I’m a home health nurse and take care of primarily medically homebound children. At one home, I found myself using tactics I’d usually use to deal with unruly children to deal with fully cognizant adults. 

Our company provides us with some supplies that we use daily in the home, like hand sanitizer, hand soap, paper towels, and gloves. I had worked for a while with a family with several young children and had learned that if I didn’t lock it up or keep it in my pocket, little hands would find and walk off with everything they could reach. Kids are kids, and they loved playing doctor with real medical supplies — and my pens and chapstick!

After that family moved, I was called into the office for a new client assignment. They asked if I would be willing to work, even very temporarily, in a house where they had a small theft problem. The nurse working a different shift from mine had been complaining of all the company supplies going missing, as well as several of her personal items. It wasn’t her purse or wallet but frustrating little things like her pens, notebooks, personal hand lotion, etc.

They had spoken to the family, and everyone denied taking anything. The parents were very apologetic and had replaced several missing items, but the thefts continued. The office figured since I was so well trained by the last family, I’d be able to help the other nurse solve her problem and protect my own things, as well.

On my first day at the new client’s home, I showed up with my locked supply bag. I explained to the family that I’d gotten in the habit of protecting my supplies from very determined, sticky-fingered children and just kept up the habit wherever I went. I figured it sounded nicer than, “I know there’s a supply thief in the house.”

I had been working for about two or three hours when a family member came in, looked around the room, and asked where the paper towels were.

Me: *Politely* “I assume you keep your paper towels in your kitchen.”

They paused.

Family Member #1: “No, your paper towels. I just need one.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but my company-issued supplies are for the client only due to our infection control policies.”

They tried again, arguing about only needing one, and then gave up when I kept repeating my answer.

Later in the day, another family member asked to borrow my pen “for just a minute”.

Me: “I’m sorry, but I don’t loan out my personal items due to infection control policy.”

Family Member #2: “I only need it for a minute.”

Me: “I’m not endangering myself, my family, or my patient for so much as one second.”

That stopped them in their tracks.

I started keeping little notes in my pocket notebook. By the end of the day, I had been asked for “just one paper towel” about six times, to “borrow” something of mine “for just a minute” about a dozen times, where the hand sanitizer or my personal hand lotion was four or five times, and on and on. It was easy to see that the family had denied taking anything because they didn’t see taking “just one” or “borrowing for a minute” and then never returning something as taking what didn’t belong to them. 

I told the other nurse and the office about the mystery of the missing supplies. Our supervisor spoke with the family again. I had the pleasure of watching her resort to using props and counting things out like she was speaking to a kindergarten class to try to explain to several grown adults that if everyone takes “just one”, that’s how you end up with none, and that “borrowing” without permission and forgetting to return something is how the nurse “lost” several personal items.

They promised to stop taking and borrowing things meant for the client and belonging to the nurse — a promise that didn’t last a day.

So, the last time I worked there, both the other nurse and I took locked bags and kept everything else in our pockets.

I still laugh sometimes thinking of the confused looks on their faces when told that taking one thing is still taking things that don’t belong to you. It made me miss the sticky-fingered kids who just wanted to play Doc McStuffins with my stuff.

I was waiting to check out at the local supermarket, and the woman at the front was getting a bit confused about money and how it all worked. I overheard another person with her guiding her, and I realised that she was a refugee, newly arrived in our country.

She had the most adorable baby with her and was just buying basic items. The older lady in front of me, next in line, started cooing at the baby and making her giggle.

Cashier: *To the refugee woman* “I’m afraid you don’t have enough money. Do you want to put something back?”

Older Lady: “Don’t you worry; it’s on me!”

She added some bananas.

Older Lady: “For the baby!”

She paid for the whole lot, and the refugee woman was nearly in tears, she was so surprised. We made a big fuss over the adorable baby, and I hope it helped that nice lady feel welcome!

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!

When I was a kid, my dad could really be a d**k sometimes. He broke rules all his life but would swiftly and gleefully punish me if I didn’t do exactly what he wanted without question.

One Christmas season, we went out shopping for my mom and spent the whole day crawling the mall. When we got back home, Dad told me that I would be wrapping all the presents myself.

Me: “You’re not going to help me?”

Dad: “No. I paid for them; you can wrap them.”

I was twelve years old. Was I expected to buy presents? I knew better than to fight with him, though, so I did exactly what he asked.

And when it came time to write the “From” line on each present’s tag, I wrote my name and my name alone. After all, if he’d been there, he could’ve signed them. Heck, if he checked the presents before Christmas, he could sign them.

But of course, he didn’t.

When we unwrapped presents, my mom wondered out loud:

Mom: “Why are all of my gifts from [My Name]?”

Dad got so mad and tried to make me feel bad about it, but when I explained it in front of both of them, he got quiet and stopped.

From that point on, I had help wrapping each year. And I do enjoy wrapping presents nowadays!

We were really understaffed in the deli where I work. It was so bad that there was an understanding that if we got backed up, we could call over the PA for a manager since they were all technically trained in every department.

One day, I was working alone with an older Eastern European lady, who was just done with everything. It was busy, and we got backed up really badly. My coworker went stomping over to the phone, set it up in PA mode, and yelled into it.

Coworker: “If someone doesn’t come help us, I’ll quit!”

Managers materialized from every direction and came running as I (and the customers) just stared at her in disbelief.