I was just trying to find some special bolts for a project I was working on. You know the kind, the ones that are never where they’re supposed to be. I had my list in my hand, walking down one of the long aisles in the big home improvement store. I was wearing my regular jeans and a t-shirt. Nothing fancy, nothing that looked like a uniform. I mean, who wears a uniform to go shopping for bolts? But then, maybe someone does. Not me, though.
I was staring up at the shelves, trying to make sense of the little tags, when this woman just appeared out of nowhere beside me. She didn’t say excuse me or anything. She just started talking, real loud, like she expected me to know what she was talking about right away. My head kinda jerked to the side because I wasn’t ready for it. She had a shopping cart full of paint cans and brushes, and she was pointing at a specific color chip in her hand.
“Hey, you! Where do you keep the good quality paint brushes? Not the cheap ones. I need the ones for professional use. And what about primer? Do I need two coats of that special grey stuff, or will one do for this shade of blue?”
I blinked a few times. I really wasn’t sure who she was even talking to at first. My mind was still trying to figure out which aisle had the right kind of lag bolts. I looked around, thinking maybe there was an actual employee nearby, but it was just us in that section. It hit me then that she was talking to me. My eyebrows went up. I kinda tilted my head to the side, trying to figure out if she was kidding or something.
“Oh, sorry,” I said, trying to be polite. “I don’t actually work here. I’m just trying to find some hardware.” I even held up my crumpled list a little bit to show her I was just a customer like her. I figured that would be the end of it, you know? She’d say oops, and move on to find a real worker.
But that’s not what happened. Not at all. She didn’t even seem to hear what I said. She just kept staring at me, her mouth in a straight line. “That’s fine. I don’t have all day. Just point me in the right direction. I saw you looking at the shelves, so you must know where things are. Are the expensive brushes with the paint, or do I have to go to a separate section for that? Because I don’t want to walk all over the store again. I’ve been here for ages already.”
A little heat started to creep up my neck. I repeated myself, a bit slower this time. “No, really. I don’t work here. I’m just a customer. I don’t know where the paint brushes are.” I even took a small step away from her, trying to give her space so she could understand I wasn’t going to help her. My shoulders tensed up a little. This was getting weird.
She just scoffed. It was a loud, huffy sound. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. You’re clearly in a vest. I saw you with a name tag earlier, I’m sure of it. Now, which way for the brushes? And what about those special rollers? Do they make a smoother finish?” She gestured vaguely towards her cart, then pointed down the aisle. My eyes dropped to my chest, and I saw my plain t-shirt. There was no vest. No name tag. I felt a knot form in my stomach. She was just making things up.
“I am not wearing a vest,” I said, my voice a little tighter than I meant it to be. “And I do not work here. I am trying to find bolts. I need to go.” I turned my body a bit more, trying to make it clear I was leaving. I just wanted to get away from the conversation. My head started to throb a little at my temples. This was ridiculous.
She put her hands on her hips and stepped into my path, blocking me from moving down the aisle. Her voice got even louder. “This is unacceptable customer service! You are just being lazy! I need help! It is your job to help me! What is your employee number? I am going to report you for being so rude and unhelpful. You can’t just stand there and refuse to do your job when I’m a paying customer!”
My jaw tightened. I felt my hands clench into fists at my sides, though I tried to relax them so she wouldn’t notice. My vision seemed to narrow. I looked past her shoulder, searching for an actual employee or maybe even just another customer to witness this. There was still nobody. Just me and this lady who was clearly not getting it. Or didn’t want to get it.
“I am not an employee!” I said, my voice coming out louder than before. “I am a customer just like you. I don’t have an employee number. You can’t report me because I don’t work here. Now please, let me go. I need to find my bolts.” I tried to step around her again, but she moved with me, still blocking my path. My heart started to thump against my ribs. This was really starting to annoy me. I felt the heat spread through my chest. I just wanted to finish my shopping and leave.
“Oh, so now you’re going to run away from your responsibilities?” she practically shrieked. “I saw you! You were right here, looking at the shelves. You are definitely working! I am going to demand to speak to your manager. This is truly terrible service. You will probably get fired for this! You can’t treat customers like this!” She started waving her arms around, attracting some attention from down the main aisle where a few other shoppers were now starting to glance over.
My muscles began to tense all over. I really didn’t want to cause a scene, but she was making it impossible to leave. I saw a flash of orange from the corner of my eye. An actual employee, wearing a bright orange vest, was coming around the corner of the next aisle, probably heading this way. I pointed, maybe a little too excitedly, “There’s an employee! Go ask them!”
The woman twisted her head to look in the direction I pointed. Her eyes got wide, and her mouth dropped open a little bit. For a second, I thought she was finally going to get it and go talk to the real worker. But then her face contorted, and she let out another loud huff. She glanced back at me, then at the approaching worker, then back at me again. Her face got really red, and she mumbled something about “this is not over” under her breath. Then she grabbed her cart, turned it sharply, and pushed it as fast as she could down the opposite direction of the employee, disappearing around the end of the aisle before the worker even got close enough to see what was happening. I just stood there for a second, my chest heaving, listening to the rumbling of her cart fading away. I felt incredibly angry. I didn’t even remember what bolts I was looking for.
