(I work in a busy clothing store that is known for its high customer service. It is nearing the end of my shift after a busy day of having nearly everything on sale. A woman approaches and enquires about the sale.)

Me: “Well, dresses and scarves are 50% off, tops are buy-one-get-one-50%-off, T-shirts are buy-one-get-one-free, jewelry is half off if you spend $40 or more today, and accessories are 40% off.”

Customer: “Okay, so everything is half off.”

Me: “No… dresses and scarves are 50% off, tops are buy-one-get-one-50%-off, T-shirts are buy-one-get-one-free, jewelry is half off if you spend $40 or more today, and accessories are 40% off.”

(I repeat that a few more times before she nods and leaves. A few minutes later, she reappears holding a T-shirt.)

Customer: “So, this is half off?”

Me: “No, only dresses and scarves are half off, and jewelry if you spend $40. That’s a T-shirt, so it is buy-one-get-one-free.”

Customer: *holds up a blouse* “So, this is buy-one-take-one?”

Me: “No, ma’am, that’s a blouse. Only T-shirts are buy-one-get-one-free. That’s buy-one-get-half-off.”

(I point to the signage that is above every rack, shelf, and table which clearly states the sale.)

Customer: “Oh, okay!”

(My shift is over and I go to the back room to collect my stuff. As I am leaving, now with my coat, purse, and bags, the customer approaches me yet again.)

Customer: “Is this on sale?” *holding a pair of jeans*

Me: “No, dresses and scarves are 50% off, tops are buy-one-get-one-50%-off, T-shirts are buy-one-get-one-free, jewelry is half off if you spend $40 or more today, and accessories are 40% off!”

Customer: “So, dresses and… dress pants?”

Me: “No! Only dresses and scarves. Look, ma’am, I’m off shift. There are signs everywhere to tell you the sale. Please read the signs before you ask again.”

It was my second day working at a music store and I was enjoying walking around, helping the odd customer, familiarizing myself with the layout and the instruments. I didn’t really know any of my coworkers yet but they were nice enough, and because the boss was such a cool guy, there were always more employees in the store than customers. 

On this particular sunny afternoon, I was making small talk with the employees and the boss about why there were so many employees working during the summer when I turned my attention to the customer walking through the door. She was about my age and drop-dead beautiful. Time seemed to stop as she came through the door and walked slowly towards me, but then she detoured and walked over to a grand piano.

Maybe she’s going to play an amazing song and we’ll fall in love and she’ll dig that I play guitar and drums…

My daydream was shattered when she started swearing, smashing on the piano keys, yelling, and throwing little musical gift items like pencils and erasers off the shelves. I froze.

I turned to my coworkers who had conveniently scattered like patrons in an old west saloon when Black Bart entered looking for a fight. They had literally vanished. I could see my boss’s head peeking out from behind an office divider. Seriously.

She continued on her tirade of destruction and I was the only one left to deal with it. I walked over to her and she started trying to hit me, cursing, and calling me every filthy name she could fling. So much for our romance. I grabbed her by the shoulders and literally steered her out of the store, but not before she kicked over a couple of acoustic guitars and an amp.

As I walked back into the store, my coworkers and boss reappeared, laughing. One of them said, “That’s how you do it!” Apparently, she did this a lot and no one had escorted her out as fast as I did with such minimal damage.

About six months later, she came into the store again, but this time she wasn’t high on something or had taken her medication. She was absolutely breathtaking, funny, and engaging, and I almost thought about going for it, but then I remembered her volatile little secret and kept it professional.

(I am a few months into my first “real” job. My marriage recently ended, and I am feeling very unhappy. Some but not all of my coworkers know that I am getting divorced. My birthday is coming up shortly, and I decide to throw a party to cheer myself up. What birthday party is complete without cake? So, I make a phone call.)

Me: “Hi. I’d like to order a birthday cake, please. It needs to be big enough to feed 25 to 30 people.”

Bakery Employee: “No problem. What would you like it to say?”

Me: “‘Happy Birthday, [My Name].’”

(I hang up the phone and realize that two of my coworkers are staring at me.)

Coworker #1: *smirking* You’re ordering yourself a birthday cake? That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.

Me: “Well, I want a cake for my party. You’re all invited, by the way.”

Coworker #1: “Can’t someone else order it for you? What about your husband?”

Coworker #2: *nudges [Coworker #1]*

Coworker #1: “What?”

Coworker #2: “She’s getting divorced, idiot.” *to me* “I’ll come to your party. Can I bring anything?”

Me: “Just yourself.” *smiles gratefully*

(The party ended up being a huge success. The cake was delicious! By the time everyone had left, it was 1:30 am and my house was a mess. Oh, did I say everyone had left? Not quite. [Coworker #2] stayed behind to help me clean up. And – to paraphrase a famous saying – several years later, Reader, I married him.)

(My husband and I decided to buy a new house. It is a showhome, and because of that, the builder insists that it has to stay “on show” until a certain date, even though it is now ours. This date is roughly six weeks from the day that we have to vacate our old house. That leaves us scrambling to find somewhere to live for ourselves, our very small daughters, and our two cats. We find a motel that is fairly cheap and will allow us to stay for the entire six weeks, and luckily, we have friends who agree to look after the cats. We still have to get our girls to and from daycare, and ourselves to and from our jobs. Needless to say, though, this is all fairly complicated and stressful. Add to that the fact that our daughters are only four and two, and I am working two jobs. Fast forward to when our new house is finally ready. My parents fly in from their city to help us move in. A few days later, I need to return some books to the library, so I invite my mum to come with me.)

Librarian: “You realize that these books are overdue?”

Me: “Really? Oh, dear. My life has been a bit crazy lately. How much do I owe?”

Librarian: “$6.”

Me: “Yikes. I guess it’s people like me who keep the library funded, though, eh?” *laughs*

Librarian: *takes my money without changing expression*

(As we are leaving…)

Me: “I guess he’s heard that ‘joke’ before.”  

Mum: *silent*

Me: “It wasn’t all that funny anyway.”

Mum: *coldly* “It’s more likely that he couldn’t believe anyone could be so stupid as to accrue $6 in library fines. What on earth were you thinking?”

Me: *stunned and hurt* “Mum, have you any idea how nuts it’s been for me over the last few weeks? Some things were bound to slip through the cracks.”

Mum: “Whatever. You should have been more careful.”

(I was very thankful when she and Dad flew home a couple of days later.)

(I am the clueless customer here. I’ve just gotten my first “real” job and I need good-quality office clothes. I go to a fairly high-end store and buy almost $1,000.00 worth of outfits, which is a huge amount of money for me.)

Salesperson: *seeing my face as I’m paying* “Hey, just so you know, if these clothes go on sale in the next two weeks, we’ll refund you the difference.”

Me: “Really? Awesome!” *skips off happily with my new duds*

(The salesperson was very clear about the “in the next two weeks” part, but my brain somehow didn’t process that. I got it into my head that if what I’d bought went on sale at any time, even if it was months in the future, I’d still get money back. So, three months later, the store has a huge “end of season sale.”)

Me: *carrying in a massive armful of clothes and my receipt* “Hi! I’m here for my refund.”

Salesperson: “Um… refund?”

Me: “Yup!” *hands over receipt*

Salesperson: “This is from three months ago, ma’am.”

Me: “That’s right.”

Salesperson: *looks at clothes* “Is there anything wrong with them?”

Me: “No, I love them. I’ve been wearing everything constantly since I bought them in the spring.”

Salesperson: “Then I’m confused.”

(We finally got things straightened out, and I slunk out, very embarrassed, with all my stuff and no refund. Thankfully, she was very nice; she probably saw how young I was and realized that this was my first time buying anything really nice.)