The gift shop at the old fort was busy. Tourists moved around, looking at the different things on the shelves. I was myself looking at some miniature cannons, the kind they sold as souvenirs, trying to decide if one was too heavy to carry back home. It was a nice day outside, not too hot, and I enjoyed the cool air inside the shop.
Suddenly, a woman stood very close to me. I noticed her, but I thought she was just looking at the same shelf. Then she cleared her throat, very loud. I looked at her. She had a certain look, like she was expecting something. My eyebrows probably went up a little, in question.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice quite sharp. “I need help. I have been looking for ages, and no one is around to assist.”
I blinked. “Oh, I think there is someone at the front desk,” I said, pointing vaguely towards the cash registers that were mostly hidden by a tall display of books. My thought was that she just hadn’t seen them.
She did not even turn her head. Her gaze stayed fixed on me, almost like a drill. “No, I mean you. You are working here, yes? I saw you standing here, looking at the items. I need a very specific item. It is not on these shelves anywhere.”
A small sigh escaped me. This happened sometimes, people mistaking me for an employee when I am just browsing. Maybe because I was wearing a plain shirt, I don’t know. “Oh, I am sorry,” I said, trying to be polite. “But I don’t work here. I am just a visitor, like you.”
Her mouth, which had been in a tight line, now opened a little, but not in understanding. It was more like disbelief. “What do you mean, you don’t work here? You are standing right next to these things. You must work here. Everyone knows you ask someone who is standing near the products.”
I felt a small prickle of annoyance start in the back of my neck. “No, really,” I insisted, my voice still calm, but my internal patience starting to fray a bit. “I am just looking at the souvenirs. I don’t wear a uniform, I don’t have a name tag. I am a customer.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “That is ridiculous. Of course you work here. You are just being lazy, aren’t you? Trying to avoid helping me. I need to find the special edition historical map, the one with the gold foil. It was advertised on the brochure. It is very important that I get it today.”
My jaw clenched. I could feel a slight headache beginning to throb behind my eyes. I had never even heard of a gold foil map. How would I know where it was? “Ma’am,” I said, my voice now tighter. “I truly do not work here. I can’t help you find anything because I don’t know where anything is. I am just a tourist. Please, find an actual employee.”
She scoffed. A sound that made my muscles begin to tense. “This is outrageous customer service! Absolutely outrageous! You expect me to just wander around? I told you, I have been looking. You are just refusing to do your job! I saw you, you were looking at those little cannons. If you are an employee, you should be helping customers, not playing with the toys!”
I took a deep breath. My hands, which had been resting loosely at my sides, now curled into fists, subtly, without her seeing. My blood felt like it was starting to boil a little. “I am not playing with anything. I am a customer, looking at items. I do not work here. I cannot help you. You need to find someone with a uniform.”
Her face grew red. “Don’t you dare tell me what I need to do! You are trying to lie to me! I know an employee when I see one. You have that look, the one that says you are supposed to be helping people. Now, tell me where the gold foil map is, or I will report you to your manager. You’ll be fired for this!”
My vision narrowed slightly. The sheer absurdity of the situation was starting to make me feel a mix of disbelief and intense fury. Fired? By whom? For what? For not working at a place I don’t work at? This was beyond silly. “Listen,” I started, trying one last time to appeal to some shred of reason. “I am going to go find someone who actually works here for you. They will be able to help you.”
I turned, intending to walk away and find a real staff member, hoping that if an actual employee confirmed I wasn’t one, she would finally stop. But she would not let me go. She stepped in front of me, blocking my path, her body language aggressive. “Oh no, you don’t! You are not walking away from me. You are going to help me right now. You are going to take me to the map. Are you going to deny a customer help? In this economy? You must be new, aren’t you? And you are already terrible at your job!”
I could feel my temper slipping its leash. My patience was gone. I could not stand this woman’s rudeness anymore. My voice came out low, strained. “I. Do. Not. Work. Here.” I said each word slowly, distinctly, trying to make it crystal clear.
She seemed to interpret this as defiance. Her chin jutted out. “Oh, so now you are refusing service? I am going to make sure you regret this. What is your name? I will have you disciplined. This is unacceptable! I am a paying customer, and I demand assistance!”
I could not stand it anymore. I saw a young man in a blue polo shirt with the fort’s logo on it, arranging some postcards near the main entrance. He was clearly an employee. Without another word to the woman, I walked around her, striding purposefully towards the employee. I felt her footsteps behind me, following. She was still ranting, her voice rising in volume, attracting glances from other customers. My face felt hot, my ears were ringing.
“Excuse me,” I said to the young man, trying to keep my voice even, though I knew it sounded tight. “Could you please help this lady? She is looking for a specific map.” I gestured back at the woman, who was now glaring at me as if I had personally insulted her entire family.
The young man, looking a little confused, turned to the woman. “Certainly, ma’am. How can I help you?”
The woman’s eyes darted between me and the real employee. Her expression was a mix of triumph and seething anger. “Finally! Someone who knows how to do their job! This… this individual,” she said, pointing a finger at me, “was refusing to help me! She kept saying she didn’t work here! She needs to be fired immediately! She was incredibly rude and unprofessional!”
The employee looked at me, then back at the woman, clearly trying to process this. “Ma’am, I assure you, she is not an employee here. I recognize her from earlier. She was just a customer. We don’t have uniforms like that for our staff.” He gestured to his own blue polo. “Our staff wear these specific shirts.”
This only made the woman angrier. Her face turned a deeper shade of crimson. “Don’t you lie to me too! You are covering for her! This is collusion! I saw her! She was standing there, looking at things, pretending she wasn’t working! She is clearly trying to shirk her duties and now you are joining in! I want your manager! Both of you are going to lose your jobs today for this insolence!”
My heart was pounding, a heavy beat against my ribs. I felt a cold dread mix with the anger. This was no longer just annoying; it was a full-blown attack. The employee, sensing the rapidly escalating situation, looked genuinely distressed. He pulled out a small radio from his belt. “Ma’am, please calm down. I can get a supervisor for you, but there is no need to make a scene.”
“A scene? I am not making a scene! You are making a scene by employing such incompetent and rude staff!” she shrieked, her voice echoing in the large gift shop. Other customers were now actively staring, some with open mouths, others trying to pretend they weren’t listening but clearly were. My cheeks burned with embarrassment and a rage so intense it felt like a physical weight in my chest.
The employee spoke into his radio, his voice low. “Security to the gift shop, please. We have a customer disturbance.”
When the woman heard this, she went completely ballistic. “Security? For me? I am the victim here! This woman refused to help me! She should be removed! Not me! You are all completely out of line! I will sue this establishment! I will make sure you all pay for this humiliation!” She started to stomp her foot. My hands were shaking, and I wanted nothing more than to disappear.
Within what felt like seconds, two security guards, identifiable by their dark uniforms, arrived. They moved with a calm, practiced air. “What seems to be the problem here?” one of them asked, his voice firm but not aggressive.
The woman immediately pointed at me, then at the young employee. “These two! They are refusing service! They are rude! They are trying to get me arrested for asking for help! This one,” she gestured wildly at me again, “she won’t even admit she works here!”
The security guard looked at me, then at the employee, whose face was still a pale shade of worried. The employee quickly explained the situation, confirming I was not staff. The security guard then turned his full attention to the woman.
“Ma’am, you need to calm down. This individual is not an employee. You are disturbing other customers. If you continue to shout, we will have to ask you to leave the premises.”
Her response was a fresh wave of outraged accusations and threats, louder than before. She started yelling about her rights, about how she would call the news, how she was being persecuted. I just stood there, my head pounding, my shoulders aching from tension. My hands were still clenched, hidden in my pockets. I just wanted this to be over. I wanted to scream, to run. But I stayed, a silent witness to her continued self-destruction.
The security guards tried to reason with her a few more times, but she would not listen. She just kept screaming. Eventually, with a calm but determined demeanor, the guards took her by the arms and began to escort her out of the gift shop. She continued to struggle and yell, her voice fading only as they moved her further away towards the exit of the fort. I could still hear her, faintly, even after she was outside. The sound of her voice made me feel sick. I felt an incredible anger, but also a deep exhaustion. I just wanted to leave.
