As winter is getting worse, I am finding that my old trainers are in dire need of replacement. I’ve had them for a few years, and the soles have been worn smooth. Any trip outside is becoming alarmingly slippery.

I’m down at my local shoe shop, in the men’s section. For a little bit more context, I’m transitioning. On a good day, I look sort of androgynous, but I certainly still need men’s size shoes.

I’ve been standing there for a while being indecisive about brand/colour. I’ve already been asked by a few different employees if I needed any help, but I declined. I am trying to force myself to choose when an elderly lady comes up near me and starts chatting. She’s very friendly and polite, and I’m happy to make small talk with her, too.

Old Lady: “I’m looking for some shoes for my grandson’s Christmas, but I don’t really know what style he’d like.”

She’s obviously fishing for suggestions, and I’m all too happy to try to help. I spend maybe five minutes suggesting pairs to her until she decides on something she thinks he will like. At that point, the issue turns to size.

Old Lady: “Do you have the right size in stock?”

It finally dawns on me then that she’s mistaken me for a store employee!

Me: *Embarrassed* “I’m sorry, but I don’t work there.”

She seems to find the mistake hilarious, but she does apologise, too, before moving on to find an actual employee. By this time, I’ve pretty much decided what I want myself, and having selected the shoes I like, I ask for my own size.

Skipping forward a little, I end up being behind the lady at the checkout. As she is being rung up by the employee, she turns to me.

Old Lady: “I’ll be paying for hers, as well.”

Me: “Oh, no, seriously it’s fine!”

Old Lady: “You’re going to refuse a fussing Grandma over Christmas?”

I caved into her fussing with a compromise, suggesting that I use my student discount for the both of us. She seemed pleased enough with that, and we both went our ways quite happy with the result.

Our store has a strict return policy, but our manager always accepts returns anyway if the customer shouts loudly enough. He says corporate would never take our side if a customer called to complain that we hadn’t accepted a return. A lot of local customers seem to know this, and screaming demands for refunds are a regular occurrence.

I refused once. The customer ran crying back to her workplace and told all her coworkers to never shop at our store ever again. The manager had to go after her and offer her discounts to calm her down.

My customer wants to return some shoes she bought two years ago. Not only are they out of style, but they are covered in sweat stains and cat hairs.

Me: “These are past the return date.”

Customer: “I couldn’t return them sooner because I had a heart attack.”

Before I can respond to that, she starts yelling.

Customer: “Why are you blaming me for my heart attack?! It wasn’t my fault! If you don’t take these shoes back, I’m going to have another heart attack, and I’m going to sue you!”

I passed her off to my manager and then had a panic attack in the bathroom. By the time I came out, the customer was gone, but I think my manager took the return and dumped the shoes in the garbage. 

Related:
All’s Well That Ends With Screaming

I used to work the register at a Nike Factory Store. A very old guy is writing me a check for his purchases.

Me: “Sir, we can’t accept that check.”

Customer: “Why not?”

Me: “Because you made it out to ‘The Swoosh’ and not ‘Nike’.” 

Customer: “Oh, that’s because I don’t know how to spell ‘Nike’.”

In the 1980s, I manage a shoe store for a chain. This location is a stand-alone store with its own parking lot, and we are in a higher crime area, so I have an armed guard who hails from South America, and his English is a bit spotty.

A man in his twenties walks in and inquires about a job. It is a feather in the cap if a manager hires a full-time employee and is able to train that person to become an assistant manager for another location. So, I am talking the company up while handing the man an application. He turns out to be interesting.

Man: “I just flew in from Detroit. They killed my friend.”

Me: “Uh… Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

Man: “I’m a cop, and I’m gonna find who did it.”

Me: “I certainly hope so.”

Man: “Yeah, my name is Axel Foley, but my real name is Reggie Hammond.”

It takes my brain a second to kick in. Wait, I think… those are character names that Eddie Murphy played in a couple of movies (“48 Hours” and “Beverly Hills Cop”). I realize this guy thinks he’s Eddie Murphy characters in a mishmash of two movies and therefore crazy.

I will admit that crazy frightens me. I am a very logical person, and I don’t know how to react to someone whose mind is all over the place. I leave the sales counter to escape the crazy and head to the stockroom to… well, hide, I guess.

This guy follows me as I am walking to the stockroom, and with a crumpled-up piece of paper in his hand, he frantically asks:

Man: “Do you know where I can get this prescription filled?”

Me: “Uh, down the street, I think.”

I look over at my armed guard, we make eye contact, and I give a head nod that can be translated to “Get rid of this guy.”

So, my guard walks over toward the guy, and instead of using words, pats his gun holster.

Well, that probably wasn’t the least threatening way to get rid of someone, but my guard speaks little English, so how else was he gonna quickly get his point across?

And then I hear this response to my guard patting his holster.

Man: “I GOT A GUN!”

We have a lady and her child trying on shoes at the time, and upon the man declaring he is armed, the lady begins screaming.

Lady: “OH, LORD! MY BABY! MY BABY!”

It turned out that the man didn’t actually have a gun. Thankfully, the dude left, the lady calmed down, and in about fifteen minutes, my heart stopped pounding in my chest!

I do online customer service for a few shoe companies. An older gentleman calls in:

Caller: “I want to return some shoes. I just realized they were made in Vietnam. I thought they were made in America!”

Fine and dandy, you’re trying to make a statement or whatever.

Me: “Okay, sir, looking at your order I can see that…” *pauses, double-checks* “…you bought these shoes four years ago.”

Caller: “That’s right.”

Me: “It took you four years to realize they were made in Vietnam?”

Caller: “Well, I was just sliding them on this morning, and I casually glanced down at the tongue, and then I noticed they were made in Vietnam. It’s a shame, as I wore them every day and they’re super reliable.”

He did not get his refund. The entire time, he kept saying, “Such a shame,” and, “So reliable.”