Smacked by a Customer

This isn’t a story of abuse, but one of indecency and a lack of social etiquette. Mind you, I have been clapped at like a dog, and waves to come like a dog; I have had someone pound their knuckles on the register demanding me to apologize for something I didn’t do; been mistaken for a skinny Chinese boy by an old woman who was obviously racist; been told the fact I have a penis means I can’t help them find clothing, I can go on about two-hundred times more. Either way, this is the first time I’ve actually been physically touched my a customer, which basically ruined the rest of my day.

I was calmly going through the crowd putting away clothes, greeting people and helping them. I wasn’t hiding, nor was I trying to be invisible. Out of nowhere, someone smacks my arm, and I’m thinking it’s some old friend. Instead, it’s a customer I don’t think I’ve seen before, but I’m sure isn’t a regular, yet also looked vaguely like ‘they all look the same to me’.

After she smacks me, I look at her, and she say, “I need the sweater in the window, there!” She points. I just stand there, speechless, as she walks to the front of the store. She looks back at me and waves me to follow. I had half-a-mind not to, but human decency and manners is something I’ve learned human beings don’t really learn, and when they do, they consider it something they can turn off and on when the situation befits them. She shows me a sweater, I don’t even look at. I tell her someone will get it, because I’m definitely not going to strain myself in the least to help someone who speaks English, and couldn’t just say, “Excuse me, I need help,” or the usual, “Do you work here?” Someone who can communicate in my own language, but their best form of transmission is by hitting you–this says a lot about her home situation and childhood, all wrapped up like a present to the world.

I get someone else to help her, so she can annoy and irritate them instead–which she does, because you can always tell when ‘they’ll be one of those people’.

As an added story, this automatically brings to mind a situation where a customer demanded to return an item which was old, with no tags, used, and no receipt. The cashier refused, saying it can’t be done. So the customer reached over and shoved the cashier. This was one of those 0.01% chance moments when a District Manager was standing nearby with the Store Manager. The DM rushed forward and said, “Excuse me! You are never allowed to touch my employees like that, ever! Who do you think you are? You are also no longer allowed in any of our stores. You are permanently banned and if I see you in a store, I will have you escorted out. Take your items and leave.” Or something to that point. If only, right?

Customer Types: Modern Slave Owner

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Milk Made

I’m standing folding, and a couple with one of those monster strollers that are made for two children come barging in. They barely have enough room to fit the strollers as they start to shove and push. As they do this, one of their lovely, beautiful boys decides it’s time to toss, drop, or throw his cup at the glass door. And it splatters, covering the lower-half of the door, and spills all over the floor–inside and outside of the store. I immediately get some help, and run to get a mop. By the time I come back, the couple have done a spill-and-run. Then I look closely at the spill and realize it’s MILK. Fresh, creamy, white milk lays splattered on the door and floor.

One guy tries to clean the glass with glass-cleaner and a pile of napkins, but it just smears. The hot sun and milk have already started to turn into a nice, thick cream. He has to clean the door several times before he gives up, still able to see the smear.

I have a mop and disinfectant, but I quickly realize I didn’t put enough hot water into the mop bucket, as the clear water turns milky white. Seriously, how much milk was this kid drinking? Maybe it was melted ice cream. I just couldn’t wait until the hot sun starts to bake the dairy and turn it rotten. The smell will be unbelievable. I clean the floor so well it actually looks cleaner than the surrounding area, which utterly surprises me.

As I’m bending over mopping deep into the grills that are outside our store, the glass door slams open, barely missing my face as I move out-of-the-way. Lo-and-behold, it is the same family (I want to use some terrible adjectives right now) barging out of the store, slamming into the door. I catch the door, throwing the mop handle into my other hand, and the man just looks at me. I never heard an apology from them, either from spilling their cottage cheese on our store or almost cracking my face. And, of course, did they buy anything? Oh no way, of course not. They bought nothing, just spilled and left. Thank you very much for being (CENSORED).

Customer Types: Capitalist, Modern Slave-Owner, Piggies, Unapologetic