I have autism, but I don’t have any strong symptoms. On paper, it says I’m a genius. In public, I’m a bumbling moron.

In high school, I had an IEP (Individualized Education Program). IEPs are plans for accommodations that kids with disabilities get in schools. I would get extra test-taking time and the ability to type out my essays.

The downside was that sometimes student teachers would be put into my classes. Because I had an IEP, I was usually grouped with kids that had more expansive IEPs. These other students really needed help.

New Teacher: *In a very “soothing” whisper* “Okay, [My Name], the teacher has said we are going to copy the board into our books. I’m glad you have gotten your notebook out, but you need to get out your pencil. You can hold the pencil like this.”

She then took my hand and folded my fingers around the pencil — very dramatically.

I stared at her.

Me: “You do know I’m on the Robotics Team? Right? I don’t need your help with holding pencils, thanks.”

New Teacher: “You can speak?! But you’re supposed to be r******d!”

My regular teacher intervened at that point.

Teacher: “[New Teacher], why don’t you go back to the teacher’s lounge and wait for the vice principal there?”

The new teacher got fired for her comments and lost her license.

I’m a professional photographer. A friend asks me to do a family shoot on Mother’s Day. I know I’ll have the morning to play with before going to see my own mum, so I accept. It is going to be at a winery in the country, and my friend offers to pay for me to join them for brunch. Bonus!

We carpool there, and it isn’t until we get there that I realise that it isn’t just going to be my friend, her husband, and her kids. It is my friend’s husband’s entire family: brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, parents, and even both grandmas.

Twenty-seven people.

I immediately panic about how long it’s going to take to do this shoot, and I mention to my friend and her husband that I have to leave in three hours to get back for my family Mother’s Day. My friend’s husband says it’ll be fine. I don’t really have a choice, as we carpooled, so I try to relax and have fun.

Brunch goes on forever, and when we’re finished, we only have an hour for photos. I figure that should be fine, if cutting it close, and I ask for my friend’s husband’s help in keeping his family organised and moving.

I plan out the normal shots with the husband — everyone together, family groups, and kids — and then the husband starts asking for couples shots, as well. Then siblings. I text my family and let them know I’ll be a little late, but I’m hoping it won’t be too bad because, hopefully, the husband will keep people moving.

An hour and a half later, everyone is having a bad time; the kids are crying, and it’s taking forever to get any shots at all. Why? Because my friend’s husband, as it turns out, is not a nice person. He is yelling at people, hurling commands and orders, barking, and foaming at the mouth.

It’s incredibly awful, and the winery people come over a few times and ask us to keep it down but the husband just yells at them, too, using some slurs I didn’t think he could get away with. I’m praying that they kick us out. I try telling him that I have to leave and that we can try again for photos another time. The family tries to leave, but he stops them. No. We must endure.

When he tells his son that he’s going to knock the snot out of him if he doesn’t stop crying, something snaps in me.

I stop trying to cheer people up and get fun photos and happy smiles. I just take the photos we need to so we can all just get the f*** out.

When I eventually get home, I do what I can with these miserable photos. I combine different frames to get group shots where everyone looks happy. Where that doesn’t work, I touch up facial expressions so people look less harried. I steal bits from candid shots earlier in the day.

These are impossible masterpieces when I’m through with them. I spend hours and hours making sure these pictures are going to hang in living rooms forever. I wouldn’t normally go this far, but I really do like my friend, and after finding out what her husband is like, I feel a little sorry for her.

Then, I go through every single f****** photo featuring my friend’s husband — absolutely every one — and just enough to be slightly noticeable, just enough to look weird and awkward, I enlarge his head.

This story is part of the Editors’-Favorite-Stories Of-2023 roundup!

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CONTENT WARNING: Mention Of Suicide

I work as a tech support agent for a very well-known retailer in the UK. I’ve worked here for about two weeks. A customer calls in regarding their appliance. We get through the basics and get to the bottom of what’s wrong.

Me: “Unfortunately, our engineers are currently on a bit of a backlog, so the soonest we can get someone out is in ten days. Shall I book that—”

Customer: “Ten days?! What the f*** do you expect me to do for ten f****** days?!”

Me: “Firstly, please do not swear; we operate with a three-strike policy, after which we—”

Customer: “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t say, you t**t!”

Me: “Ma’am, please can you refrain from such language? As I was saying, the earliest we can get someone out to you is in ten days. I can put you on a cancellation list, but I can’t confirm a sooner date for you.”

Customer: “No, you will get me a date in the next forty-eight hours, or I will have your stupid f****** a** fired!”

Me: “Okay, ma’am, this is your third warning; you need to stop using language like that. Now, as I said, I will get you on a cancellation list, so if another customer cancels their repair, you can get that slot instead, but I can’t guarantee this for you. What time would you be available on that date?”

Customer: “I won’t be at all, considering I will have killed myself. I hope you know, if I kill myself, that it is your f****** fault.”

At this point, I just freeze. I just recently lost a close friend to suicide, and hearing this really strikes me; I do feel guilty as I thought I could have done more for them.

Me: “…”

Customer: “You won’t hang up on me now will you, huh? Now, get me an earlier appointment.”

At this time, I am unaware, but for the last few minutes, my training supervisor has been monitoring the call, and at this point, they decide to intervene.

Supervisor: “No, my agent will not be terminating this call. However, as you have stated that you intend to take your own life, I must advise you that we have notified the authorities as we take these cases very seriously, and if we believe that you may be a danger to yourself or others, we must ensure your safety. Now, however, I will be terminating this call myself. Thank you for calling. Goodbye.”

I take a minute to compose myself.

Me: “I’m sorry, [Supervisor]. I didn’t know how to deal with that.”

Supervisor: “[My Name], don’t be silly. You are a new agent, and you managed to compose yourself well!”

That supervisor is the reason I stayed at that job through calls like that, and now I work with them more closely in an admin role. I still have the odd customer call, but helping agents deal with bad customers makes me feel so much better.

I was working my new job, and I had been told all of the procedures necessary to do it well. We gave out discount cards so if you purchased six coffees, your next one was free.

I was working the bottom window. The order taker had put through the correct size for a free drink using the free coffee discount. I got the drinks ready and handed them out.

The customer then looked at me angrily.

Customer: “Why is it a medium drink? I paid for large ones!”

I then looked at their order and receipts again.

Me: “You used your discount to get the free coffee; that size is medium. You haven’t paid for these drinks; it’s free.”

Maybe it was my seventeen-year-old mind being so blunt about it, but those had always been the rules as far as I was taught.

Customer: *Disgusted* “Well, you are just a c**t, then!”

Then, he took the coffee from me and drove away!

I closed the window and turned round to my coworkers, who were shocked at what had happened since it was my first day. I just laughed.

Me: “Well, I guess I am a c**t for not giving those p**sies what they wanted.”

I have now been working there for five years, and so far, the customer has never been right!

Back when I was working as an organizer and got work through word of mouth, a community member hired me at minimum wage to help him clear out his basement as he was moving.

He was getting a divorce, and he and his ex-wife were dividing up their belongings. My role turned out to be more of a mediator than an organizer. I had agreed to minimum wage as he was a community member and claimed times were hard. The huge fancy house belied that somewhat, but he was also adamant that we finish quickly so he could be done before his vacation to Fiji.

I helped them over eight hours a day for a couple of days, and my mental health was rapidly declining. One of my other self-employed jobs was actually as a mediator, for the very low price of $60 an hour. However, I would only meet with people for a couple of hours at a time, not like this.

I sent an email.

Me: “Hi. I can’t come in tomorrow unless you pay me $20 an hour. I didn’t expect to be breaking up your arguments all day.”

Client: “How could you do this to me? You know I have a vacation coming up! I can’t do this without you!”

Me: “Then pay me. I’m miserable, and $9 an hour isn’t worth this.”

Client: “You are a terrible person! You can’t do this! This is price gouging! I will never forgive you!”

He said a bunch of awful things attacking my character that I won’t repeat.

Me: “I’ll take pity on you even though you are being mean. If you agree to pay me $25 an hour, I will pretend you didn’t say all that, and I will give you two days of work. If you speak like this to me — or to your ex-wife in front of me — my offer to help you will be rescinded. My helping you is a favor.”

Unsurprisingly, he was very angry and said a lot more mean things. He sent a few nasty emails over the next few days. However, this was just funny to me because I felt so free. I am still happy with my decision fifteen years later.

He wasn’t entitled to me. I was more than generous.