(I work at a hotel that caters to a branch of a hospital. I’m a larger-chested woman, and get frequent sexual harassment from guests.)

Me: “As the hospital pays a portion of your stay, your grand total for the evening will be $44.40.”

Guest: “That’s fine; I’d like to pay in cash.”

Me: “Cash is acceptable, but we do ask that we get a credit card on file.”

Guest: “Why the f*** do you need my credit card?”

Me: “We need a credit card for incidentals or if by chance your stay is extended through the hospital.”

Guest: “What the f*** is an incidental?”

Me: “Incidentals would be damages or possible problems that may arise in the room.”

Guest: “Do I look like I’d cause a f*****g problem?”

Me: “Sir, I do not believe any of my guests would ever cause a problem; it’s just a precaution we must take. Now, I’d also ask that you refrain from using the f-word in the lobby.”

Guest: “Listen, tits—”

Me: “Sir, I kindly ask that you refrain from the vulgarities.”

Guest: “You said I couldn’t say f***. You didn’t say nothin’ about tits!”

Me: “That is a derogatory term in reference to my physical appearance. I will ask that you do not use that type of language in my lobby, or I will be forced to call the hospital and they will move you to a different establishment for the remainder of your stay.”

Guest: “FIRST YOU TELL ME I HAVE TO USE A CREDIT CARD WHEN I F****** SAID I WAS PAYING CASH, AND NOW YOU’RE DENYING MY FREE SPEECH. DO YOU KNOW WHO OUR PRESIDENT IS, WHITE B****?!”

Me: “Sir, I’ve asked you multiple times to correct your language and because of that last comment, you’ve now forced me to call the hospital as you are not welcome at our establishment.”

Guest: “Whoa, whoa, whoa, sweet-cakes. I was just trying to make you angry. I love the way your boobs bounce when you get flustered and hold back.”

(At that point my manager stepped in and told him to leave without even calling the hospital. Sick or not, no one has an excuse to openly sexually harass someone just trying to do their job.)

This story is part of the Swearing roundup!

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(I am queuing for my meal at a diner. I am a huge ‘Doctor Who’ fan. I am looking at an annual from the old series (1963 – 1989) when the customer behind me in the queue looks over at me.)

Customer: “Hey! Why are you reading that bulls***?”

Me: “It’s not bulls***.”

Customer: “It is! That thing’s evil! It lies about how the universe was made! It says the universe has more than humans!”

Me: *annoyed* “Look, if you want to be b****y, then push off.”

(I see the customer leave, and I get my meal, thinking nothing more about it. Then the customer gets the seating next to me. I’m about to get away when she comes near, but she gestures to stop.)

Customer: “Listen, I’m sorry I was like that. It’s just that I’ve had a bad history with the show.”

Me: “What happened?”

Customer: “How old are you?”

Me: “20.”

Customer: “When I was a few years younger than you, I watched that show like anything. I absolutely loved it. But my parents are members of [really religious group], and said it was against our belief. I kept telling them I didn’t care what they said; I liked the show and I know this sounds silly, but I loved The Doctor. He actually did look good then. But my mom threw the television out the window and shouted at me. So I get memories whenever I see it.”

Me: “I am SO sorry! Listen, I’m really sorry I did that. If you want, I can give you the annual. You’ve missed out a LOT.”

Customer: “I don’t know about anything that happened in the last 30 years on the show. My parents even told me I was being a stupid lovesick girl. Well, they’re in the old people home now, so I don’t care.”

(I proceed to tell her most of what I know, and give her an address for a shop of old show memorabilia. I’m just happy someone can overcome their problems.)

(I am a small white woman. My boyfriend and best friend are both very large black men. As soon as we walk into this shop, the only employee, an older white woman, starts giving us the stink-eye and follows me around until she gets me alone.)

Employee: “Miss, do I need to call the police?”

Me: “Ma’am, did we do something wrong?”

Employee: “Hun, I’m not mad at you; do you need help?”

Me: “Uh, no, I’m just looking.”

Employee: “No! Hun, you don’t have to stay with them, you know. We can get you to safety. Let me call the police.”

(A light-bulb goes off.)

Me: “Ma’am, that’s my boyfriend and my best friend. I’m with them by choice.”

Employee: “You don’t have to lie for them. No young lady would be with a couple of n*****s if she wasn’t their sex slave.”

(My boyfriend and friend overhear everything, since the lady isn’t trying to keep her voice down. While I’m stunned in outrage, they come up on either side of me, their heads down and their eyes averted.)

Boyfriend: “Mistress, we found a skirt you may like.”

Friend: “We think it will be very flattering on you, mistress.”

Me: *catching on* “Have you? Very well done, boys.”

Both: “Thank you, mistress.”

(I turn to the employee.)

Me: “No, that’s quite unnecessary. They’re very well trained.”

(The lady’s eyes nearly bugged out of her skull. My boyfriend and friend proceeded to follow at my heel the rest of the way around the store. It took everything I had to keep a straight face. We didn’t buy anything, either.)

(We have three flavours of slushy in our slushy machine: raspberry, cherry and orange. Raspberry is blue, cherry is pink and orange is obviously orange. Customers usually refer to the slushy they want by the colors.)

Customer: “What flavour is the orange slushy?”

Me: “Orange flavoured.”

Customer: “I know what the color is, I want to know the FLAVOUR.”

Me: “It’s orange flavoured, ma’am, just like the fruit.”

(The customer suddenly starts screaming at me.)

Woman: “WHAT IS THE FLAVOUR! I CAN SEE THE COLOR OF THE D*** THING! WHAT FLAVOUR IS IT?!”

(The customer’s daughter chimes in.)

Customer’s Daughter: “Mum! It’s like orange juice! Chill out!”

Woman: “Orange juice? Jeez, why couldn’t she just tell me that?! Two of those, please!”

(The customer is perfectly pleasant with me for the rest of the transaction, and wanders off with her slushy happily!)

(I work in a gift shop inside a very successful casino. Our department is very small, and has suffered a few losses of faculty leaving us shorthanded for a small period. I am working a late shift unable to take any breaks but I don’t mind it. I’m used to being on my feet, but I am feeling very hungry. A customer comes in with bags of food wanting a few candy bars.)

Me: “Oh my gosh, that smells so good.”

Customer: “Yeah, double cheeseburger, onion rings and chili fries! I’m feeling hungry tonight!”

Me: “Oh man, me too! I haven’t had a chance to eat today.”

Customer: “You haven’t? Well, why not?!”

Me: “The store is open 24 hours, and there’s no one else here to break me. It’s only for a little while though, and my relief comes in at midnight.”

Customer: “But that’s so long!”

Me: “It’s not that long, but that smell sure is making me hungry!”

Customer: “You want me to order you some food?”

Me: “Sir, you don’t have to do that!”

Customer: “I want to!”

(I continue ringing him up and hand him back his change.)

Me: *chuckles* “Alright, thank you, sir. You have a good night.”

Customer: “You the same!”

(The customer leaves and the offer slips my mind as I continue working. Sure enough, about an hour later a drink-girl comes in with a tray full of all the food he described! I was astounded! Thank you, sir, for your generosity!)