I have just gotten off work, and I’m still in my work clothes. I go to the grocery store on my way home. While I’m shopping, a gentleman approaches me.
Gentleman: “Do you work here?”
Me: “No, I don’t.”
Gentleman: “Why?”
What do you even say back to that?!
I work at a fairly large, fairly well-known cancer treatment center. I am a scheduler, so I’m not clinical, but I do work in the clinic and often see patients after their appointments, so I wear scrubs. Each team’s scrubs here are color coordinated so staff and patients know what team you’re on, and it’s a pretty good system. But outside of the center, they just look like everyday scrubs. You can probably see where this is going.
I am grabbing some snacks for the office on lunch break at the grocery store when I get a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see a lady with a fairly full buggy grinning at me.
Lady: “Hey. Can you take a look at this spot on my son’s foot? It’s really been bugging him and it’s super swollen and I’m just worried about it.”
I am confused, of course, but she points at this huge ace bandage she has wrapped around her toddler’s foot. It does look big, but of course, it is out of my range of expertise.
Me: “I’m sorry. I’m not a nurse or clinical or anything. I’m a scheduler.”
She just continues to give me this condescending smile.
Lady: “But you’re wearing scrubs.”
Me: “Yes, ma’am. I work in the clinic of a cancer center, but I’m a scheduler, not medical. You should take your son to a doctor or an urgent care if it’s that bad.”
My easy and concise explanation goes right over the lady’s head.
Lady: “But you’re wearing scrubs.”
Me: “Yes. But I’m not a nurse.”
I don’t know how else to reply because she just keeps staring at me. I repeat the thing about urgent care and go back to looking at chips. The lady is not happy; she blows up.
Lady: “Is this because of money? Can’t you do something nice for a single mom?! Aren’t you supposed to help people?! All you nurses and doctors care about is money! None of you give a d*** about the patient!”
Me: *Snapping* “Lady! I’m not a nurse!”
She continued her rant.
Lady: “Well, you shouldn’t wear scrubs, then! That’s fraud! That’s impersonating a medical worker! That’s a felony! I bet you just want the attention because of the health crisis! You need to—“
I just grabbed my chips and walked away. I swear as I did I could hear her stomp her foot like a child. I can see the confusion, but I have no idea what this lady’s logic was. Literally no medical professional is going to give a diagnosis in the grocery store unless it’s an emergency. I hope the kid is okay either way, though. He was very well-behaved for a toddler who was probably in a good bit of discomfort.
I’m out shopping for a few things and I remember that I need some ham, so I go to the cooked meats aisle and look for something tempting. As I’m searching for something nice, I hear a voice behind me saying, “Excuse me!” in a not-at-all polite manner. I look over my shoulder and see another customer. I acknowledge her and take two steps to the side but don’t turn around. I feel a tap on my shoulder and hear the same non-too-polite voice saying:
Customer: “Excuse me. I’m talking to you. Don’t ignore me.”
I turn around and open my mouth to ask what she wants and why she’s being rude, but before I can speak, she starts berating me for being a lazy member of staff and ignoring her.
Me: “If you think I work here, you’re wrong; I don’t.”
Customer: “You’re just being f****** lazy. I’ll have your job!”
Me: *Badly feigning surprise* “Really? You’ll have my job?”
She says, with a strange mixture of superiority, righteousness, and stupidity:
Customer: “Yes, I will.”
Me: “Okay. Suit yourself. You can have it.”
I wave my hands around in strange shapes and announce:
Me: “You are now officially a member of staff.”
It is said that a picture can speak a thousand words, but the look on her face just says, “What the f***?”
Customer: “But I want you to get [things] for me… I want—”
Me: “Don’t ask me. I’m a customer. You should ask a colleague since you work here. In fact, you can help me with what I need.”
Customer: “What? But I don’t work here!”
Me: “Yes, you do. You said you’d have my job, and I gave it to you. Now f*** off and leave me alone.”
She stomps off, but that isn’t the end of it. Another customer, who’s clearly seen the interaction, stops her halfway up the aisle.
Customer #2: “Oh, finally, someone who works here! Can you get that heavy [item] off the top shelf—”
Customer: “Oh, f*** off!”
She walked, presumably, out of the shop. [Customer #2], you absolute legend!
This story is part of our Halfway-Through-2022 roundup!
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I work for a major railroad in the northeastern US, and we’ve had some storms lately.
We need some thirty-amp sockets that we have run out of (because we don’t usually keep hurricane-level amounts of parts on hand), so I go to my local big box hardware stores, buying as many of these as we can get our hands on.
Unfortunately, many people are cleaning up after these storms and need these parts, too, so I am having a devil of a time finding them.
Because I work for a railroad, I have to be qualified to go near railroad tracks, and I have a badge that shows I can do this. This badge is safety orange. One of the hardware retailers is known for safety orange. It should be noted that this badge has a railroad logo on it, but I’m sure you can see where this is going.
I visit my fifth hardware store of the day, and I start looking in the aisle where they usually keep these. I find the area, and it is DESTROYED. It looks like a gorilla was looking for wall outlets. I check their stock on my phone — it says they have twelve of the sockets I need — and I start looking.
After a minute or so of digging around, I hear someone clearing their throat loudly behind me. I ignore it.
Woman: “A-hem! Excuse me!”
I ignore it again.
Still digging in the shelves, I find an unopened box of thirty-amp four-wire sockets. PAYDIRT! I’ve been buried up to my waist in dusty shelves looking for these, so I pull myself out with a box of sockets looking like I just wrestled a badger. I come face to face with the woman.
Woman: “So, are you deaf or just plain stupid?”
Now, I’m pretty low on f***s to give on a good day due to a congenital malformation of my f*** gland, but today I am completely out. My f***s are so low that they are in danger of collapsing in on themselves and creating a stable negative-f*** event that Stephen Hawking could only dream about. A f***ularity, if you will. So, with all the sass I can muster, I reply.
Me: “Neither, ma’am, I just don’t give a s*** about what you have to say.”
Woman: “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?!”
Me: “I don’t give a s***.”
Woman: “Where’s your manager? I hope you enjoyed your last day working here! You’re done!”
Me: “I don’t work here. It’s why I couldn’t care less about you or your opinion.”
Woman: “Of course you do! Why else would you be wearing an employee badge?”
Me: “Employees here wear aprons, not badges.”
Woman: “But it’s orange.”
Me: “Yup. Bye.”
Woman: “You’re not going anywhere until I talk to your manager!”
And she stretches her hands out for my badge.
Me: “You need to think really hard about what you do next. Any part of you that touches me is going to be broken. I already told you I don’t work here. I’m leaving. Find someone else to b**** to; I’m not interested.”
Now admittedly, this is beyond the pale, but as I said, I am tired and irritated from a stretch of long, back-breaking days, this is my fifth store today, and now I have to go and START work. I do feel bad for how I talked to her as I walk away. I find a few other things I need and head up to pay.
As I’m up at the customer service desk trying to ring up a tax-free sale on this stuff, I hear the shriek of the woman.
Woman: “That’s him! I’m not leaving here until he’s fired!“
A woman with a kind but exasperated face comes walking up to me.
Manager: “Listen, I’m the manager on duty. This woman is in here all the time, and she’s a huge pain in my butt, so I’m sure that she’s completely full of crap. But she says you pushed her over, called her a bunch of names, and threatened her.”
Me: “Literally none of that happened. I told her that if she touched me, she was going to regret it, and that was that.”
Manager: “I thought so. I’m going to make a big show of ‘firing’ you, and we can both be done with her.”
Me: “Nope. I’m not dealing with her. She acts like a self-entitled hag because you bend over backward for her every time she throws a tantrum. You do what you want. I’m not playing.”
The woman was standing behind her sputtering like a lawnmower engine when I said that, but I didn’t hear what happened after that. The cashier winked at me and handed me my receipt, and I left.
I’m staying at a hotel with my husband, who is in his company uniform as we are here for a work thing. On our way up to our room, there is a gentleman trying to get into one that we have to pass to get to ours. His frustrated eye falls on my husband.
The gentleman seems incapable of speaking at anything lower than “foghorn”.
Gentleman: “YOU! YOU WORK HERE!”
Husband: “No, sir, I’m a guest.”
Gentleman: “OH.”
He turns back to the door, we move past him.
Gentleman: “WHERE YOU GO? YOU HELP ME.”
Husband: “I don’t work here.”
Gentleman: “YOU SAID YOU DO. OPEN DOOR.”
Husband: “I said I don’t and I can’t help you.”
Gentleman: “YOU CALL ME LIAR? YOU SAID YOU WORK HERE. GET ME KEY!”
Husband: “Go down to the front desk. They can help you.”
Gentleman: “YOU HERE NOW. YOU GET ME KEY. YOU OPEN DOOR.”
Husband: “Dude, unless that door has an issue with its water intake or steam pressure, I can’t help you. Go to the front desk.”
Gentleman: “NO! YOU HELP NOW!“
The man literally stomped his foot.
I may have giggled at this point. He started turning purple, but my husband just hustled me into our room. There was some more loud talking in a language I couldn’t identify, but then it went quiet.
No idea if he got his key or not.
