Here’s some necessary backstory; otherwise, I look like the a**hole who goes grocery shopping half an hour before they close on Christmas Eve.

This was 2021, so the global health crisis lockdowns meant I couldn’t spend the holiday with my family. My workday started on Christmas Eve at 6:00 am and ended a little after 7:00 pm. The day before, I worked from 5:00 am until sometime around 9:00 pm. I don’t remember off the top of my head what time or how long I worked during the days before that; it all just kind of runs together at this point. Christmas Day was my first day off in nine days. Being off that day had nothing to do with Christmas; that wasn’t planned. I knew it was Christmas Eve, but I hadn’t really thought about what day it was until about an hour after I got to work when I wrote the date down; I guess that was when it fully registered.

Anyway, that made me realize that I should probably stop somewhere after work and get some food since everything would be closed that night and the next day. Yes, I had food at my house, but not much, and it was mostly just random staple food. I’d spent an excessive amount of time at work that year, and I learned that it was usually just easier (and cheaper) to either eat in the cafeteria or do restaurant pick-up from somewhere. Any other year, this really wouldn’t matter because I’d spend almost all of Christmas Day off with family, where there’s plenty of holiday food. But time was limited and I obviously didn’t plan well.

I didn’t wanna go to a grocery store that late on Christmas Eve, but I also REALLY didn’t wanna wake up the next morning and eat noodles and mustard for breakfast.

So, that’s the backstory. In a nutshell, I’ve just been working a lot, and Christmas sort of slipped my mind.

I left work, drove to the nearest department store, parked my car, and headed toward the entrance. Literally as I was walking into the store, I heard someone on the intercom asking customers to please make their final selections, as the store would be closing in thirty minutes. I felt like such an a**hole. I spent a good second or two entertaining the idea of leaving, but I was already there and I was only grabbing a handful of items; there was no way this would take me more than ten minutes. I grabbed one of those little baskets and headed toward the grocery section.

I hadn’t been inside the building for more than thirty seconds, and suddenly, this very obviously irritated thirty-something-year-old man with three young kids in tow stepped in front of me.

Angry Man: *Yelling* “Excuse me!”

Obviously, this took me by surprise. I was on a mission and hadn’t planned for anything confrontational. Being the quiet, kind of shy-ish introvert that I am, I didn’t really know how to respond, so I just… stood there. I’m pretty sure my lack of a response made the guy even more angry, and he proceeded to yell at me again.

Angry Man: “Does this place not have a bathroom for my kid to use?!”

I was so confused; it hadn’t occurred to me that he might think I was an employee because… well, why would he? I was carrying an empty shopping basket and I was wearing freaking scrubs.

I’m a super laid-back person. It’s not very often that people legitimately yell at me out of personal anger. When that does happen, I have this tendency to throw all common sense out the window and either totally freeze or devolve into a toddler who’s just starting to form three-word sentences. So, naturally, my response was a very long and drawn-out:

Me: “Ummmmmmmm… I… Um, I dunno… Maybe?”

I really wanna emphasize how long and drawn-out that first “Ummmmmmmm” was.

So, the guy got louder.

Angry Man: “YOU DON’T KNOW?!”

I was so far beyond uncomfortable at that point, not to mention hungry and tired. I just needed to leave.

Me: “No, yeah, no, I dunno, sorry, I dunno…”

And I just took off, walking really fast. I wasn’t even walking in the right direction anymore; I just needed this guy to go away. I turned down the nearest random aisle to find an alternate route. I could still hear the guy cussing at me, calling me names, etc. — just a plethora of obscenities. As long as he wasn’t following me, I didn’t care; that guy was a weirdo, and I just wanted to get my stuff and leave.

My unexpected detour made me realize that I really, really needed new socks. And there they were, right in front of me. So, I grabbed a bag of socks and turned to head back toward the grocery part of the store. Then, I heard the voice of an older woman.

Older Woman: “Are the dressing rooms not open?”

I turned around, and she was definitely talking to me. I thought, “Huh? Is she just making random conversation with a stranger? Or does she think I work here?”

That’s when I realized that the crazy bathroom guy with the anger issues must’ve thought I worked there, too. But I wasn’t really sure yet who this woman thought I was, so I just answered politely.

Me: “I think they’ve been keeping the dressing rooms closed since the [health crisis].”

I guess my use of the word “they’ve” let the woman know that I wasn’t an employee.

Older Woman: “OH! You don’t work here! I’m so sorry!”

Me: “It’s fine; you’re not the person to think that tonight!”

It was awkward, but she was super sweet, so we just shared a quick laugh, and I began walking toward the groceries again.

As I was walking, all I could think about was the fact that two different people had just confused me for an employee at this department store. In addition to the scrubs, I was also wearing a matching jacket that everyone in our department had received a few days before as a Christmas present from management. The jacket was unzipped, so it wasn’t hiding the scrub top, but even if it had been zipped up, the back of the jacket had the name of the hospital on it, along with the logo, and it was a pretty well-known hospital. As I was filling my basket, I looked around at other employees, and our clothing had absolutely zero in common. So weird.

Anyway, I spent another minute or two grabbing what I needed and headed to the checkout, still thinking about the old woman and the crazy bathroom guy with the anger issues. I was about thirty feet from checkout, and I was looking at all the cashiers. They were all wearing khaki pants and red shirts. I was wearing faded slate-gray scrubs. I passed a middle-aged guy on my way, and he stopped me.

Middle-Aged Man: “Excuse me, ma’am. May I ask you a question?”

Nothing made any sense at that point.

Me: *Politely* “You can, but I don’t work here.”

He apologized. I got in line, paid for my items, and left.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more confused in my life. This has to be one of the weirdest things I’ve ever experienced. Over the course of ten minutes, three different people thought I worked there. My only logical conclusion is that everyone is just stressed around Christmastime and they just weren’t paying any attention. It was still really weird, though.

This was some ten years ago, and while the conversation IS paraphrased, I remember it like it was yesterday.

At the time, I was working the grave and swing shifts as a casino player’s host in Reno, Nevada. For those who don’t know what this job is, we take care of the high rollers — make sure they get comps, dining and hotel reservations, invites to tournaments, limo rides, you name it. I wore a nice black blazer with a name tag, slacks, and comfortable but professional shoes, with my hair and makeup done.

On the days I worked the swing shift, I was off at 3:00 am, but after the wait for the bus and the ride home, I would make it to my place at about 5:00 am. Directly across the street from my home was a retail pharmacy chain. I stopped in a lot of mornings to grab a protein shake, pick up prescriptions, etc. But on Wednesday mornings, they put out a LOT of clearance items. You could snag small appliances for dirt cheap! So, I was always there on Wednesdays stocking up on Christmas and birthday presents, etc. The employees and manager knew me by sight, and some by name.

I was usually a zombie after work — like most people, I think — and this Wednesday was no different. I was looking over the latest selection, trying to decide if I NEEDED a new coffee maker or just wanted one because it was on clearance for like $5.

A woman was next to me, speaking Tagalog into her phone. I don’t speak it, but Reno has a pretty large Filipino community, so I could at least recognize it. Her language is not important to the story. It just struck me how odd the little things we remember are.

She finished her conversation and looked at me.

Woman: “Can I get a discount on this?”

I don’t remember what “this” was — some small appliance.

Woman: “The box is smashed up.”

Me: “No idea, but I would ask to plug it in to test it before I bought it if the box is damaged.”

I have no idea if anyone can actually do that, but it seemed reasonable to me.

Lady: *Demanding “Why would you sell something that doesn’t work?!”

I had no idea at this point that she thought I worked there; I thought she was making conversation. In my defense, I was half asleep and just wanted a good deal on a d***ed stick blender!

Me: “Oh, I absolutely wouldn’t sell it. But I’m not in the business of selling things anyway.”

Lady: “Oh, so you are too good and important to sell things? That is just for the low employees?”

I finally looked at her. Until then, I had been pretty focused on staying awake. I could see that she was getting angry. It dawned on me that I still had my name tag on. I slipped it off — they are the kinds with magnets, not pins — and stuck it in my pocket.

Me: “Oh, sorry, I forgot to take this off. I don’t actually—”

I started to say I didn’t work there, but she was having NONE of that!

Lady: “Oh, you think you are too good to help me? Just because I am Filipina?”

She may have said “Filipino”. I confess that I don’t know which is correct and am going only off memory.

Lady: “My money is good, you…”

She said something in Tagalog that did NOT sound flattering.

Lady: “You think you can trick me by taking off your name tag?!”

Me: *Sighing* “I don’t want your money. I don’t work here. I am shopping. Please leave me alone.”

She ignored everything I’d just said except to say:

Lady: “Oh, you won’t be getting my money because you need to give me this free for not helping me.”

I tried to reason with her.

Me: “Ma’am, I can’t give you that. I really don’t work here. If you take it without paying, that is stealing.”

Lady: “Oh, now you think I am poor and a thief?”

WTF? Where did “poor” come from?

Lady: “I want to talk to the manager of the whole store!”

Me: *Turning back to the shelf* “Lady, I wish you would f****** talk to anyone but me.”

I didn’t swear because I was angry; I just have a potty mouth. She stomped off, her heels making little “tick, tick, tick, tick” sounds on the linoleum.

I decided I DID need another coffee maker… AND that stick blender. As I was putting both in my cart, I heard, “Tick, tick, tick, tick”. Great, she’s back.

But she was not alone. The store manager was with her.

Lady: *Shrieking* “There she is! She called me a poor thief and said a swear at me! I want you to fire her and make her poor!”

Weird obsession with poverty…

Store Manager: *Confused* “What is happening?”

I grinned and held up my coffee maker.

Me: “SHOPPING!”

Store Manager: *Even more confused* “But why are you insulting her and swearing?”

Me: “She thinks I work here and wanted me to let her steal an appliance.”

Okay, I know that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but she started it!

This was the moment that her medication stopped working. In a very loud mix of English and Tagalog, she shrieked out our entire interaction. Surprisingly, she told it correctly, too — except that I didn’t put my name tag away to trick her.

[Store Manager] was done at this point.

Store Manager: “You’re fired.”

The woman grinned maliciously at me, grabbed her smashed-up box, and stormed off with [Store Manager] as I shrugged and made my way over to the allergy medication or some other area of the store. I don’t 100% remember, but I have terrible allergies, so that seems likely.

At the register, [Store Manager] asked me what had REALLY happened. I told him everything, including how I’d told her I wished she’d f****** talk to anyone but me.

Store Manager: *Laughing* “You’re still fired.”

Me: *Grinning* “Yay! Do I get a severance package?”

Store Manager: *Laughing harder* “To be fair, you did swear at her. Plus… you don’t actually work here, so… no severance package.”

I shopped there for many years before I moved, and I never saw her again, so I am sure she went on content with getting me fired and making me poor.

My wife is the assistant front end department manager for a grocery chain. She doesn’t drive, and her store is less than two miles from our home in a rural community. Everyone in town knows her and loves her; she’s a complete sweetheart to everyone she meets. By extension, I am well-known in the store by the employees and am genuine friends with several of them. As a result, it is common to see me talking to the associates on a regular basis. Their uniforms are usually jeans or khakis with a white shirt that has the company logo. Managers wear a green or black polo embroidered with the logo.

I work from home as an IT administrator. My usual attire is usually very similar; I like to wear colored cargo pants and either a T-shirt or collared button-down shirt, mostly blue or black. I am often mistaken for store management due to my frequency in the store, talking to associates, the way I dress, and my knack for customer service. I normally just bring the person to the nearest actual manager and apologize for the mixup.

One day, however, there came a cretin creepin’ — a glibly galivanting sort. That day, I was wearing green cargo pants and a blue T-shirt. There really wasn’t a good excuse that day, but the question was nevertheless posed by the man on the mobility scooter.

Man: “Can you tell me where [item] is?”

Obviously, I could. I knew this store really well at that point, as I love to cook and I knew where to find all the best stuff. However, I politely informed him that the grocery manager was only one aisle over, stocking the freezer.

Then came the very odd interaction that made that day stand out. The man accused me of lying to him… and then proceeded to ask me to buy his groceries for him.

Now, I’m sure you, my dear reader, are at this very moment forming an assumption that I have left a detail, some morsel out somewhere. I assure you I have not. His exact statement, to the very best of my fresh memory, was:

Man: “I don’t think that’s true. I know you work here. And if you work here, you have to help me. I can’t afford my groceries, and I was hoping you could buy them for me.”

The very thought sent me reeling around. That’s when I laid eyes on him. I knew him. Well, I knew him in the same way he knew me; I’d seen him around the store. Specifically, I’d seen him in the pictures my wife took of him… to get him banned. This man was infamous in the community for faking injuries, disabilities, illnesses — the works. He refuses to work, instead asking anyone and everyone to buy things for him. He was kicked out of the pizzeria across the lot for it. He’s been banned from two different pharmacies over it.

I looked in his basket. It was full of junk — miscellaneous items of dubious quality. I curled up my lip and narrowed my eyes at him.

Me: “So, you went and filled your cart with [stuff] you can’t afford to harp on anyone in a twenty-yard radius with a sob story?”

He got offended, and with some back-and-forth, he suddenly took it upon himself to take my advice. He miraculously stood up and off his mobility scooter and walked as pretty as you please over to the next aisle, raising the grocery manager.

Some yelling and profanity later, the manager stepped around the corner, took one look at me, and sighed deeply. Upon being told I didn’t work there, the man departed rather swiftly, leaving the clearly crammed-full mobility scooter there in the middle of the aisle. Interesting that embarrassment miraculously healed his ability to walk.

This happened when I was in my late twenties and was working as a wireman and moonlighting as a mechanic. As a result of my two jobs and a few other factors, I have ended up with a key ring to put a janitor to shame. Apparently, this would come into play later on.

After a particularly long day, I went to a large retail chain to pick up a few things, and I wandered back toward the electronics part of the store. I was standing there with my earbuds in, listening to music, and looking for a replacement phone case when this lady walked up and stood halfway between being next to me and being behind me. I was in my own little world comparing cases, and by a habit I picked up when I was a librarian’s assistant, I was also putting random cases back where they belonged while trying to find what I needed.

This lady started rattling away about something that I couldn’t hear, and after saying something to get my attention a couple of times, she tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around, removing one earbud so I could hear her.

Lady: “Where are the [item]s?”

Me: “I have no idea.”

And I went back to what I was doing. This apparently did not sit well with this lady, and she stormed off to find the manager.

Some twenty minutes later, I found my way to the camping section for some other item I needed. From the far end of the aisle, here came the lady from before with a poor, befuddled manager in tow, pointing me out, and squawking away about something I couldn’t hear. As they approached, I saw that the woman was pointing at me, and the manager took over, finally putting on his big boy pants. Again, I removed my earbuds to see what they had come to disturb me with.

Manager: “Why did you refuse to help this woman earlier?”

Me: “It’s not my job to help someone find something they can’t find on their own.”

Apparently, this was the wrong reply, and he proceeded to chew me up one side and down the other.

At that point, I had realized what was going on, and I halfway played along while trying to contain my fitful laughter.

Manager: “You need to turn your keys in. You are suspended until further notice!”

After a flippant and dismissive comment from me, the manager then proceeded to do his best impression of a cartoon character’s volcanic explosion of anger and let loose.

Manager: “You are fired, effective immediately! You can no longer apply to work for any [Store] ever again!”

I could no longer contain myself and started laughing hysterically.

Me: “I don’t work here!”

Manager: “Of course you don’t! I just fired you!”

Me: “Let me clarify: I have never worked for [Store], ever. I’ve never even applied.”

At this stage, the lady had turned several shades of embarrassed red, and the manager had joined her, his anger fleeing faster than a track star when he realized his mistake.

Still giggling uncontrollably, I grabbed my cart and strolled away while she proceeded to dole out apologies for the entire affair.

I work for a catering company. At most events, caterers and the bar staff are separately hired. This is the case at this wedding. It is in an unfamiliar venue, and my company is set up in the kitchen, nowhere near the bar. The bar staff is wearing white shirts, name tags, and black trousers. We wear all black.

This wedding has been going on for a very long time, and everyone is very drunk. I am doing my last look around my tables for cutlery, coffee cups, plates, and ceramics that our company provides, and this guy calls me over. I am holding four plates at this time, so I have no free hands, and I’m exhausted from hauling these heavy dishes around. It’s 11:30 pm. I’ll likely finish cleaning up just before 1:00 am, and I am not looking forward to needing to polish three hundred pieces of silverware, stack and wrap plates, and load the stuff into the van.

He calls me sweetheart, and I can hear how drunk he is, so I decide it doesn’t matter if I’m rude.

Guy #1: “I would love it if you could grab me a bottle of Rosé for the table.”

Me: *Semi-politely* “Sorry, I can’t.”

I start passing by the table when another guy grabs at me. He misses but manages to make me slip a plate out of my arm. It doesn’t break, but it makes a mess of leftovers on the floor, which I have to clean up after I take the plates to a drop station.

Guy #2: *Leaning back in his chair* “Just grab a bottle! It’s an open bar!”

Me: “Sir, I can’t go behind the bar as I don’t work for them.”

At this point, we have been passed by an actual member of the bar staff, but they don’t usually deliver bottles to the tables to discourage people from getting too drunk — like this guy.

Me: “Get it yourself.”

I headed off with the one plate since someone else had taken my others.

Minutes later, I heard this guy at the entrance to the kitchen. (We go in one way and out the other so we don’t bump into each other with full hands.) He was pushing on the shut door as I polished away, calling me a b**** because “The other girl grabbed me a bottle when I went up.”

Yes, because she was bar staff.