For a literary theory class, we had to give a presentation about the topic we were planning to write our research paper on, so the professor could green-light it. I was really excited that a girl was going to write about feminist agendas in A Song of Ice and Fire, because I’m a huge fan of the franchise. However, it started out bad with the professor, who was also the chair of the department, stating that he thought “fantasy [was] crap,” and it only got worse from there.

Besides writing several names wrong (such as “Rob” instead of “Robb”) and mentioning several characters that only exist in the TV show, the student portrayed the fairly empowering books as the most sexist piece of fiction ever written. It soon became very obvious that she had only seen (at best) a few episodes of the TV show.

At the end of the presentation, several other students and I tried to correct the mistakes, but the professor rejected them all regardless, as the presentation reinforced his beliefs that fantasy is garbage.

Through a mutual friend, I later heard that the girl got an A for her research paper. I took note, avoided that particular professor, and when I wrote my master’s thesis on a similar topic, my supervisor told me that this professor had been trying to get the university to boycott research into fantasy literature for years.

(I am allergic to dairy; I will go into shock if I have even a small amount. A surprisingly large amount of stuff has dairy in it and I hate making people wait while I check whether something will kill me, so I often go for the easiest thing on the menu. I meet this guy online and we go to a coffee shop to meet, safely, in person. I ask for soy in my drink and he asks if it is for flavour reason; I state that it is a dietary requirement, but we don’t talk much about it further than that. We decide to continue with the relationship, and a week or so later we go on our first date. He chooses an Italian place for dinner, which is a very risky place for me to go to. I find it a little odd, considering the coffee shop, but I just go for a vegan dish to be safe. A few weeks later, he invites me out to a steak place. I have never been to this place and I can’t find a website to check their menu prior to going. It’s a little bit worrying, but I know most dairy in a steakhouse is in the optional sauces. When I arrive, my date keeps glancing at me, which I don’t really understand. We are seated and given menus, and he is now staring at me intently.)

Me: “What?”

Date: *somewhat smugly* “You won’t find anything vegan on the menu.”

Me: “What’s your point?”

Date: *smug look falters* “Huh?”

Me: “I said, ‘What’s your point?’ I’m not vegan.”

Date: “But… The soy? And at the Italian place?”

Me: “I’m allergic to dairy. Severely allergic, actually, so vegan is a safe choice for me. You took me to a steakhouse thinking I was a vegan?” *pause* “And you thought I would accept it if I was a vegan?”

Date: “W-Well, I thought it would be funny to watch you struggle.”

Me: “You wanted to watch the little vegan get upset over not being able to eat off the menu. Wow.”

Date: “But this is great that you’re just allergic! That means you’re fine to be with!”

Me: “What?”

Date: “Yeah, ’cause vegans are crazy! You don’t f*** crazy!”

(I stare at him.)

Me: “You’re totally right; you don’t f*** crazy. I don’t f*** crazy, or stupid, or a**holes. See ya.”

(I get that some vegans are in your face about it, but that guy was just a jerk.)

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(I’m a cashier. I am watching over the self-checks when one of them decides to act up while saying, “Please take your change,” to a customer. Thankfully, it dispenses the change and receipt like it should, but the customer is laughing.)

Self-Check Machine: “Please Ta-Please Ta-Please Ta-Please Ta-“

Me: “Sorry, but at least it gave you your change and receipt.”

Customer #1: *chuckling* “It’s all right. Besides, these things are more polite than some of the people in here.”

(I laugh as well while I open the machine top cover to reset it.)

Me: “That’s tru—”

(Just then, I hear another customer.)

Customer #2: “How much is this?!”

Me: “I’ll tell you in just a second.”

Customer #2: “No! I asked you now! How much is this f****** thing?!”

Me: “Ma’am, I can’t tell you right this second. Let me get this closed.”

(As I’m standing back up fully and beginning to pull my hand back, [Customer #2] pushes down on the cover, SLAMMING my fingers in between it and the machine. For those who don’t know how that feels, it’s about the same as a car door, particularly as hard as she slammed it.)

Me: *flinging open the cover, biting my lips* “Mmmmmpphhh!”

(Seeing me open up the machine cover again, [Customer #2] huffs.)

Customer #2: “I f****** closed it for you; now you’re reopening it. Fine! I can take a f****** hint, but you will hear from your manager!”

(As she leaves, I close the machine again and head to the watch station, clenching my fingers and using a damp rag to ease the pain. However, I have no idea that [Customer #1] has seen everything until he speaks up.)

Customer #1: “You know what? I’m going to stay here. If a manager does come, I’ll let them know what happened.”

(Sure enough, one of my supervisors approaches, with [Customer #2], while I’m still massaging my fingers.)

Supervisor: “Did you ignore this customer?”

Me: “I was fixing a machine and I told her to wait a moment.”

([Customer #2] opens her mouth to speak but [Customer #1] beats her to it.)

Customer #1: “The machine I was at had frozen up, and he was trying to restart it when she came up asking for price while he still had his head inside of the top part. He politely told her it’d be a moment, and she proceeded to demand it be done at that moment. However, as he was getting ready to close the machine, she slammed the machine down on his fingers.”

(I held out my slightly red fingers to illustrate the point only to notice [Customer #2] turning red.)

Customer #1: “He kept it to himself about how bad it hurt while reopening the cover. That’s when she left.”

Supervisor: *looking at my fingers and then at [Customer #2] pointedly* “What happened?”

Customer #2: “Uh… Um…” *turns red and leaves in a hurry without anything further*

(I’m a security manager for a large building with both office and industrial areas. One of my workers falls on a stairwell. Per protocol, I contact HR as soon as I’m aware of the incident.)

HR: “Okay, so we have three options: The officer can see a doctor now. You’ll have to transport him, and get him drug-tested, too. Or he can choose to wait to seek treatment. And finally, he can refuse any kind of treatment altogether.”

Me: “Okay, I’ll let him know.”

HR: “The last option is the best one for us. I’d recommend using your best ‘Mom voice’ when you tell him the choices.”

Me: “Are you sure that’s okay?”

HR: “He’s probably fine. We’ve already had several OSHA incidents this year, so I’d rather not do the paperwork on another one.”

(I work in a grocery store. I realize that some people will recognize me and ask for help if I’m off the clock or out of uniform. I have already clocked out, and I have my coat on and my purse on my shoulder. A regular has stopped me to say hello and we exchange a few pleasantries. From behind me I hear a SLAM and I turn and see a woman glaring at me as if I have personally offended her. She slams her cart into the register right behind me and throws her stuff onto the belt. I admit, it has been a long day and I am already at the end of my rope, but the way she proceeds has me respond in a less than professional way.)

Customer: “Well?! Are you going to f****** help me or not?”

Me: “Nope. But one of the ladies on one of the three open registers can.”

Customer: “Are you f****** serious? You’re just standing there slacking off. Now, stop being so f****** useless and help me. I’m a customer. You’re working for me. C***.”

Me: “Ma’am, again. I cannot help you. I am off the clock and headed home.”

Customer: *begins shrieking* “Get me a manager right now! This is ridiculous! I DEMAND YOU RING ME OUT! MANAGER! MANAGERRRRRR!”

(The manager who has taken over for the night shift has run over upon hearing the screaming.)

Manager: “Ma’am… She is a manager. And she’s going home. She has her coat on. But if you bring your items to register one, two, or three, one of the ladies there can help you. And please, I do have to ask you to stop cursing, or you will be asked to leave. [My Name], have a good night!”

(I said goodnight to the kind regular I had been talking to, and as I continued to walk out I could hear the woman shrieking again. I got home to a text that she had thrown her eggs at the night manager while screaming a slew of curse words, and had to be escorted out by security.)