Our shoe store is doing a “buy one, get one half off” sale. The way it works is you buy a more expensive pair, and you get the cheaper of the two for half the price. 

A woman is buying two pairs of kids’ shoes for her two kids.

Customer: *Looking at her receipt.* “Wait! Why isn’t this other pair cheaper!?”

Me: “That second pair is half off, ma’am, so it’s $30. The regular price was $60.”

Customer: “It ain’t buy one get one free?!”

Me: “No, ma’am.” *I point to the very clear sign.* “It’s buy one, get one half off.”

Customer: “Return this one then. Thirty is too much. The little one is a foster kid; he’s not worth it.”

I couldn’t help but look at the smaller child, and he didn’t even blink. I really hope it wasn’t because he was used to being treated like that.

My manager, who overheard and whose heart broke at the comment, stepped in and was able to override the system to make it “buy one get one free” so that the poor kid could get a new pair of shoes just like his ‘sibling’.

After she leaves, another customer voices their opinion.

Other Customer: “She probably did that on purpose, you realize?”

Manager: “Did what?”

Other Customer: “The whole ‘foster kid’ bleeding heart routine. She probably lied to make you give her the other pair of shoes for free. Shoulda held firm.”

Manager: “Maybe. But if you’re right, the poor kid has a monster of a mother who is willing to deny him new shoes for a scam. And if you’re wrong, he still has a monster of a foster mother who is unwilling to pay for new shoes. Either way, I made sure the poor kid got a d*** pair of shoes.”

The other customer shrugged, but didn’t argue.

My winter boots just gave up on me in the middle of winter, so uncool of them. Seeing as I was heading into the city with a friend of mine to meet up with another friend, the friend and I headed into a shoe store on the way.

I have really large and wide feet for a lady, a size 42-43 to be precise, and not many stores have that for a lady’s option. We enter a store, and I spot some really pretty boots that I want to try.

Me: “Hi, excuse me, do you have this in a 42?”

Sales Lady: “We have it in a 41.”

Me: “Oh no, thank you, that won’t fit, and—”

Sales Lady: “It will fit you. Sit down.”

Me: “Okay?”

I have Autism, so I’m not really a confrontational person or do well in social settings, so I sit down on a bench and take off my shoe.

Sales Lady: *Shoving the shoe on my foot.* “Here, put this on. See, it fits perfectly!”

It doesn’t. The whole shoe feels cramped, and I can barely move my toes.

Me: “The shoe actually feels small.”

Sales Lady: “Where does it feel small?!

Me: “The whole shoe?”

Sales Lady: “Where!?”

Me: “Uh, the toes?”

She then proceeds to place her thumb down hard on the edge of the shoe to measure, which, with the shoe being tight, I could feel.

Sales Lady: “Nope, it feels fine. It’s perfect for you!”

Me: “Uh, no, thank you.”

As I bend to take off the shoe, I give a small, exasperated sigh, justifiable, I may say.

Sales Lady: “You shouldn’t roll your eyes at me, you know!”

I quickly put my shoe back on, grab my friend, and practically run out of the store.

It’s a shame, the store had pretty shoes, but that lady didn’t have a pretty attitude.

I remember working at a shoe store during my first summer, back in the early 1990s. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and the place is real busy. 

A family of four comes in from the mall: a mom, dad, brother, and sister. They’re keeping my coworker occupied by all trying on shoes together.

Mom Customer: “I think I’m happy with this style, but can I try one size up?”

Coworker: “Certainly, ma’am. I’ll be right back.”

The minute my coworker went into the back, all four of them got up and ran out with the new shoes on their feet. It took me a second to realize what happened.

Coworker: *Coming back, shoes in hand.* “Where did that family go.”

Me: “Uh… I hate to tell you this…”

Coworker: “Did… did they just steal as a family?!”

I worked in a specialty shoe store. I was fitting an elderly man with shoes; his wife was sitting next to him. He looked at me and said:

Elderly Man: “I love seeing a woman working on her knees.”

Me: “Yes, it’s the perfect height for punching a man in a specific area.”

Elderly Man: *Shocked.* “Hey, I was just kidding!”

Elderly Woman: *Laughing her a** off.* “Ha! I told you one of these days that mouth of yours was going to get you into trouble!”

Elderly Man: “But I was just kidding!”

Elderly Woman: “I told you times have changed, honey. One of these days someone is gonna punch you in the nuts, and when it happens I’m going to laugh even harder than I am right now.”

She turns to me.

Elderly Woman: “Where are the store’s cameras? I’ll stand between them and you so that you get a clean shot.”

Me: “You’ve… put thought into this.”

Elderly Woman: “You have no idea how many times I have heard that “joke”.”

Me: “Ma’am, I am a woman working in a shoe store. I guarantee I have heard it more times than you have. That is why I have rehearsed responses to it.”

She laughs, but a little sadder this time. Her husband has tossed the shoes I was fitting away and has stormed out of the store barefoot.

Elderly Woman: *Sigh.* “This is gonna be another day of sulking, just like when I told him he couldn’t make the ‘milk’ joke with the waitresses at the diner anymore…”

I work in a shoe store. My first customer today, an older lady with her husband, greeted me by yelling across the store:

Customer: “Can I get some help here?”

I smile.

Me: “Of course! How can I help you?”

After a lot of mumbling under her breath, she tells me she wants to try a size in a shoe. I get the size, give them to her, and go back to the front desk, which is about six feet away.

For the next few minutes, she grumbles to her husband about something being “part of my job” before bringing the shoes up to the front desk.

I ask as politely as I can.

Me: “What are we thinking?”

Customer: “You don’t offer customer service here?”

Me: “…You’re more than welcome to ask for help at any time.”

Customer: “But you don’t leave the desk? You just stand there?”

Me: “That’s where we’re supposed to stand, yes.”

It’s a central location where everyone can see us, and we can see them. You don’t even have to raise your voice to be heard, or you can raise a hand, and I’ll be right there. But I don’t read minds, and I don’t hover nearby because one, more people than not would give me s*** for doing that, and two, I’m alone on the sales floor and have to help other people too.

Customer: “I don’t want the box.”

Me: “It’ll be final sale.”

Customer: “That’s fine because I’ll never come back.”

I barely suppress the urge to tell her that’s wonderful. 

I’m still not sure exactly what I did wrong. I assume it’s that I didn’t unbox her shoes and put them on her feet for her? But I absolutely do not get paid enough to cater to your every whim, especially when you can’t even be bothered to say “hello” or “please and thank you.”