I work at a fairly casual restaurant where it is mandatory for everyone to wear masks during the health crisis. It is about ninety degrees Fahrenheit today, which is really hot for where I live. I’m at the end of a long shift, so I am sweating and my face is very red.

I am standing next to an older man who is probably around sixty. He is not wearing a mask. I am a fourteen-year-old girl, which only makes the story creepier. 

The customer looks like he is about to leave.

Me: “Have a good afternoon!”

Customer: “You, too.”

He looks up at me.

Customer: “Wait, where are the napkins?”

It’s a fairly regular question, so I don’t really wonder why he asks despite the fact that he’s about to leave.

Me: “Right behind you, sir.”

He grabs a napkin and then quickly steps forwards and tries to wipe my forehead with the napkin. I instinctively step back.

Customer: *laughing* “Wow, you are beet red! I’m just trying to get some of the sweat off your face.”

He puts his arm on my shoulder and I keep inching backward.

Customer: “Wow, I feel bad for you; you have to spend all day in this heat with a mask on! No wonder you look so red.”

I am still stepping back as his hand is still on my shoulder.

Me: “Heh. Uh, yeah, I guess.”

Customer: “And yesterday must have been much worse; it was so hot you must have been dying!”

Me: “I didn’t work yesterday.”

Customer: “Wow, that’s lucky. Have a good afternoon.”

By this time, somehow we had walked down a hallway just from my inching back. I have no idea why he thought that touching someone’s face with no warning would be okay, especially during the middle of a rapidly spreading health crisis! I spent the rest of my shift being extremely self-conscious of my face.

I have natural blond hair, but I dye it black every year. However, the first time I ever did, I also had them put some purple under my hair in the back. With that setup, it was impossible to tell I had a second color unless my hair was up or I showed people.

I have a woman comment on how nice my hair looks while we’re standing in line, waiting to pay for gas. I thank her and then put it up in a ponytail. Apparently, this is a mistake on my part. The customer gasps and puts her hands on her chest.

Customer: “You have an odd color!”

Me: “Well, yes. I like it — something new!”

Customer: “HEATHEN!”

Me: “Really?”

Customer: “You will go to Hell!”

Me: *Whips right around* “May I check your ticket? I’m driving the bus to h*** today and I need to make sure you paid for your seat, madam.”

She turns bright red and storms out of the store. I pay for my gas.

Cashier: “Not the first time?”

Me: “Oh, no. Normally, though, it’s my nose ring that people comment like that about; this was the first time for hair.”

Cashier: “I like it. Your husband said you had another color and that I would have to see it.”

I left the place to find her screaming outside. I just shook my head and got in the truck my husband and I shared and left. Only a little bit of purple in my hair made someone freak out. Wonder what this lady would say now if she saw I have a tattoo and more piercings, and I still dye my hair. I do see her every now and then at the stores. Small area.

Related:
Purple Raises Some Red Flags

Due to the current health crisis, my five-year-old daughter and I wear masks wherever we go, and I use hand sanitizer. However, due to a reaction the last time she used it, my daughter was deemed allergic to the stuff and I have had to resort to keeping her hands busy while in a store. She’s a thumb sucker, so it can be difficult, but I find that giving her my phone to watch videos on helps, and she washes her hands the second she gets home.

We go into a store where wearing masks is mandatory, and I fix hers on her, pick her up, and put her in the cart. I then give her my phone and get some sanitizer on my hands. Apparently, this rubs one lady the wrong way.

Me: “Okay, remember, don’t touch Mama’s hands. Don’t touch anything other than the phone, and do not put your thumb in your mouth.”

Daughter: “Okay, Mama. Love you!”

Me: “I love you, too, babe.”

Lady: “Hey! Hey! Why didn’t you put sanitizer on her hands, too?!”

Me: “Hmm? Uh… she’s allergic. She had a strong reaction last time she used it and her doctor has agreed with me that it was an allergic reaction.”

Lady: “That’s impossible!”

Me: “Um. No, it’s not. Whether or not such an allergy exists, my daughter reacts to the point of swollen, rashy, and itchy skin. I will not put her through that and she knows the routine by now. I need to do my shopping.”

The lady then steps right up to my cart, and I get between her and my daughter.

Me: “Please back up six feet! There is plenty of room, and it’s clear that you only intend to instigate the situation further!”

Lady: “She needs to have hand sanitizer!”

Me: “She is allergic! And due to that, you will not get any closer to her than what you are now!”

Lady: “Are you saying I’m infected? How dare you?!”

I have caught the attention of another worker, who quickly comes over to diffuse the situation.

Worker: “Hey, [My Name]. Everything okay?”

Me: “No, this lady is— What are you doing?!”

I see that she has hand sanitizer in her hand and has glopped some on her and is trying to get around me. I grab her hand, ruining her gloppy mess and pushing her back. The worker quickly gets a hold of the lady and pulls her away. I have no choice but to grab the cart with one hand and drag it to the hand sanitizer stand where the paper towels are and clean my hand, being sure to once again let my daughter know the rules.

Daughter: “Mama… that lady was weird.”

Me: “I know, hon.”

Worker: “Second time this week. I lost count for the month.”

Me: “It just started.”

Worker: “I know.”

I thanked the worker and got my shopping done. Seriously, I know that during these times, there are measures in place, but if someone really can’t use hand sanitizer, or even a mask, or has to, don’t put them down or try and force anything onto them; there is a reason. Thankfully, my daughter was fine, and the second she was home she washed her hands extra long and happily played with her toys while I washed mine. Some people…

I work at a tire store in sales. I get an angry phone call from the father of a young lady who purchased tires for her vehicle earlier today.

Father: “My daughter was in today and was charged more for her tires than she was told over the phone.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. I can look that up for you. What is her name?”

Father: “Her name is [Daughter].”

Me: “Okay, I was her salesman. It looks like she bought four tires, with an alignment, and she purchased the free replacement warranty.”

Father: “Yeah, it shows here on her receipt that you charged her $40 for this free replacement warranty.”

Me: “Yes, sir. That’s $10 per tire for a total of $40.”

Father: “But, it’s supposed to be free.”

Me: “Oh, I see, you thought the warranty was free. The warranty costs $10 dollars per tire, but if the tire is ever damaged beyond repair, it will be replaced for free.”

Father: “This is bull. False advertising! Your ad says the warranty is free!”

Me: “Sir, have you ever purchased an appliance and purchased an extended warranty to go with it? Did you get the warranty for free?”

Father: “No, but this is different. This is for tires. It makes no sense why you would charge $10 for a tire warranty.”

Me: “Well, if she never needs it, great, but if a tire blows out or something, she’ll get the tire that originally cost over $100 for nothing.” 

Father: “I have two Master’s degrees and I can’t make sense of this. It makes no sense!”

Me: “Maybe you should request a refund.”

Father: “You mean, I can get my money back for the warranty?”

Me: “Oh, yes. If you want to leave your daughter’s investment unprotected, you can certainly do that. What I meant, though, is that you should get a refund on those degrees. I’m just a high school graduate, and our warranty makes perfect sense to me.”

I hung up. He never came in for his refund.

This story takes place at a popular nationwide sub shop. My mom is out dropping my brother off at some event and is driving back, and she decides to stop at this sub shop to get herself and me something.

She explains her order first and the employee gets it correct. Then, she gets to my order, which happens to be a sub that has a good amount of meat on it.

After my mom explains my order, the employee gets confused and asks my mom to repeat it, which she does, only to then add on to the end of the order that the sub is “like a meat bomb.” This confuses the poor employee even further, who then starts to reach for the meatballs.

My mom quickly stops the employee and explains the order again, more slowly this time, and he finally gets it and makes the order. The sandwiches are then moved to the next employee to finish them. My mom then hears the other employee ask the customer behind her what he wants.

Customer: “I’m not sure what exactly it was, but I’ll have what she’s having!”

For those of you who wonder what the sandwich was, here is the order: toasted Italian herb and cheese bread, pepperoni, salami, bacon, steak, American cheese, lettuce, pickles, and cucumbers. Behold, the Meat Bomb!