Me: “Thank you for calling [Make Up Store]. How can I help you?”

Customer: “Can you tell me what shade of foundation I should wear? I have a medium skin tone.”

Me: “If you’d like to come into our store, one of our many make-up artists would be more than happy to help you.”

Customer: “I have to come in? You can’t just tell me over the phone?”

Me: “Unfortunately, I can’t tell you your foundation match because I can’t see you.”

Customer: “I told you I have a medium skin tone.”

Me: “That’s not a thing, madam. There’s no such thing as a medium skin tone. That could mean something different for someone who is Black, White, Asian—”

Customer: “—Eww! I’m White, obviously!”

Me: “Would you describe yourself as Ivory, Warm Ivory, Sand, Beige, Warm Beige, Natural, Honey—”

Customer: “—What the h*** are all those!”

Me: “All the foundations in the medium range.”

Customer: “…”

Me: “…So you see why it would be easier for you to come in.”

Customer: “Fine, but you could have been a little more polite.”

Me: “Ma’am, this is as polite as I could manage given the circumstances. See you in the store!” *Click.*

Me: *To my husband.* “I got a lot of weird looks from [Teacher] and [Teacher’s Assistant] today when I went to pick up [Son] from pre-school.”

Husband: “Did you ask [Son] about it?”

Me: “Huh. I mean, he doesn’t really notice anything that isn’t Pokémon, but I’ll ask.”

I call him into the room and ask him what he did at school that day.

Son: “Oh, they asked us about our weekends, and I said I got to play with daddy.”

I was at a college reunion drink on Saturday, which was a long drive away, so I had been gone most of Saturday. I’m also a woman in STEM, so all my ex-classmates are men.

Me: “That’s all?”

Son: “Oh, and I said you got back late from drinking with all your boyfriends!”

Welp! Mystery solved! I guess my son notices more than he lets on!

I was shopping in a department store when a guy sidled up to me. We shall call him Creeper, for reasons that will soon become obvious.

Creeper: “Excuse me, honey, how much is this [item]?”

Me: *Glances at the big, obvious sign.* “The sign says [price].”

Creeper: “Really? That’s it? Maybe I’ll grab two at that price!”

Me: “Go for it.”

Creeper: “No problem for me! I make good money as a personal trainer.”

Me: *Eye roll.* “Good for you.”

Creeper: “Would you believe that I’m single?”

Me: “I’m not.”

Creeper: “Your boyfriend doesn’t have to know. I could show you a better time, anyway.”

EWW! I actually had to suppress a full-body shudder.

Me: “I doubt it. And I’m a better person than that.”

Creeper: “Psssh! Well, SOMEBODY thinks pretty highly of themselves!”

Me: “Yeah, you do, for some weird reason.”

Creeper: *Instantly angry.* “Excuse me? Excuse me?! I want your manager! You can’t talk to customers like that!”

Me: “I just did. And I don’t even work here.”

Creeper: *Deflating slightly.* “Uh, you don’t?”

Me: “Nope.”

The creeper walked away, looking like the wind had been taken out of his sails. I was left feeling horrified that creeping on an employee had been his entire purpose, and he had no idea how to handle someone who could snark back at him.

A customer is holding a carton of eggs and asks:

Customer: “How do the chickens know whether to lay the large or the extra-large eggs?”

Me: “They… don’t? They come out different sizes, and they’re sorted by a machine.”

Customer: “Oh… I thought, like, they knew what carton they were working on or something.”

I’m in line to pick up my meds. There’s a sign at the pharmacy counter:

Sign: “Husbands! Picking up your wife’s medications? Please have her date of birth ready to go. Don’t know it? Give her a call! If you don’t know it, we’re not telling you!”

When the old guy in front of me is getting served:

Customer: “That sign’s a bit sexist, isn’t it?”

Pharmacist: “I’ll tell you what I’ve been telling customers for years: when I get a wife who’s forgotten her husband’s date of birth, I’ll change it.”