When you work at a university book store, you will mostly be dealing with students, but sometimes parents or grandparents (or others) will come in to shop for their loved ones.

What would you do if a very old man came in looking for very large shirts, and when you didn’t have them, he had you talk to his boss who sent him in to buy them.

That is what happened to the worker in this story, and found out that the old man was actually the crazy ladies groundskeeper, and she filed a complaint because they didn’t carry bigger sizes.

“Customer” sends her groundskeeper to buy 4XL and 5XL shirts, becomes furious when we don’t carry them.

I worked at my university’s bookstore for two years as a register monkey.

Jobs seem to love abusing their employees.

I say register monkey because “cashier” didn’t cut it: we had to do anything our handlers team leads told us to do, like trained monkeys.

Our “bookstore” was about 30% textbooks and 70% “anything we can put our logo or school name on and sell for a 200% markup”.

I would imagine older customers are rare at a university bookstore.

So, one slow summer day, I’m sitting and talking with the other monkeys, when an old man walks into the store.

He looks to be about 80 years old, his back is bent and he can’t stand up straight, and he’s got a little crumpled piece of paper that he apparently tore out of one of those pocket notebooks held up to his face so he can read what he scrawled there.

He starts looking in our apparel section and I leave him be, no one wants someone bugging them right when they start looking, but note that he doesn’t seem to be finding what he’s looking for.

Hopefully he can help him out.

He looks for about 10 minutes before my handler tells me to go help him out. The following conversation takes place between me (ME) and the old man (OM):

ME: Can I help you find something, sir?

Ahh, he is likely shopping for gifts.

OM: Oh, yes, thank you son! I have these shirts I’m looking for… (He fishes out the crumpled piece of paper)

–He then lists six or seven styles of shirt, complete with SKUs from our website.

A reasonable request.

OM: And for each of those I need one in a 4XL and one in a 5XL.

ME: Oh, I’m sorry, sir, I don’t think we carry those in those sizes.

He seems nice.

OM: Well, could you at least take a look?

ME: Of course. Give me a few minutes to check the stockroom.

Still, it is nice to look so the customer doesn’t think he is being blown off.

So I head to the stockroom, knowing darn well that the largest size we carry is 3XL, and not many of those to boot. I actually do check, and sure enough, no 4 or 5X.

I walk back out to the sales floor and see the old man on his cell phone. Almost like a cartoon, I can hear this high-pitched voice talking loudly even from about 15 feet away as I walk up to him.

Sorry sir, they don’t carry them.

He excuses himself without hanging up and asks me if I found them.

ME: No sir, I was right. We don’t carry anything that size. I’m sorry, can I help you find anything else?

Stores don’t always carry all sizes, nothing to be mad about.

OM: Well, I’ve got my boss on the phone–(He sheepishly gestures with his phone)–and she’s a bit upset that you don’t carry the shirts. Could you explain to her?

ME: Um, sure.

Oh, she is not going to be pleasant.

He hands me the phone, and I try to greet the woman on the other end, henceforth referred to as Cranky Fat ***** (CFB), but she cuts me off before I get two words out.

CFB: Alright, I’m going to take this very slowly so you understand what I’m looking for. I need these shirts–(she lists the SKUs painfully slowly, asking “Did you understand that?” snootily each time). Now, do you think you could go get those for me?

They don’t carry them. She needs to accept that.

ME: Yes ma’am, he told me what shirts you’re looking for. As I was explaining to him, we don’t carry those shirts in 4X or 5X.

CFB: Oh I’m sure you do. Now I need you to go get them for me.

ME: Ma’am, we don’t carry those. We only carry up to 3XL.

Sorry lady, you don’t dictate what the store orders.

CFB: Then I need you to order them for me. This really shouldn’t be this difficult for you, you know. My husband and I would like to buy your shirts, and you should have the sizes your customers request.

ME: No ma’am, these shirts are not made in 4X or 5X. It’s not just that we don’t carry your size.

Oh, I think he gets it just fine.

CFB: Okay, I’m going to explain this slowly again, you don’t seem to get it. I need, four XL and five XL to fit me and my husband.

At this point I’m trying to restrain the rage building inside me like this woman restrains basic human decency and dietary regulation.

ME: Yes ma’am, I understand what you’re looking for, but we don’t have it.

Now she is just crossing the line.

CFB: Can I talk to someone who isn’t slow?

This is too funny.

ME: Unfortunately no, ma’am. We exclusively employ slow people. Can I help you find something else?

CFB, giving over to anger instead of her holier-than-thou attitude now: Alright listen here. I’m getting annoyed with you. Give me my shirts or let me speak to your manager.

ME: We do not carry your size, ma’am.

How is he being rude at all?

CFB: Now that is just rude! How dare you discriminate against my weight? Where is your manager! I–

At this point, the old man reaches out and plucks his phone from my hand.

He’s heard the whole conversation, because CFB had been screaming in my ear basically the entire time.

He briefly tells CFB that he’s coming back to the house, and they’ll have to find something else, then shuts the phone.

This isn’t the first time he has had to deal with her.

OM: Sorry about that, son. She gets like that sometimes.

ME: I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any trouble. She seemed like a real treat. She always treat her family like that?

Wait…what!?

OM: Oh no, I’m not family. I’m her gardener.

ME: Oh.

Sounds like he is ready to quit.

OM: Yeah, and I’m done. The next time she wants to buy a shirt, she can roll her own fat self down here and get it herself.

He walked out of the store as I laughed like a loon. My manager got a call that afternoon from CFB, and told her exactly what I had.

Of course she filed a complaint.

She eventually filed a complaint with corporate about “fat discrimination” and was told to special order the shirts.

I never saw the old man again, but God bless him, I hope he’s somewhere her shrill little voice will never reach him again.

Why on Earth would a gardener be running errands for this lady? And why can’t she accept that they don’t have the size she wants?

Let’s see what the people in the comments have to say about it.

This would have made much more sense.

LOL. This is spot on.

This was too funny.

This person has a very reasonable opinion on this.

Yes, it would be difficult, but that isn’t this guy’s problem.

Sorry lady, we don’t carry your size.

If you liked that post, check out this story about a guy who was forced to sleep on the couch at his wife’s family’s house, so he went to a hotel instead.