When The Creepiness Ages With You

I’m a twenty-one-year-old woman lifting about forty pounds of garden soil for an old guy (a regular) because he’s struggling with lifting it up.

Customer: *Impressed* “Wow, most females wouldn’t even attempt that.”

Yes. He said those exact words.

Customer: *Flirting* “I need to take home a beauty like you! I love beautiful women, and you’re a beautiful woman.”

I don’t want to cause a scene or lose my job, so I have to be polite and dandy to him. At this point, one of my coworkers, another woman about ten years older than me, walks up to us. I don’t recognize her at first since she’s meant to be off today, and she’s wearing makeup and a nice shirt.

Coworker: “Leave her alone, Harold. She’s younger than your granddaughter.”

Customer: “And who the f*** do you think you are?!”

He recognizes her.

Customer: “You! So… you can look pretty, eh? Such a shame you ruin yourself all the time.”

Coworker: “Harold, as you can tell, I am off work today. I can say anything I want. You don’t want to try me today, trust me.”

Our customer sneers but moves along agreeably. I turn to my coworker after he’s gone.

Me: “Oh, wow, you look amazing! Why do you always… look…”

Coworker: “Look like s*** at work?”

Me: “Well… yeah.”

Coworker: “Predatory s***s that relish the fact that you can’t escape in retail. I was looking forward to aging out of most of that attention, but it wasn’t happening fast enough for my liking, so I’m kinda… encouraging it along.”

I started looking a little more “crappy” after that to follow her example.