After a serious head injury in an accident permanently put me out of commission as far as working was concerned, I had to go on disability. It covered my rent and expenses, but that was about it. For anything extra I needed, such as new clothes or repairs on my car, I was just out of luck.

I was then told about working “motor routes” for the local newspaper. The way it worked was that subscribers who wanted their paper delivered would put their cash payment in special envelopes and leave them in a dropbox at the main office. (Alternatively, they could pay it directly to the delivery person.) The money was given to the delivery person, who then delivered the paper regularly to all the addresses from which they were paid.

At the end of the month, the delivery person received a bill from the main office for all of the papers they took and delivered that month. They paid the bill using the money they received from the subscribers. In the end, their profits came to about $1.50 per customer every month. They were essentially their own boss, save a few “customer service” rules that must be respected such as prompt and regular delivery by 4:00 pm.

It sounded like something I could do, and I took over a few routes with a total of about 200 customers.

Most (if not all) of the subscribers were friendly, but there was one woman who was determined to be a persistent pain in my rear.

When I would go to pick up my stacks of papers from the office, I would constantly find a complaint notice attached to the stack, to the tune of:

Complaint: “[Customer] called and was angry because she wants her paper in the morning, not noon. We’re not obligated to do special requests, but could you just do it as a favor so she will stop harassing the administrative staff?”

Complaint: “[Customer] called. She was mad that you delivered it at 8:00 am. She wants it at 6:00. You don’t have to, but… please? As a favor for [Employee that I’d now become friendly with]?”

Since I wasn’t going to wake up at 5:00 in the morning to go deliver ONE paper, everyone started getting their papers by sunrise. Then…

Complaint: “[Customer] called. She was mad because you tracked mud footprints up the steps to her porch.”

Complaint: “[Customer] called. She didn’t like the way you rolled her newspaper up. We asked if it was damaged, but she said it just looked shoddy.”

Complaint: “[Customer] called and screamed at [Employee] because you delivered the paper at 7:00 rather than 6:00.”

Complaint: “[Customer] says to stop ‘baby talking’ to her dog when he runs up to you.”

Complaint: “[Customer] called. She said it was extremely rude of you not to greet her when she stepped out to get the paper you’d just delivered.”

Then, one month, I was given my stack of subscriber payments, and what do you know — [Customer] was not amongst them!

Cue Handel’s “Hallelujah” chorus.

That month was the quietest with next to zero complaints, save the occasional dork who’d think his paper was never delivered but couldn’t be bothered to take a few steps out on his porch to see it sitting in plain view.

Then came the following month. I was handed my stack of payment envelopes… and there it was: [Customer]. I squeezed my eyes shut and just stood there for a moment. When I opened the envelope, attached to her money was a note.

Customer’s Note: “Next time, I’ll stop my subscription for three months! I want my paper at 6:00 am sharp, neatly folded, and if we see each other, you will show some respect, come up to me, and greet me!”

Enough was enough. Not knowing how much trouble it would land me in, the following morning, I left her payment envelope taped to the inside of her screendoor with a note of my own.

My Note: “For your information, I receive $1.50 a month per customer. For the proxied abuse I’ve had to tolerate from you over a three-month period of time, I would say that your withholding of $1.50 as a ‘punishment’ is a negligible loss. You buy your paper from the vending machine on [Street #1] from now on, or pick one up from the [Convenience Store] on [Street #2].”

She did call and complain, but she was told that the business has the right to refuse service to abusive customers — which had been extensively documented.

I work going door to door for a utility company with a team of five. We all dress the same — in black with our company logos — and in bad weather, we have very warm matching raincoats, also with the logo. We also have badges with our names on them and the company’s information so people know we aren’t random grifters.

On this particular day, there is a downpour so bad that it is one of only two times in four years that our leadership decides to pull us out of the field. As this is rare, we don’t really have a protocol in place, and we are told to hunker down nearby with the company van to see if it gets better before they send us home for the day or back out.

We decide to check out a small sandwich shop one of the guys swears is the best in the area. Wet and hungry, we all think this sounds great and head right on over to get some food while still on the clock and getting paid until we hear back.

The place is small but looks decent, and it’s also part convenience store. They don’t have a counter you order at but an employee that walks around and takes orders. With someone already talking to him, I know it’s going be a minute until all five of us get our orders in, so I elect to go last and check around the store as I’m in no hurry. After looking around, I see that my coworkers have all had their orders in, so I go up to do mine. Due to this, my order is made last and has a bit of a delay.

My four coworkers all sit down and start to eat while I wait for my sandwich. An older lady walks up to me and starts giving me a sandwich order without so much as a hello. I cut her off.

Me: “Oh, I don’t work here.”

To which I get the confusing reply:

Lady: “So, you’re working, you just don’t work here? Uh-huh, sure.”

Then, she rolls her eyes and starts giving me her order again. I put my hand up to cut her off, point to the logo on my jacket — which is still soaked, by the way — and ask:

Me: “Does this look like the store’s name to you?”

My order was announced at this point, so I stepped away, grabbed my sandwich, and smiled at her as I walked by her again to sit with the four people dressed identically to me who were already eating.

You’d think this would be the end of it, with me just eating my sandwich while basking in that lady’s indignation, but no. She stomped off and found the proper person to speak with, dragged him back into view, and started complaining about me while he desperately tried to explain that I didn’t work there.

By the time we finished eating and left, I still don’t think she had placed an order.

I work in a clothing store that sells off-season designer items that are considered surplus by the original brands, so we can sell them a little cheaper. This was a while ago, so I can’t remember the specific brand, so I’ll just go with Prada.

Customer: “Excuse me, these shoes are mislabeled.”

Me: “Oh? Let me see.”

I check the shoe, the description, and the price.

Me: “It all seems fine, ma’am. This is the correct label for the shoe.”

Customer: “But the label says Prada!”

Me: “Yes, these are Prada shoes.”

Customer: “But there’s no Prada on the shoe!”

Me: “Yes, there is.”

I show her the famous logo both inside the shoe and on the outsole — under the shoe.

Customer: “Yes, but it’s not on the outside of the shoe.”

Me: “Not for this particular model, ma’am.”

Customer: “So, no one will know that it’s Prada?”

Me: “No, ma’am.”

Customer: “Ugh, then what’s the point?” *Storms off*

I’m working the checkout of a drug store that also sells some food and grocery items. An older man walks up and puts an ice cream bar on my counter. I can tell because it’s cold and has a familiar logo on it, but it’s missing a name and barcode to scan it.

Me: “I’m sorry, but there’s no barcode on this.”

Man: “I just wanted one ice cream, but you didn’t have them as singles.”

I look again and realize that the ice cream is from a box of multiple bars.

Me: “Sir, I can’t sell you one part of the box. You have to buy the whole package.”

Man: “Then bring me one ice cream!”

Me: “The single bars are next to the boxes. If there weren’t any, then we are sold out.”

He looks annoyed and goes back to the freezer. He brings the box he opened and I sell it to him.

The very same day…

Coworker: “Hey, [My Name], can you price check these? The register says, ‘Item not found.’”

I look and, sure enough, the items are mini single water bottles that are part of a pack. I address the teenagers that are trying to buy them.

Me: “These bottles are part of a package. We can’t sell them individually.”

Teen: “But I just want two.”

Me: “Sorry, I can’t sell them to you.”

They left without buying the package, of course, so I had to go to the shelf and mark the package unsellable now that it had a big hole where the teenagers had ripped out the bottles. I still can’t wrap my head around how people think it’s acceptable to damage items and not pay for them.

I’m picking up food from a restaurant chain. As I get to the door on my way out with my food, a little old lady with a cane is walking up to the door from outside. I hold the door open for her, she thanks me, and I start to head toward my car. I’m stopped by a woman who’s approaching the restaurant with her family.

Woman: “Your parking lot is full! Ugh! You need to put in more parking!”

Me: “What?”

Woman: “I said you need to put in more parking! The parking lot is full! There was nowhere for us to park!”

Me: “Oh! I don’t actually work here.”

Woman: “Oh. Well, I thought you worked here because you were holding the door. Sorry about that.”

She went on inside with her family, leaving me confused. Just because I hold open doors for little old ladies with canes, that doesn’t mean I’m an employee who’s required to do so; I was just being nice. And even if I was an employee, did she want me to go inside and ask some customer eating their dinner to get in their car and scram for this woman and her family?

The really funny part is that this restaurant sits in the middle of a shopping center. Many of the storefronts in said center have been closed and empty for years, so while the restaurant-specific parking area right next to the building is fairly small (and partially taken up by curbside pickup spaces), the parking lot for the whole shopping center always has a TREMENDOUS amount of available parking.

Related:
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
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 42