement store that is chronically understaffed. I need a few more of a certain item than what is stocked on the shelf, but there are more in the “backstock” on the upper shelves. One of the store’s rolling ladders is standing right there, and there’s not an orange apron in sight, so I just scamper right up and help myself.

As I am descending with my prize, SHE appears, haircut and all.

Customer: *In an angry, condescending tone* “Excuse me, can I get some help?”

Me: *Politely* “Oh, I don’t work here.”

Customer: “Yes, you do. I just saw you up on that ladder!”

Me: “Yeah, just getting what I need for myself. You’ll need to find a store employee to help you. Good luck with that.”

Customer: “I demand that you help me!”

I am feeling a little childish and have some old retail trauma to work out.

Me: “Don’t wanna!”

I stomp my widdle foot like a toddler, because two can play this game.

Customer: “What?! Are you refusing to help me?”

Me: “Yup! Because I don’t work here, so I don’t gotta! And anyway, you didn’t say please!”

Customer: “Well, you’re rude!”

Me: “Yeah, and mean, and ugly, too!”

Customer: “I— Wait, what?”

Me: “Also, I’m lazy and have questionable hygiene, unpopular political views, and weak moral fiber, and I don’t love Jesus!”

Customer: *Splutters and wibbles a bit* “Well, I never!”

Me: “Well, maybe you shoulda!”

And away I strutted, leaving her there with her chin on her chest.

Related:
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 43
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 42
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 41
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 40
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 39

We bought the boat of our dreams during this whole crazy experience the world has been going through. With restrictions and cases finally dropping to a level that isn’t absolutely bonkers, we decided to go on our first long-distance journey, leaving from the east coast of America and heading for the west coast. We’re planning to be gone for about ninety days.

This morning we awake in gorgeous San Marino, Mexico. I quickly hit the galley and make some Italian-inspired breakfast burritos using this lovely habanero marinara sauce my partner found on our journeys, some chicken, pepperoni, eggs, and onions. Using three burrito-sized tortillas, I am able to fashion this monster together as I grab a fresh beer to start the day as we’re docked here until tomorrow.

I tell you about my delicious breakfast burrito because it is a main character in our story today. I stumble up to the main deck with my goodies and our pups in tow; they’ve got a good patch of turf to do their business up here. Standing there in my crocs, obnoxiously bright swim trunks, and one of those oversized straw hats with the chin strap, I hear the song of my homeland: some entitled woman going ballistic on some dock workers.

This sends my childish brain right into wallflower mode, as nothing is better with a sloppy burrito than people-watching.

The woman is screaming at the two men on the dock about a boat, not mine but one clearly privately owned and not some kind of rental. The woman is demanding that they provide the ship to her for the day and is swinging around a fistful of bills. Our Mexican friends are doing their best to communicate to her that they have nothing to do with the boat — I assume, as my Spanish isn’t the best. The woman is screaming and stomping as she gestures toward the boat and workers are awkwardly shrugging and attempting to avoid her.

Then, it happens. I’ve been spotted. I attempt to slink back under the deck, but alas, as I turn around to seal the cabin, I see the woman making a beeline for me with what can only be described as an “I’m going to get the manager to do what I say” expression. Having two very large and protective dogs, I bite the bullet and step back onto the deck.

Woman: “Sir! Why don’t your workers speak English? How are they supposed to do their jobs if they don’t speak English?”

After a stunned pause, I respond.

Me: “Well, ma’am, we’re in Mexico; the primary language here is Spanish. Also, they’re not my workers as I don’t work here. Please get off of my boat.”

Going from zero to a hundred, the woman launches into a tirade about how it’s BS and they need to speak English and I need to get that random person’s boat ready for her before her husband arrives with their kids. Add in plenty more racism.

Finally cutting her off, I yell:

Me: “Hey, lady! I do not work here, or even in this country. Kindly get the f*** off my boa—”

As I was saying the word “boat,” the woman shoved me — no words, just a full-on shove. I did end up going overboard, but the sight I saw on the dock when I came back to dry land was glorious.

You see, in my journey over the starboard bow of my boat, I did manage to throw the about 70% of burrito I still had in my hand — which was stuffed full of Habanero sauce — at the woman, hitting her in the neck. Apparently, it exploded everywhere, and the woman was covered from her cheeks to her midsection, even seeping through the bikini top she was wearing. Surprisingly, after she was done screaming about the heat, she simply sat down and started crying.

I headed back below deck for a fresh burrito and another beer. The dock workers managed to high-tailed it while the woman was occupied with me, so all ended well.

My husband and I work at a car dealership together. One night after work, we stop at a grocery store to pick up dinner stuff. My husband is wearing a white shirt and red tie combo today, which is also what the produce managers at this chain of supermarkets wear.

An older guy comes up to him.

Guy: “HEY! You should know these avocados are bad.”

Husband: “Oh, yeah? Good to know. I will avoid them.”

Guy: “Well, I bought these avocados and they are crap!” *Holds up a bag* “I took them home, and now my wife is all over my a** about these d*** avocados!”

Husband: “Wow, that’s awful.”

Guy: “What are you going to do about it?!”

Husband: “Uh, I guess point you to that guy over there?”

He points to a manager stocking produce.

Guy: “You, uh… you don’t work here, do you?”

Husband: “Nope.”

Guy: *Long pause* “Sorry about the fuss. Don’t buy the avocados; they taste like s***.”

Husband: “Well noted, sir. Have a great day.”

It’s been our inside joke for sixteen years now: “THESE AVOCADOS ARE CRAP!”

It is the day before the Fourth of July holiday. I am at a cell phone company trying to switch my carrier. They are super busy, and sadly, I am going to be one of “those customers.” Not in a bad way… but one where I know they are going to have to call customer service, wait on hold, etc. Luckily, the staff understands the situation and are AWESOME!

The rep has to wait on hold and decides to move on to help another customer, as they are so busy. I am sitting at a booth waiting for the service to complete my transaction. The staff wears black shirts and khakis. I am wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt from a baseball team.

As I am waiting, I am playing on my phone, checking websites and whatnot. That is when I hear a rather loud cough. I look up to see a couple standing at the booth.

Me: “Oh. I am so sorry. I don’t work here. I am actually being helped, but the employee had to run to the back. I am sure someone will be right with you.”

Woman: “Oh… so, you don’t work here?”

Me: “No. Sorry. I apologise.”

Man: “Well, today is your lucky day, and we are putting you to work!”

They begin to laugh, and I laugh, as well. They suddenly stop and the man looks at me, dead serious.

Man: “I don’t think you understand. I wasn’t joking. You will help us… entitled little s***s like you don’t get to sit around and not work… Not on my watch! You obviously need the work.”

I start looking around to see if any staff member is available. Of course, they aren’t; they are helping other people and apparently missed this guy’s attitude. I look back at the couple.

Me: “Listen… I am going to say this once. I don’t know you and you don’t know me. I don’t work here. If you took off your sunglasses and actually looked, you would see that I am not even wearing the company uniform, not even close. Secondly, there is a queue, and you stormed past three people waiting before you. There is a line… Get in it.”

The couple looked shocked but got in line.

They did complain about me, but even the staff told them I don’t work here, which made the woman go into some form of screeching rage and made me chuckle.

Related:
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 42
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 41
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 40
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 39
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 38