I have an obscure Celtic name which is similar to a very common English name (just one letter different) and so I’m used to people seeing my name badge and asking about it. I’ve lived in East London my whole life and have a strong East London accent.

Customer: Hmm, where are you from?
Me: I’m from London, but my family’s from Scotland.
Customer: Ah, I knew it! You have a strong accent. I can tell you’ve been here a while, but I’d recognise that accent anywhere. I used to live in Glasgow [a city in Scotland with a very strong accent, very unlike the East London one] too.
Me: Oh? Wow, that’s nice.

He walks away looking very proud of himself. I’m still confused, hours later.

I am the author of all the “candy store” stories that take place in Lafayette. Most of the kiosk workers in my section of the mall know me and know not to try pitching their products to me, however one of the kiosks has recently hired someone new, who doesn’t know me yet. I am on break and pass by this kiosk, and she attempts to pitch to me.

New worker: “What hair straightener do you use?”
Me: *not breaking stride* “I don’t!”
New worker: “Why not?”
Me: *walking away* “Cause I hate ’em!”

I don’t actually mind the kiosks so much, but I don’t like getting their hopes up when they’re selling something I don’t want for more than I can afford.

(Our store has been closed for about half an hour and we are locking up when we see a man standing at our drive thru window. I am a 6′ female and my manager is a 6’3″ male. The customer is approximately 5’6″and clearly drunk.)
Customer:*banging on the locked window*
Manager: Sir I’m sorry but we are closed.
Customer: No you aren’t! You took my order now give me my d*** food!
Manager: Sir we don’t take foot traffic through the drive thru and we are closed. I guarantee we did not take your order.
Customer: YES YOU F****** DID! *bangs on the window harder*
Manager: Sir! If you continue to hit the window I will have to call the police!
Customer: Do it you p****.
Manager: *pulls out phone and calls 911* Yes, I’m at [RESTAURANT] and we have a customer trying to break into our store. *pause* Thank you. They are on their way.
(At this point the customer stumbles over and tries to get in my manager’s face)
Customer: F****** p****! I’m going to punch you so hard-
Me: *steps between them* Hey hey hey. No.
Customer: P**** letting a girl fight for you.
Manager: the cops are on their way.
(He runs off only to come back a few times, once without his top shirt as if we wouldn’t recognized him. Finally he comes sprinting up making a header straight for the manager. I step between them and body check him. He bounces off me and runs away. The police caught him minutes later. All I could think was “what did this 5’6″ drunk guy think he could do against us? He was so much smaller and very drunk!”)

I’m the receptionist at a corporate office for a retail company. Our flagship store is just down the street, so we often get people coming to the corporate office when they’re looking for the store. Most realize their mistake really quickly.

This particular day, a small family walks through the doors that have a big sign that clearly says, “[Company] Corporate Office. Please visit our store” with an arrow pointing in the right direction. They walk into our lobby, which only has the reception desk and the card-access-only elevators going up to the offices. They look around, see another huge sign saying “[Company] Corporate Office,” and then the mom comes up to me.

Mother: [seeing the guest sign-in on the counter, she calls to the others] Come on, we all need to sign in so we can go up and see the books.

Me: …Are…are you looking for the store?

Mother: Yes. Is this not it?

Me: [Looking pointedly around at the empty lobby] No… the store is just down the street a ways.

Mother: Oh. Okay, let’s go, everyone.

She was just so nonchalant about the whole thing, like it made perfect sense to have to sign a guest sheet before being allowed to access the sales floor. I don’t know what kind of stores she’s been to in the past, but our company definitely isn’t that fancy.

(I work in the refrigerated/frozen section of a supermarket. A customer with a thick accent approaches)

Customer: Excuse me, do you know where I can find the hash brownies?

Me: Um. Sorry, could you repeat that?

Customer: The hash brownies.

Me: Oh. Um. We don’t sell those here…

Customer: No hash brownies? But you have chips and wedges…

(At this point a lightbulb goes on in my head)

Me: Oh, hash *browns*! Right this way…