The fluorescent lights of the campus bookstore hummed, casting a sterile glow over the rows of books and branded merchandise. I was lingering near a display of new campus hoodies, contemplating whether I truly needed another one, when a sharp voice sliced through my momentary indecision. “Excuse me!”
I turned, expecting to see someone addressing a staff member, but found a woman standing far too close, her gaze fixed intently on me. Her mouth was set in a firm line. I felt a flicker of confusion; my own attire consisted of a faded t-shirt and jeans, hardly a uniform of any kind. I offered a polite, if somewhat hesitant, “Yes?”
She thrust a crumpled printout into my hand. “I need this. Where are they keeping the pre-calc books? And don’t tell me they’re out, because I called earlier, and they assured me they had a fresh shipment.” Her voice carried an impatient edge that made my shoulders tighten. I looked down at the paper, then back at her, a knot forming in my stomach.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I began, my voice soft, “I don’t actually work here. I’m just a student, like, uh, like I’m shopping.” I gestured vaguely at the racks around us. A slow flush began to creep up my neck. I truly despised these kinds of encounters.
The woman’s expression remained utterly blank for a beat, then morphed into a look of disbelief. “What do you mean, you don’t work here?” Her volume increased, drawing the attention of a nearby browsing student who quickly averted their gaze. “You’re standing right here! You’re clearly associated with this establishment. Don’t play games with me.”
My brow furrowed. “No, really. I just finished a class and decided to pop in. I don’t have a uniform, or a name tag, or anything.” I spread my hands in a placating gesture, hoping to defuse the situation. This was already becoming incredibly taxing.
“That’s ridiculous,” she huffed, snatching the paper back from my hand with unexpected force. “So you’re just standing around, wasting my time? I need these books for my son’s class, and I need them now. Just point me in the right direction. It can’t be that difficult.” Her eyes narrowed. My patience was wearing thin, a distinct throbbing beginning behind my eyes.
I sighed, a deep, exasperated sound I couldn’t quite suppress. “Ma’am, I honestly cannot help you. I have no idea where the pre-calc section is, or if they even have those specific editions. There are actual employees at the front counter who can assist you.” I pointed towards the cash registers, where a young man in a branded polo shirt was scanning items.
A fresh wave of indignation washed over her features. “You expect me to stand in line again? I’ve been waiting for ages already. You were right here, and you’re just going to make me go through all that hassle? That’s terrible customer service!” She stomped her foot lightly, a gesture that completely stunned me into silence for a moment. My jaw clenched.
“But I am not providing customer service,” I reiterated, each word carefully articulated, as if speaking to a small child. “Because I am not staff. I am a customer, just like you.” My voice was a low murmur, but the conviction behind it was unmistakable. I felt my muscles begin to tense, a dull ache spreading across my shoulders.
“Don’t lie to me!” she shrilled, causing several more heads to turn. “You’re just being lazy! I see you loitering around here, clearly on the clock, avoiding work. I want to speak to your manager. What’s your name? I’m going to report you for insubordination and refusing to help a customer.” Her finger jabbed accusingly in my direction, coming perilously close to my face.
My blood pressure certainly spiked. A flush of pure, unadulterated anger ignited within me. This was beyond frustrating; it was genuinely offensive. “Ma’am, I don’t have a manager here. I attend classes at this university. My ‘job’ is to pass my exams. I cannot help you, and you need to stop bothering me.” I started to take a step away, my eyes scanning the room for an actual employee to intervene.
She moved with surprising swiftness, blocking my path. “Oh no you don’t! You’re not getting away that easily. You’ll help me or you’ll be fired. I’ll make sure of it! What kind of an establishment lets its employees treat patrons like this? This is outrageous! I pay good money for tuition here, and I expect respect and assistance from the staff!”
At this point, my vision was beginning to blur with indignation. I spotted the young man from the counter, the actual employee, looking over with an expression of increasing concern. I called out to him, “Excuse me! Could you possibly help this lady find something? She seems to think I work here.” My voice, despite my efforts, came out strained.
The woman whipped her head around to the employee, then back to me. Her face contorted into an almost comical mask of fury. “You tattletale! You’re trying to get me in trouble now? You’ll be sorry! I’m calling the dean! You’re going to lose your job, I promise you that!” She raised her voice even higher, the words echoing through the bookstore. “This is completely unacceptable! This employee is harassing me!”
The employee, now fully aware of the scene, approached cautiously. “Is everything alright here, ma’am? Can I help you with anything?” he asked, his tone remarkably calm given the uproar.
“No, everything is not alright!” she shrieked, pointing at me again. “This person is refusing to do their job, being rude, and now trying to cause trouble! I want them disciplined immediately! I want them dismissed!”
The employee turned his attention to me, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “She’s not an employee, ma’am. She’s a student, just like many of our customers.”
Her jaw dropped, then snapped shut. “I don’t believe you! You’re covering for her! You’re all in on this together! I want to speak to the manager of this entire institution! This is a disgrace! I demand that she be removed!”
By now, several other staff members had emerged from behind the counter, their faces etched with concern. One, a woman with a no-nonsense demeanor, pulled out a phone. “Ma’am, if you do not calm down, we will have to call campus security. You are disrupting our business and making other customers uncomfortable.”
“Oh, you’ll call security?” the woman scoffed, a wild glint in her eye. “Go right ahead! They’ll see what a terrible employee this one is! She assaulted me with her words!” The absurdity of the accusation hung in the air, thick and oppressive. My head began to pound with a dull ache.
Moments later, two uniformed security officers entered the bookstore, their presence immediately commanding attention. The woman continued her tirade, but her voice began to crack under the strain. She gestured wildly, repeating her demands that I be fired and accusing everyone of conspiring against her. The officers listened patiently for a moment, then, with a professional firmness, began to escort her towards the exit. Her protests became increasingly shrill as they guided her out, her last intelligible words a string of furious, nonsensical threats aimed back at me.
I stood there, utterly drained, my heart still thumping erratically. The quiet hum of the fluorescent lights seemed deafening in the sudden stillness that settled over the bookstore.
