I work in a high-end cosmetics store.

Customer: “I need to replace this; it just stopped working.”

She hands over a very expensive deodorant sold by a specialty company. My manager can’t tell if it’s defective or not, but we’re quite busy, so she just lets her walk out with a new one, and we think nothing more of it.

A couple of weeks later when we’re quieter, I notice that she’s back.

Customer: “I need to replace this; it just stopped working.”

I swear it is the exact same wording.

Me: “Oh, that’s strange. Is this the replacement we gave you for the one that stopped working last time?”

Customer: *Shocked that I remembered* “Oh… uh… maybe? I don’t know.”

Me: “Well, let me have a look-see. You seem to just be having the worst luck with this brand!”

I open it up to find that it’s been completely used up and is empty.

Me: “Oh, well, there you go! It’s not defective; it’s just been used up!”

Customer: “Oh… already? That went by kinda fast.”

Me: “Well, it’s a four-ounce tube, so it’s a standard size. Either way, I am soooo glad I have been able to figure out this mystery for you. Now you don’t have to come in claiming it’s defective every time it runs out!”

Customer: “Uh… yeah… uh… Thanks.” *Slinks out*

My dad likes to tell me this story of how he took part in Swedish history. Before 1979, Sweden considered homosexuality as a mental disorder. My dad was aware of this but didn’t think too much about it until his boss came into the office angry one day and started shouting at all of them.

Boss: “All of you! If any of you are f****** [gay slurs] or friends with [gay slurs], you’re f****** fired!”

Office Worker: “Are you okay, [Boss]? Where is all this coming from?”

After some cajoling, it was discovered that the boss had just caught his son kissing his boyfriend, and he’d then kicked him out.

Dad: “So… wait, where is he now?”

Boss: “F****** on the streets for all I care! No [gay slur] is a son of mine!”

My dad was very disheartened to see this, and for the first time, he realised what homophobia was and how ugly it could be. My dad is also quite petty and inventive, and he inadvertently got involved with a movement he didn’t realise until later that other Swedes were doing at the time.

In protest to the boss’s behaviour, (he was taking his anger out abusively on all the staff) my dad decided he’d had enough and called in sick, but what he said was:

Dad: “I’m calling in gay.”

Boss: “You’re what?!”

Dad: “I’m calling in gay. You said if anyone was gay, they’re fired.”

Boss: “That’s not funny, [Dad]. I know you just got married.”

Dad: “Yes, but I’m feeling a little gay today. I might be coming down with something.”

The boss played it off as a prank and thought my dad was just hungover and gave him the day off. When my dad didn’t go in the next day:

Boss: “Where are you?”

Dad: “Oh, I’m even gayer than I was yesterday. I don’t think it’s going away any time soon.”

Boss: “Are you trying to get fired?”

Dad: “Of course not, but since you said—”

Boss: “I know what I said, but you’re obviously just trying to make a point, and I don’t appreciate you doing it at my expense! Come in today or you’re fired!”

Dad: “So, just to be clear, you’re firing me because I have what the law calls a mental disorder?”

His boss tried to backpedal but it was laid out clearly that my dad was effectively calling in sick, and the boss was firing him for it, which was illegal. The boss actually tried to apologise, but my dad said it was his son he needed to apologise to.

My dad eventually found a new job after claiming a few months of benefits from social services who had to fork out money because, under their laws, he had a “mental disorder”. Sweden saw the light in 1979 and changed the law so that no one had to “call in gay” anymore.

It wasn’t until decades later that my dad realised he was doing the same thing the Swedish gay movement was doing at the time. He was just trying to prove that his boss was an a**hole and get paid while he looked for another job!

CONTENT WARNING: Blood Drawing

I call a patient from the waiting room in for a blood draw. While we walk to the lab, the patient complains about the wait being longer than normal — while not rudely, they do slow me down while they do so.

After I’m finally allowed to verify their information, we have this exchange.

Me: “Do you have an arm preference for the blood draw?”

Patient: “No, whichever is easiest for you is fine. I just want to get out of here.” 

Me: “All right, can I take a look at your left arm?”

The patient pulls up their sleeve, and I spend about two minutes looking for a good vein without any luck.

Me: “I can’t seem to find a vein on this side. Do they have any trouble drawing your blood?”

Patient: “They don’t usually have trouble, but they never find a vein on that side. They always look there and then go to the right side.”

Me: “Okay, can I take a look at your right side, then?”

Patient: “Sure, go ahead.”

The patient takes their time rolling down the left sleeve and then slowly pulling up the right one. I begin looking at the right arm, and I think I find a vein.

Patient: “Did you find a vein?”

Me: “I think so, right here.”

I put slight pressure on the spot, and they look at where I’m indicating.

Patient: “Oh, good. I’m in a hurry. I’ve been here for much longer than I was planning.”

The patient rambles on about what they are planning on doing the rest of the day while I attempt to draw their blood, but I just can’t get into the vein.

Me: “I’m so sorry, you seem to have rolling veins, and I think I may have to start over. I missed this one.”

As I pull the needle and bandage up their arm, I’m given this bit of information.

Patient: “Oh, that’s all right. Everyone always tries to get that vein, but no one has ever gotten blood from there. They try and try, but this is the only spot that anyone has ever managed to get blood from.”

They then turn their arm over and point to a vein on their wrist by their thumb.

Patient: “Do you think you can draw my blood from this spot next? I’m in a hurry.”

Me: “Sure, let me see.”

I manage to get the blood drawn in about a minute after being shown where to look.

Me: “Okay, you’re all set. Have a good day.”

The patient then stood in the draw room and continued to complain about the wait for about five minutes while I tried to usher them out the door so I could call my next patient.

CONTENT WARNING: Sexual Harassment (Graphic harassment by former boss)

I was interviewing for a job. The interviewer was a man in his fifties, and I was a twenty-five-year-old woman interviewing for my first job that would use my college degree. The application asked me to list every job I’d had in the last ten years. The job in this conversation is one I had over the summer after I turned eighteen.

Interviewer: “So, I see you worked at [Construction Company] for just three weeks. What happened there?”

Me: “I would rather not discuss that.”

Interviewer: “I’m guessing you were fired, so I’ll give you some free advice. Working somewhere for such a short time does not look good for you. It tells me — your potential future boss — that you might be trouble for my company. So, unless it was something incredibly traumatizing or you legally can’t discuss it, I’d like to know why you only worked there for three weeks.”

Me: “It wasn’t my fault, but—”

Interviewer: *Scoffs* “It never is.”

Me: “Well, my supervisor called me one night and told me he wanted to fill all my holes until I oozed with his… fluid. I told Human Resources. They investigated and determined that it was better to let me go than fire him.”

Interviewer: “Oh.”

Me: “So. Yeah.”

He paused for a second, clearly not expecting what I’d said.

Interviewer: “Well, things like that don’t just come out of nowhere. What did you—”

Me: “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t flirt with him. I didn’t get drunk or start something I couldn’t finish. I didn’t wear skimpy clothing or make any innuendos. I existed, and that was enough.”

Interviewer: “Well. Thank you for your time. Unfortunately, I do not think this is the job for you.”

Me: “I see that.”

I got up and walked away before he could continue. I had two more interviews before finding a job, and neither one asked why I had only worked for [Construction Company] for three weeks.

I’m finishing my shift at the checkout, and my coworker is taking over so that we don’t have to close the lane. I was about to serve an older male regular before my cover arrived.

Coworker: “Have a good night! I can’t wait to see how different you’ll look tomorrow!”

Customer: “What does she mean? How will you look different tomorrow?”

Me: “I’m cutting all my hair off tonight! Going for a new look!”

Customer: “Oh. Men don’t like very short hair on girls.”

Me: “Well, I am a woman, and I’m not doing it for men.”

Customer: “Oh. Well, I don’t like very short hair on girls.”

Me: “And I don’t like very short guys, but I’ve managed to not be an a**hole to you about it for the last few years.”

Customer: *Angrily* “I’m 5’7″!”

Me: “Honey, you’re 5’5″ on a good day, and I can see that you’re wearing elevator shoes. Okay, byeeeeee!”

The customer complained, but my manager said I was off the clock the moment my cover arrived, so there was nothing he could do. My new hair came out great, by the way!