Not Being A Sexist A**: That’s The Ticket

, , , | Right | March 1, 2019

(I work in a bank. We have a system where each client takes a ticket as they come in, which needs to be scanned when they reach the front desk. It is mostly used to record waiting times but is a requirement to do banking with us, as our system doesn’t allow us to access client accounts without first scanning a ticket. There are workarounds, but generally, we aren’t allowed to use them. The average wait time at the moment is fifteen minutes. I finish with one client and a gentleman approaches my desk immediately after.)

Me: “Hello. Could I have your ticket, please?”

Gentleman: “I need to cash this cheque, please.”

Me: “Certainly, sir. Could I please have your ticket?”

Gentleman: “I didn’t get one. Can you hurry? I need this cheque cashed.”

(Before I can say anything else, he turns to the man being helped by my colleague and mutters, “Women,” in an unimpressed tone. I take an instant dislike to it.)

Me: “Actually, sir, you need a ticket in order to continue.”

Gentleman: “No, you don’t.”

Me: “Yes, I do. In order to access the computer, a ticket first needs to be scanned.”

Gentleman: “Listen, sweetheart. You must be new. You can work around the ticket lock. The manager does it all the time.”

Me: “I am aware of that, sir. However, as this is the second time you have spoken out of turn in relation to my gender, I have decided not to make that exception for you. You will need a ticket to continue.”

Gentleman: “Oh, really? I’ll just get this young man to help me once my good friend here has finished.”

Colleague: “No ticket, no service.”

(He blushes, but reluctantly takes a ticket and waits in line. Fifteen minutes later, he returns.)

Gentleman: *throwing the ticket and cheque at me* “Money. Now.”

Me: “Of course.”

(I cash his cheque.)

Gentleman: “I also want something extra for making me wait twice as long.”

Me: “I wasn’t the one who neglected to take a ticket.”

Gentleman: “You’re just angry at me because I’m a man who refuses to cower beneath your lesbian feminism.”

Me: “Well, you have certainly lost any chance of getting something ‘extra’ from me.”

Gentleman: “I don’t need a woman to give me extra. I can get a man… umm, manager. Get me the manager.”

(I call the manager.)

Manager: *before I can speak* “The guy’s an a**. He jumped in front of a pregnant woman the second he came through the door. Call security if he gets hostile.”

Me: *smiling* “The manager isn’t interested in taking your request, and would like you to please leave.”

(To my surprise, he didn’t become aggressive. He just took a step back, stared at me for a short while, and left. I haven’t seen him since.)

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