(I am the author of this story on Not Always Right. I am in a popular book shop some 30 minutes away from home with my best friend. At the time, I am wearing a Marvel shirt with Loki on the front, and the phrase “I DO WHAT I WANT.” We approach the counter with film magazines. Our cashier is a woman who appears to be in her mid-thirties to early forties.)

Cashier: “Is this all for you today?”

My Friend: “It is, thanks.”

(I turn to browse through the pages of one of the magazines, as I indicate that we won’t be needing a bag. The cashier gives me a strange look and points at my shirt.)

Cashier: “What are you wearing?”

Me: “Marvel’s Loki. ”

Cashier: *stares*

Me: “God of Mischief? Brother of Thor? Portrayed by British actor Tom Hiddleston in Kenneth Branagh’s Thor and Joss Whedon’s The Avengers?”

My Friend: *sighs* “Just say yes. Otherwise, she’ll never shut up about him.” *coughs* “OBSESSED!”

Cashier: “…Isn’t he supposed to be the devil?”

Me: “Pretty much. But, come on. Tom’s Loki is one hell of a looker.”

Cashier: *backs away* “You worship the devil!!”

(Surprised by the cashier’s reaction, my friend and I exchange a look.)

My Friend: “Oh, come on! Yeah, Marvel consumes her life, but it’s just a bunch of comics.”

(The cashier screams and waves her arms.)

Cashier: “DEVIL WORSHIPPERS! MAY GOD FORGIVE YOU FOR YOUR SINS!”

(At this point, my friend is yelling back and demanding to speak with the store manager. Leaning close to the counter, I stare the cashier in the eye with a straight face.)

Me: *deadpan and demonic* “PREPARE YOURSELF, FOR THE TIME OF THE DARK LORD HAS COME.”

(My friend stares in shock as the cashier bolts, drawing even more attention as the manager arrives to finish the transaction and apologize. Apparently, the woman has a history of jumping to severe conclusions, and has hair-trigger nerves.)

My Friend: “Why didn’t you just tell her off?”

Me: “Well, you know what they say: the Devil plays all the best tunes.”

(I’m legally blind, and it’s obvious that I am. I’m still an avid reader, and frequent this particular bookstore quite often. An obviously new clerk is working.)

Me: “Could you show me Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows? I need a present for my niece.”

Clerk: “I don’t think we have the large print addition in stock, but we can order it for you.”

Me: “Well, I don’t need the large print edition. I’m buying this for my niece.”

Clerk: “But you’re bli—visually impaired, right? Don’t you need large print?”

Me: “Yes, but this isn’t for me; it’s for my niece. She isn’t blind. I am.”

Clerk: “Oh. But you do need large print, right?”

Me: “Yeah. But I need a book for my niece today.”

(The clerk grabs my hand—something that you never do with a blind person, they take yours.)

Clerk: “We have all sorts of other large print books! I’m sure we can find something you’ll like…”

(I have just moved to Colorado from Massachusetts and am buying a book at a national chain. My rewards card is therefore still under my Massachusetts address.)

Clerk: “Could I have your zip code?”

Me: “01463.”

Clerk: “No. Your ZIP CODE. As in 8-0-something-something-something.”

Me: “01463″

Clerk: “That isn’t a Colorado zip code!”

Me: “Correct, it’s a Massachusetts zip code. It’s my home zip code and it’s the zip code I have my rewards card under, seeing as I just moved to Colorado this week.”

Clerk: “Fine! But it won’t work!”

Me: “Just try it!”

(It worked.)

(I’m in the back room before my shift, putting some homemade cookies on the break table. The manager has just clocked out and is putting on her coat to go home.)

Manager: “Oh, what are these?”

Me: “I baked some chocolate chip cookies earlier today! I have enough to share with everyone on staff. The guys at the register said they couldn’t wait to try them on their break tonight! Would you like some?”

Manager: ”This is great! They smell so good!”

(Before I can say anything else, she pulls a giant ziplock bag out of her purse and dumps the entire tray of cookies inside.)

Manager: “I’m having people over for dinner tonight, and I didn’t have time to make them dessert! This is perfect. Thanks for sharing!”

(And then she walked out the door with my two dozen cookies! The guys at the registers were so upset when they found out they weren’t going to get any. The next time I made cookies, I put them all in individual baggies with nametags on them!)

(I work in a bookstore and our main clientele are business-types. As such, we have a fairly small science-fiction section, though I am more of a sci-fi reader myself.)

Customer: “Hi, do you have a science fiction section?”

Me: “Yes, we do. Right this way…”

(I lead him to the sci-fi section.)

Me: “Did you have anything specific you were hoping to find?”

Customer: “Do you have any Isaac Asimov?”

Me: *scans the section* “No, I’m sorry. It doesn’t look like we do.”

Customer: “Well, how about Arthur C. Clarke?”

Me: *looks again* “No, we don’t have him either.”

Customer: “Edgar Rice Burroughs?”

Me: “Unfortunately, based on demand, we don’t get a lot of the classic stuff—just the really new or big titles.”

Customer: “Well, that’s pathetic. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Me: “Believe me, I am…”