One Saturday, I go to pick up some groceries. As I’m shopping with my trolley, I hear the harrumph of an approaching woman behind me, but to my surprise, she walks straight past me to [Customer #2], demanding this, that, and the other.

Customer #2: “Sorry, but I don’t work here.”

As [Customer #1] starts accusing him of lying, etc., I figure that I’ll stick around and see what happens. It might be funny, but if she assaults the guy or accuses him of something, I’ll be a witness.

As I’m listening to [Customer #2] reiterate that he doesn’t work here and [Customer #1] repeatedly accuse him of lying, another customer comes past and addresses [Customer #1] in a big, booming voice.

Customer #3: “Finally, a manager! Some woman just accused me of not helping her when I’m a customer here. Now, what are you going to do about it?”

Customer #1: “What? I’m not a manager! What do you—”

Customer #3: “Of course, you’re a manager. I’ve seen you talking to customers. Now you are going to help me.”

Customer #1: “I was just talking to…”

But in the confusion, [Customer #2] had wisely ducked out, leaving [Customer #1] gesturing at an empty space. Suddenly, she is alone.

Customer #3: “Well, hanging around speaking to staff isn’t very professional, is it? You should be doing your job, helping customers. Starting with me.”

Customer #1: “I don’t f****** work here! F*** off!”

And she walks off, clearly upset, abandoning her shopping trolley in the process.

[Customer #2], who’s been waiting on the next aisle, comes back.

Customer #2: “Ahh, she’s gone.”

Customer #3: “Yeah, well, that got rid of her.”

He smiled vaguely and just continued shopping like nothing had happened. [Customer #3], whoever you are, you’re a legend.

This story is part of our “I Don’t Work Here” roundup!

Read the next roundup story!

Read the roundup!

This story is part of the Highest Voted of 2021 roundup!

Read the next Highest Voted of 2021 roundup story!

Read the Highest Voted of 2021 roundup!

I’m dressed in a decent suit and shirt, and my ID has my company logo clearly displayed. I look nothing like the staff who wear polo shirts. I’m looking at a shelf, trying to choose between two products. I’m running on very little sleep — our baby isn’t sleeping and I’m still working long shifts — when I hear a shrill noise.

Customer: “Excuse me!”

It’s a shrill bark; clearly, she is annoyed. I don’t feel like engaging, so without looking up, I move closer to the shelf to let her through.

Customer: “Excuse me!” *Huffs* “Can I get some service, please?!“

She spits the word “please” full of sarcasm and bile.

Me: “What?”

Customer: “Where are the rain protectors? And don’t ‘what’ me. You people are all the same: lazy and ignorant. I want service now!“

Me: “I’ll ‘what’ whoever the h*** I like. And I don’t know where the rain covers are. Ask someone who actually works here.”

Customer: “Well, how was I supposed to know you didn’t work here? Idiot.”

Me: “I don’t know, a brain? Some sort of basic comprehension skills? I clearly don’t work here, which is just as well because they couldn’t tell you to f*** off!”

Customer: “Well, I never! How rude! I’m going to get you fired for this!”

Me: “I still don’t work here. Didn’t get hired in the last twenty seconds.”

She manages to find a manager; he explains over and over again that he could kick me out but she would have to leave, too. This seems to make her more and more agitated.

Me: “Actually, I was about to pay for this and leave anyway.”

Manager: “Thank you. And you, miss?”

Customer: “What?”

Manager: “Are you buying anything today?”

Customer: “Well, no.”

Manager: “Then can you please leave the store?”

Customer: “You’re kicking me out?! I will call the head office; I will call the paper!”

I paid and left but hung around long enough to hopefully see the police called. Unfortunately, the store security led her out screaming, shouting, and swearing the whole way.

Related:
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
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 37

I work as an assistant manager at a pizzeria, and my job is a little bit of everything. Yesterday, a paper towel dispenser wasn’t working; the batteries that powered it were dead. We didn’t have any spares in the restaurant, so I took my motorcycle to my local grocery store down the road.

I went in and swerved past all the people doing their dinnertime shopping. After years of stopping at the store, many of the employees know me as “the dude who works at the pizza place down the road,” and I was in full uniform, wearing jeans and a black shirt that had bits of flour on the shoulders. The logo of the pizza company was plastered on my chest as well as the middle of my red apron.

I went to the location of the batteries — a counter between check stands three and four — and began looking for D batteries. Before I could reach out and grab my choice, I heard an “ahem” from behind me.

Customer: “Excuse me. Do you have any toilet paper?”

Me: “I’m sorry, I don’t work here, but I think they’re on aisle twelve.”

Customer: *Huffing* “Well, are you going to take me there?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I don’t work here.”

I grab my batteries.

Customer: “Don’t lie to me. You’re wearing an apron!”

Just then, a cashier who I know opens check stand four. I swerve past the customer and place my batteries on the conveyor belt

Cashier: “He, [My Name], how’s it going?”

Customer: “Excuse me. I want to complain about this rude employee of yours.” *Points a finger at me* “He won’t show me where the toilet paper is.”

Me: “Ma’am, I don’t work here.”

Customer: “Then why are you wearing an apron?”

I point to the pizzeria logo on my apron.

Me: “I work at [Pizzeria] down the road. I don’t work here. I just came here for batteries.”

Cashier: “The batteries come to $11.50.”

I pay for the batteries and turn to the customer one last time.

Me: “The toilet paper is on aisle twelve. Have a nice day.”

At the end of the night, I went back to the grocery store with a box of pepperoni pizza. I saw [Cashier] closing a register, and we had a laugh as she told me this was not the first time that particular customer had mistaken another customer for an employee.

I am waiting in line for sports cards at my local [Store]. It is right after open, about 7:15. There are about five of us in line standing adjacent to the women’s clothes because that’s where they stock the cards. None of us are wearing blue vests, yellow vests, or anything that looks remotely professional or remotely like a [Store] uniform. And we all have our own carts, we have hats on, one guy has a tiny camping chair… I cannot stress how little we look like we are on the clock at [Store].

A guy comes up.

Guy: “Hey, uh, sorry to interrupt your coffee break, but where are the little girls’ panties?”

I process, probably slowly, that a grown man just loudly asked another grown man where the girls’ panties are.

Me: “Uhh, I don’t know. There are swimsuits right over there, I guess. Probably somewhere around there.”

Guy: “Okay, thanks.”

The rest of us look at each other like, “Wow, that was a bold question.” Another five or ten minutes go by, and the guy comes back.

Guy: “Hey! I never found them. How do you not know where they are?”

Me: “Why would I have any idea where the girls’ underwear is?”

Guy: “Well, you work here, don’t you?”

Me: “No, man, none of us work here, obviously. Why would you think that?”

Guy: “You’re all standing here in the woman’s section.”

Me: “No, we don’t. Sorry.”

He walked off, grumbling and waving his arms. We all obviously knew he was not a pervert… probably. But we thought it was odd to have a guy with a beard ask, completely unabashedly, where the little girls’ panties were. And how hard is it to find them, honestly? You find little girls’ clothes, and they’re around there.

About ten years ago, my friend and I go into an electronics store so he can look at a TV he preordered. I’m wearing a black “Slayer” T-shirt and some jeans. As my friend is waiting in line at customer service, I decide to wander around a bit. I am looking at the fridges, bored, when a man in his mid-forties walks up to me.

Man: “Can you help me buy a stove?”

Me: *Politely* “Oh, I’m sorry. I cannot help you. I don’t work here.”

I go back to just looking at some freezers when I hear the man cough really loudly.

Man: “Hey, boy, I said I need help. Do you want your commission or not?”

Me: “I don’t work here, man.”

I wave my hand around at my shirt.

Man: *Super angry* “How about I go get a manager?”

I have had it with this guy.

Me: “Yeah, go grab him. Maybe he can help you. Your head is so far up your a** that my voice must be muffled; I DON’T WORK HERE! I am not even remotely dressed as an employee, bro!”

He leaves and I wander over to the gaming section. A burly man in a blue [Store] shirt and [Man] come walking over.

Employee: “Umm, is everything okay over here?”

Man: “See? That’s the guy. Not such a tough guy now since I got your boss, huh?”

Employee: “Umm, sir, I’m not his boss. He doesn’t work here. He has a Slayer T-shirt on; that should have been a dead giveaway.”

Man: “But he looks like an employee!”

Employee: “Nope, not even close.”

Man: “Well, what are you going to do for me?!”

Employee: “How about this? I don’t remove you from the store for harassing another customer and you can finish shopping without further trouble. Is that doing something for you?”

The guy glared at me for forever until the employee gave up and asked him to leave.