A forty-something-year-old gentleman and a lady come in and sit at the bar.

Customer: “I’d like a gin martini for myself and my companion.”

I make it and serve it to him, but his face instantly drops. He looks absolutely insulted.

Customer: “What the f*** is this?!”

Me: “You ordered a gin martini, right?”

Customer: “Yes!”

Me: “That’s what that is.”

Customer: “But this glass is so unmanly!”

Me: “That’s a martini glass, as in the glass that was literally designed for the drink you ordered.”

Customer: “Get me a manly glass. This glass is emasculating me!”

I made one in a rocks glass, and he was fine.

I was creating a billboard for a client that had a trucking school. They sent me a logo, the copy, and a photo of two semi-trucks side by side at a three-quarter view. I created a billboard and sent them a sample.

Client: “The boss doesn’t want both trucks in the billboard. Can you take out the black one in front and just leave the red one in the back?”

Me: “Can you send me a photo with just the red truck?”

Client: “Sorry, that’s the way the photographer photographed them. We don’t have any of the red truck by itself.”

Me: “Can you get me the keys to the red truck?”

My male manager is super protective of me. One day when I come in, I discover that we’re out of large cups for drinks; the supplier ran out. I clock in, and the first customer of my shift walks up to my counter. 

Customer: “Can I have a large drink, please?”

Male Manager: “I’m so sorry, sir, we just ran out! She just clocked in and didn’t know until now!”

Customer: “She’s my daughter.”

Manager: “I’d be happy to get you a drink from the gas station! Would you like anything else? A taco? A burrito?”

Customer: “She’s my daughter.”

Manager: “…oh. I’m so sorry. I’ll just…”

He walked into the back, embarrassed. We managed to get a medium cup for my dad, and he asked me if my manager was always that protective of me.

My manager later asked if he’d upset my dad, but I said no, my dad understood why he reacted the way he did. He worked with customers, too.

I am a passenger in the first-class cabin — points spent for an upgrade! Woohoo! But unfortunately, my first time ever flying so fancy is being hampered a little by some strong turbulence. One of my fellow passengers has had enough.

Passenger: “This is ridiculous! I pay good money to fly first class, and I shouldn’t have to deal with all this shaking around!”

Cabin Crew: “I’m sorry, sir, but regardless of what cabin you fly in, there’s nothing we can do about the turbulence.”

Passenger: “Well, you should! I pay good—”

Cabin Crew: “—good money, yes, but I feel I must ask, what exactly should we do to prevent the turbulence, sir?”

Passenger: “Fly the plane in a way so that only those at the back feel it!”

Cabin Crew: “You want us to transfer all the turbulence to the back of the plane?”

Passenger: “Finally, she gets it. Why do they have someone like you working the first-class cabin when you can’t cater to first-class passengers? They should have you work at the back where the turbulence should be!”

This was seven or eight years ago before I quit smoking. The place I worked at had an outdoor smoking area where most people gathered to socialize. At the time I, a woman in my late twenties, had my bag with a bunch of geeky pins, including several Marvel pins. A new guy came up to me, looked at my bag, and scoffed.

New Guy: “Are you even a real fan?”

Any girl into geeky stuff knows where this is going.

He started quizzing me on Marvel but in a weird, obscure way. Like, “In which issue of ‘X-Men’ was Kitty Pride first introduced?” kind of obscure — pedantic statistic kind of questions. When I didn’t know, he rolled his eyes.

New Guy: “I knew you were just another fake fan.”

My turn. I put on my best “clueless girly-girl” voice.

Me: *Faking confusion* “Aren’t you going to answer some questions, too? You know, to really root out any fake fans, since you seem so concerned about the concept.”

The guy was wearing a Deadpool shirt.

Me: “What’s Deadpool’s full name?”

New Guy: “Wade Wilson.”

Me: “No, his full name. What’s his middle name?”

He didn’t know. I asked if Deadpool had any kids. He didn’t know. A few more (actually) basic Deadpool questions later, he hadn’t gotten any right.

Really upping the girly-girl voice, I said:

Me: “Huh. You asked me all those weird questions, and I just asked for the name of the guy on your shirt and whether he had kids or not. I guess both of us are fake fans, then?”

And then, I just beamed at the guy. His face turned red, and he stormed out. He didn’t even finish his cigarette.

He never talked to me again. There’s no “…and then everyone clapped,” but I did get a high-five and a smirk from another smoker who had been watching.

Pulling an Uno Reverse while ramping up the girliness has become my go-to move against gatekeeping a**holes, and it is AMAZINGLY effective. I highly recommend it!