I was traveling to Miami from the UK toward the end of a period of leave following a tour of duty in a certain Middle Eastern country in the early 2010s. During my leave, I had neglected the usual grooming standards usually required of soldiers because, hey, I was on leave, and screw the standards.

Everything on the journey went perfectly well until I reached the immigration checkpoint in Miami. A TSA agent spent a good minute staring at my British passport and back at me.

TSA Agent: “Your hair is different than your picture.”

Me: “Umm… yeah… It grew.”

I was let through without any further questions. They do know hair grows, right?

I was baffled to say the least.

I’m a manager at a bookstore. A customer comes up to me. 

Customer: “I just wanted to say what great service your cashier provided me. She’s a real gem.”

Me: “That’s wonderful to hear! Do you know who exactly served you? Both our lead cashiers are working right now.” 

Customer: “The girl.”

Me: “Um, actually, they’re both women.” 

Customer: “Oh, the one with all the tattoos.”

Me: “And they’re both covered in tattoos.” 

Customer: “Oh, well, one of the tattoos was that Harry Potter symbol. You know, that triangle thing?”

Me: “And they both have Deathly Hallows tattoos on their forearms.”

While both the customer and I are amused, knowing we can’t go on like this, I finally have the sense to ask:

Me: “Blonde or brunette?” 

Customer: “Oh, blonde.”

Me: “Great. That’s Maria. Thank you for letting me know. And I’ll be sure to pass it along to the store manager.”

Bookstores…

I worked for a property management company about ten years back or so. They were behind the times — very behind the times. They did have a computer system that tracked payments being made — though they had to be manually entered — and on certain days, the system would print out a physical list of late charges.

They managed hundreds of Homeowners Associations. This late charge printout was huge. The way they handled it was they split it into three parts and dedicated three people to work on it for a few days.

It was insane. I did the tedious data entry on it for a few months and decided that it had to be fixed.

Since I couldn’t replace the software, of course, I decided to use the tools I had. Instead of physically printing the report, I exported it to an Excel document and then made a simple script that cut it down to a usable file. I then added in several calculations to sort out the amount of the fees based on the file. Then, I made a macro that copied the data from the Excel file into the billing software. I did this on my own free time.

I took a three-person multi-day job and cut it down to about an hour using tools we all had access to. It would have been instant, but the macro literally had to simulate keypresses for copy-paste into the ancient system — no import options.

For the first month, I did it both ways, and every difference between the human results and the system results were mistakes the humans made. It found dozens of mistakes that would have gone out to the HOA members, and likely that was just the norm. The machine did it better. I even added on a bit that sorted out addresses so the letters could be printed with the late fee information.

I was fired not long after. My manager claimed it was because I was not a team player or some such crap — that I wasn’t fitting in. My friends there said the gossip was pretty much that she felt I was a threat to her job. And the fact that I was the only male in the department and the only one who couldn’t speak Spanish fluently didn’t help. (It was in Miami.)

It left me pretty bitter for a while. On the bright side, teaching myself how to do it made me pretty good with Excel, which has helped me in most of my jobs since then. I just tend to keep my shortcuts to myself now.

I’m a thirty-year-old guy, traveling with my family to Miami to shopping and stuff. It’s my first time in the USA. There is a nice mall in front of our hotel. The shopping mall is big and very exciting. It is pretty fun to see different people at the same time and place from all over the world. I go into a clothing store to buy something for myself.

Suddenly, a female customer approaches me.

Customer: “Excuse me, do you have this in a larger size?”

At first, I think something like, “You know what? I want to help this lady!” I look around and find the same shirt in what appears to be a larger size.

Me: “I found this one. Take a look.”

She takes it from me, looks it over, and then gives it back to me.

Customer: “Okay, I’ll buy it.”

Me: “Um… okay.”

I try to hand the shirt back. When she stares back at me, I realize what is going on.

Me: “Oh, I don’t work here. I’m sorry!”

She takes her glasses off.

Customer: “Okay. Can you call the manager, please?”

I know this is probably the wrong decision, but it is my first time out of my country. At the time, I really think that the best thing to do is try to help and then leave. I go to a guy at a register and tell him what is going on.

Me: “That lady thought I worked here. Now she wants to talk with the manager. I just tried to help, I’m sorry.”

The guy gives me a smile, trying not to laugh.

Guy: “A wild [Nickname For An Entitled Woman] appears, huh?”

I get the Pokémon reference, but at the time, I think she is a well-known customer with a normal woman’s name. The guy goes upstairs to find the manager.

Since I am trying soooo hard to help, I make the most unforgettable/unforgivable mistake of my life. I approach the woman and say:

Me: “Ms. [Nickname], the guy on the register was—”

Customer: “HOW DARE YOU?! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TALKING TO?!”

I go pale. I just freeze while the entire store is looking and lift up my hands the exact way I’d do if I was getting robbed. For five minutes, the woman rants, saying all sorts of rude things. Slowly, I approach the register, as if I were a little deer scared by a wolf or a wild boar. The woman is following me, of course, step by step.

I see the manager approaching as my great white horse knight ready to protect me from that dragon.

Customer: “I demand you fire this… this lazy [profanity]!”

The manager takes a look at me and I slowly drop my hands down.

Manager: “Okay, lady. This guy tried to help you, from what I was told, but he doesn’t work here.”

The woman does not seem to be satisfied.

Customer: “You Latinos are just lazy, aren’t you?”

Manager: “If you don’t back off and leave this store, I will call the police, and I and this guy—” *points to me* “—are going to press charges for your racism.”

The woman left. I was like, “WHAT THE HECK JUST HAPPENED?!”

The guy on the register then explained to me what a [Nickname] was.

It’s closing time. There are two older teenagers still left in the store and making no attempts at leaving. As a manager, I approach them to let them know we’re closing.

Customer #1: “No speak English.”

Customer #2: “Yeah, no speak.”

This is normal. In addition to being a big tourist area, especially for Central and South Americans, my area is mostly Hispanic. Unfortunately, I’m a gringa and my Spanish still leaves something to be desired. I ask a coworker to let them know.

Coworker: “Lo siento, pero la tienda está cerrando.” *I’m sorry, but the store is closing.*

Customer #1: “No speak.”

They have clearly been speaking Spanish to each other, and [Coworker] and I have both overheard this, so we know they are playing dumb so they don’t have to leave. While [Coworker]’s normal customer service is the best I’ve ever seen, he’s also known for not suffering fools and for having the ability to say things the average customer service representative could not get away with (even me).

He looks at me for silent approval to escalate; I nod. He continues, in English, no less:

Coworker: “I’m going to call security. Do you speak that?”

The boys left. Fast.