(I tell the stylist I want my hair really short and show her a couple photos of the style I want. My hair length is at the middle of my back.)

Stylist: *pointing to the hair washing station* “I need to wet your hair down good, first.”

Me: “Um, no? I want to give it to [hair donation charity], so I just need it cut above the hair elastic. Also, my hair is really thick and it does better when cut dry.”

Stylist: *insistent* “Honey, I need to wet your hair to cut off that much.”

(I sigh as I go sit down, and she proceeds to not only wet my hair but shampoo and condition it, as well, which I know will cost extra.)

Me: “Why are you washing it? I thought you were just wetting it?”

Stylist: *snappily* “I know what I’m doing.”

(I sigh because she’s already started, I’ve got the money to cover the difference, and I’ve had a long day so I don’t feel like arguing. After she finishes, I get into the chair, and she asks me to show her the pictures again. She realizes how much hair I’m cutting off and gives me a surprised look.)

Stylist: “Are you sure, honey?”

Me: *nods* “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve had it cut much shorter than that before.”

Stylist: “Is your husband okay with that?” *to my husband* “Are you okay with her cutting all her hair off like this?”

(My husband ignores her, because he’s playing with our toddler and his stuffed dinosaur.)

Me: “He only came in because the baby doesn’t like waiting in the car.”

Stylist: *louder* “What do you think of her cutting her hair off so short?”

Husband: *glances up* “Eh, whatever. It’s hair. It’ll grow back.”

Stylist: “You might want a picture of it before I cut it all off.”

(He ignores her and she puts my hair in a ponytail, which she then snips off and tries handing to me.)

Me: “Er, I don’t want to hold that. It’s wet.”

(She sighs and lays it on her workstation, then goes back to cutting my hair. As she cuts, she keeps trying to tell my husband he shouldn’t let me cut my hair so short, and asking why he is letting me cut it off so short and why I want my hair so short. My husband ignores her, and I tell her that short hair is easier to maintain. Finally, she finishes and gives me the soggy ponytail, then leads me over to the register to pay.)

Stylist: “Your total is $38 for a wash and cut.”

(I give her my debit card. She runs it and then passes my husband the receipt, which he gives to me. I fill out the tip line and sign the receipt, and we leave.)

Husband: “So, what did you tip her?”

Me: “$2.”

Husband: “Ouch! Why so low?”

Me: “She kept asking you how she should cut my hair; that’s why.”

Husband: “Fair point.”

(I will NOT be going back to that salon. EVER.)

(When I am in the fifth grade, we take a class trip to an alligator park. I find a few little knick-knacks that I like at the gift shop and take them to the register.)

Cashier: “Your total is $5.35, please.”

(I pull a ten-dollar bill and 35 cents out of my pocket and try to give them to her.)

Cashier: *smiling* “I just need the $10, honey.”

(She tries to take just the $10, but I don’t let go.)

Me: “But I want $5 back, so you need to take the change, too, please.”

Cashier: *condescendingly* “Sweetie, I only need the $10.”

Me: *sighs* “Ma’am, I’m trying to get back $5, because I’ve already got a bunch of change in my pocket and don’t want more.”

Cashier: *loudly* “And I said I only need the $10, you stupid brat! $5.35 is less than $10!”

(My teacher, who has been looking at a nearby display, rushes over at the cashier’s sudden hostility.)

Teacher: “[My Name], what’s going on here?”

Cashier: *glaring at me* “This stupid kid can’t do math, that’s what!”

(My teacher ignores her and asks me again.)

Me: “I have a bunch of change and didn’t want more, so I tried to give her $10.35 to pay for my stuff, and she keeps saying she only needs the $10. I just want a $5 back.”

Teacher: *sighs* “Is that all?” *to the cashier* “You are the one who can’t do math. She’s trying to give you $10.35 so that she can get back a five-dollar bill. What part of that don’t you understand?”

Cashier: *scoffs* “Whatever.”

(She finally cashed out my transaction, and I got my $5 bill and went back out into the park area. My teacher spoke to the cashier’s manager. I never went back, but apparently the manager later called my teacher to say the girl had been fired.)

(I have anxiety and, in an effort to help myself be more sociable, I have sewn myself a purse using a nerdy fabric print, knowing it will probably catch another nerd’s eye. A new fabric store has opened in the area a month ago, and my husband has taken me to grab a few things I need for projects. As I’m browsing, one of the employees who is putting back bolts of fabric nearby suddenly gasps loudly. I give her a startled look and she claps one hand over her mouth. She takes her hand away from her mouth and smiles.)

Employee #1: “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you like that.” *she pauses before continuing excitedly* “Your Doctor Who purse is really cool! We have that exact same print over there!” *points to the other end of the shelf*

(I stand there like a deer in the headlights for a moment, then take a deep breath and smile at her.)

Me: *timidly* “Th-thanks.” *clears throat and speaks louder* “I made it myself using a free pattern I found online.”

Employee #1: *wide-eyed stare* “You made that?!” *she reaches for my purse but stops herself short* “Can I get a closer look?”

Me: “Sure.”

(I hand her my purse and she turns it over in her hands, admiring my craftsmanship, then promptly gives it back.)

Employee #1: *smiling brightly* “That’s a really nice purse! And it’s so much cooler because you made it yourself.”

Me: *smiling and blushing* “Do you want to see the lining fabric? It’s Doctor Who, too, but a different print.”

Employee #1: *excitedly* “Yes, please!”

(I unzip my purse and show her the interior fabric, and she squeals with delight.)

Employee #1: “That’s a really cool fabric!” *her face falls* “We don’t have that one, though.”

Me: “Yeah, my husband bought it for me on clearance when [Other Fabric Chain] went out of business. I think you guys sell it online, but you can get it cheaper from [Online Fabric Retailer].”

Employee #1: “That’s really cool!”

(Another employee comes over, obviously drawn by her coworker’s exuberance.)

Employee #2: *smiling at me* “Is something wrong?”

Employee #1: *grabbing her coworker’s arm and shaking it excitedly* “She made her purse! I know people come here to buy things to make stuff, but I’ve never seen one of them with a handmade purse as cool as hers.”

Employee #2: *noticing my purse* “Oh, that is pretty cool. It’s Doctor Who, right? I don’t really watch the show, but that is a really great purse.”

Me: *blushing* “Thanks.”

Employee #2: *to her coworker* “Don’t forget that you’re working.”

(That employee’s reaction made my day. I go into the store at least once a month now and every time she sees me, she asks what new project I’m working on. And she’s made sure to point me out to her coworkers with an exclamation of, “See her? She’s the one who made the ‘Doctor Who’ purse!”)

(I am a senior in college, working four jobs, because due to several incidents I have been traumatized by roommates and need to pay for a place of my own. My parents insist it be in a “safe” area, which means it will be expensive. Also, I can’t find single full-time job that works around my school schedule. This happens at my job at the university box office a few weeks before finals, when I am working an average of about 70 hours per week. The box office job is my “easy” job, where I’m allowed to do homework. I just came from three days of doubles at my other jobs, and stayed up late the night before working on a project. I’m alone in the office and dozing when the phone rings, waking me.)

Me: “Hello, thank you for calling [Drugstore] on [Street], [Drugstore slogan]. How may I help you today?”

Caller: *silence*

Me: *realizing* “Um, I mean, thank you for calling [Sporting Goods Store] at [Local Mall]. Which department were you hoping to speak to?!”

Caller: “I don’t think that one is right, either, sweetie.”

Me: *now slightly panicking* “Right! I meant, welcome to the [Non-Profit that I both volunteer and work for]! No, wait. That’s not right, either.”

(At his point, the caller is laughing hysterically, and the fog clears from my head long enough to realize it’s the woman who works in the office that oversees the box office.)

Me: *laughing, too* “I’ve got it this time! Thank you for calling [University] box office. How can I help you today?”

Caller: *no response, only laughter*

Related:
I Am Number Four

(I’ve worked multiple retail jobs in my life, but I am a customer in this case. My boyfriend and I are shopping at a local clothing store in the mall. He is looking at something across the store as I am perusing some shirts by myself when a well-to-do, middle-aged woman walks up to me.)

Woman: “Excuse me, but where are your running clothes?”

(I stop, take a pointed look down at my oversized hoodie, band t-shirt, ripped jeans, and cartoon-character-themed shoes, then look back at her with a completely indifferent face.)

Me: “Ma’am, I don’t work here, and I don’t know.”

Woman: *turning red-raced with anger* “Well, how was I supposed to know?!”

(Immediately, she turns around to the clothing display she wanted and starts angrily tearing up the display while looking for her size.)

Me: “O…kay.”

(I end up finding a few shirts that are discounted from sixty dollars each to twenty five, and make my way to the checkout in wonder that that actually happened. The checkout area is set up where the waiting person has to stand behind a sign, a few feet back from the register, until a lane is open. I am waiting for about five minutes by myself before these two highschool-aged looking girls come up and begin waiting behind me. It is another two minutes before the lane opens up.)

Exhausted Cashier: “Next!”

(I start walking up, and the two girls start to follow me. With a big, exhausted, not-again sigh, the cashier starts waving for them to step back.)

Exhausted Cashier: “One at a time, please. Unless you’re with her, you need to wait so she can have privacy while checking out.”

Teen Girl #1: “Of course we’re, like, with her!”

Teen Girl #2: “Yeah!”

Me: *turning around and done with this whole charade* “Are you stupid? I’ve never seen you before in my life! Go wait in f****** line and stop being idiots!”

(Both girls look like they just smelled something horrendous and go back to wait in line. The cashier looks at me with a relieved expression I know all too well.)

Exhausted Cashier: “Thank you.”

Me: “Don’t worry about it. I’ve worked so many retail jobs before. Long day?”

Exhausted Cashier: *waves to literal mountain of return clothes behind her, and two overflowing return racks* “Tell me about it. It seems like I’ve gotten nothing but stupid all day.”

Me: “Yikes. I don’t even work here, and I’ve had my fill of stupid here, too.”

(I start telling her about the woman who approached me earlier while the two girls behind me continue tittering about the “terrible service.” The cashier’s jaw drops when I finish, then she asks the obligatory “do you have a discount card with us?” questions, to which I say no. I let her finish up, but when I hear the total, I stop her.)

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I don’t have the discount card.”

Exhausted Cashier: “Oh, no, honey. I put in your employee’s discount. It took an extra [percentage] off. That will be $40.62, today.”

Me: “But I don’t…” *dawning realization in relation to my story* “Oh! Oh, my gosh, thank you!”

Exhausted Cashier: “Don’t worry about it. Have a great day, girl.”

(I ended up saving a total of $80 between the sale and the discount! My boyfriend laughed so hard about it we ended up going out for ice cream to “celebrate my new job.” If crazy still finds me while being a customer, I’m glad I got out of the industry!)