(I have just started my first job at a local pharmacy and convenience store, and it is my third day of training. I am standing behind the counter with an older coworker of mine. We hear the door open, and look over.)

Customer: *quickly walks through the doors and to the other end of the floor, where the pharmacy is*

Me: *looking at my coworker* “Was she…”

Coworker: *taking a sip of an energy drink* “…not wearing any pants? Welcome to the job, kid.”

Me: “…”

(I am the dumb customer in this instance. The store that I work at has a pharmacy in it, where I get all of my medications. The store has a policy in the pharmacy where the first three letters of the customers names are printed on the bags you pick up your prescriptions in. The first time I go to pick up a prescription there, I have never seen this before. Upon picking up my prescription, I see the first three letters of my last name.)

Prescription: “JEW.”

Me: *in genuine confusion* “No, I’m not?”

(I get hired for [Popular Pharmacy Chain] and go through their training. It’s all through their computer system, with videos and quizzes. There’s a thirty-minute session on “branded greetings,” which explains how I have to say the same things during every transaction so customers always have a uniform experience at every store in the chain. I feel like a robot doing this, but I’m good at the spiel after about a week. Then, my manager pulls me aside.)

Manager: “Why are you using branded greetings?”

Me: *thinking this is a test* “Um… so that  every customer gets the same treatment at every store and we deliver a uniform experience.”

Manager: “We haven’t used those in years. People said we sounded like robots, and corporate made us stop.”

Me: “Well, it’s still in the training.”

Manager: “Oh, well, you don’t have to do that anymore. I apparently have to update the training software.” *runs off*

Me: *facepalm*

(I am in a well-known UK-based pharmacy and drugstore, looking for a hand cream. I am wearing ripped jeans, combat boots, and a leather jacket, and have very short hair. I smile at the staff as I walk in and set off in search of the right aisle, minding my own business. As I open a tube to smell the cream, the worker beside the door rushes up and snatches the bottle out of my hand.)

Worker: “Can you not open the products? What are you looking for?”

Me: “Oh, sorry, I was just smelling it. I’m fine, thanks.”

(I think that’s the end of it, as she stalks off. I pick up my items and turn the corner, checking out the makeup. As I swatch a lipstick tester, the same worker storms up and glares at me.)

Worker: “I said don’t open the products! You’ll have to pay for it now!”

Me: “Excuse me? This is a tester, and I haven’t even touched it yet!”

Worker: “Fine. Sit down. I’ll match a colour to you. You clearly need it; whoever matched your current foundation must be colour-blind.”

Me: *taken aback by the sheer rudeness of this woman* “Er. No, thanks.”

(I walked away, irritated, but still with some time to kill before my bus home, so I browsed some other items. I could see the worker following me closely and glaring if I so much as reached out towards a product. Eventually, I had enough. I went to the till, with her following. The girl at the checkout scanned my items and my loyalty card and told me my total. As I handed her my money, the rude worker stormed over and grabbed the iodine pen, scribbling all over my note, a smug grin on her face. I waited as nothing happened to my money, and silently fumed as I was handed my receipt. I felt her glare boring into my back as I left the shop, seriously having to bite down on my tongue to stop myself from yelling at her. I get that workers are supposed to upsell and offer assistance, but judging me outright by my appearance, being incredibly rude about my makeup, and being convinced I’m a thief with no reason is taking it a bit far.)

(It’s Easter Sunday. My parents, my grandmother, and I are coming back from an early dinner out at an uptown restaurant and we stop to pick up some prescriptions for my grandmother at an old pharmacy where the restroom is in the back room. This exchange occurs just as I exit the back room after using the restroom.)

Customer: “Excuse me. I’m looking for [Specific Allergy Brand], but I can’t find it, and this is the allergy aisle. Would it be anywhere else?”

Me: “I have no idea, sorry. Um, good luck.”

(The customer muttered something under her breath that I couldn’t hear as I was walking away. During this exchange I was wearing a cocktail dress and heels, and she looked right at me as she was asking her question.)