Customer: “Hi, can I have a cinnamon roll and a decaf?”

Me: “Sure.”

Coworker: *to me* “Hey, Isis, can you help me after [Owner] leaves?”

Me: “Sure.”

Customer: “Why did he call you that?”

Me: “It’s my name.”

Customer: *disgusted* “Well, why the h*** haven’t you changed it?!”

Me: “Because it’s my name, and I had it first.”

Customer: “But people will think you’re a terrorist! If you want a goddess’s name, have Diana or Freya, but seriously, get rid of that s*** name!”

Coworker: “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Customer: “As if! I paid for my food and I’m getting it.”

Me: *slightly upset* “It’s okay, [Coworker]; I’m going to go on break.”

Customer: “Change it!”

Coworker: “Leave before I call the cops. This is your last chance.”

Customer: “You’re going to have a nasty life if you keep that!”

(He stormed out, snatching a cinnamon roll and another customer’s decaf before going. When the cops did arrest him, he said that he paid for them and that everyone was going to think I was “un-American.” I’m fine. It’s my name and nobody’s going to make me change it.)

(I have graduated from high school early, and I’m starting college. I’m barely 16 years old, and my mom is a broke single mother. For my graduation, she buys me a $400 used car, and I apply for financial aid so I can go to college. Part of my financial aid is a work-study job in the college cafeteria. My shift is supposed to be from 6:00 to 10:00 in the morning, but since I have a 10:00 class, the manager moves my shift to 5:45 to 9:45 so I can make it to class on time. Serving breakfast to surly college students is NOT fun, and almost every day, the boss gives me too much to do, so I’m late getting out of work. Now, I am in danger of being dropped from my class for excessive tardiness. I ask my mother for permission to quit my job and look for another one, and she says yes. I go to my boss.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but I need to quit this job. It’s interfering with my schoolwork and I need to get good grades.”

Boss: “You really need to stay and finish the job. Otherwise, all your life, you will feel like a quitter. I don’t accept your resignation.”

Me: *is stunned into silence*

(I go home and told my mom what happened. She gives me permission to stop going to work, so I go to class instead. Two days later, my boss calls me.)

Boss: “I’m sorry, but due to your attendance, I’m going to have to let you go.”

Me: “I can’t say I’m sorry about this. I quit two days ago, remember?”

(It took me years to get over feeling ashamed of losing one of my first jobs, but now when I think back on it, I’m proud that I stood up for myself.)

My sister’s wealthy friend has a villa in Dominican Republic. We love to travel, so we pay her to rent it for a week. She sends us pictures and says that she herself vacations there and that it’s lovely. We trust her because she’s a friend who enjoys the luxurious life.

However, things aren’t so great when we arrive. The place is infested by bees and hand-sized spiders, the electricity is wired badly so we get shocked from turning off the lights, and the air conditioning is poor in this 90 F weather, so we’re sweating everywhere. We are glad to return home, and when we do, the friend sends us an email.

Email: “How was your trip? Be sure to send a good review on [Website]!”

We do send a review, but not a good one. The friend is not pleased and doesn’t speak to us anymore, calling us too spoiled. Maybe we’re spoiled, but it really was awful enough to ruin our vacation!

(I’m a carer for a young man who has autism. Like a lot of autistic children, he can be picky about what he will and will not eat. As a reward for recent good behaviour, I take him to the local fish and chips shop for some hot chips.)

Server: “What can I get you?”

Me: “Can I please have a large chips, no salt?”

(The server sighs and stalks away. I think it is weird, but I let it go. The server cooks up a fresh order of fries… only to add salt to them.)

Me: “Sorry, but it was a large chips with no salt.”

Server: “Oh. I forgot. No big deal, though, right?” *tries to give me the chips*

Me: “No. Big deal. I need you to make a fresh order with no salt, please.”

Server: “C’mon, I know that this is just a ploy that people do to get a fresh batch of chips, and you’re just going to add salt to them. You saw me cook them fresh, so it’s fine.”

Me: “No. If I give [Boy] chips with salt, he will lick off the salt and not eat the chips. Please give me what I ordered, or I’ll be forced to ask for a manager.”

(The server sighed, rolled her eyes and muttered up a storm, but eventually she gave me an order of saltless fries. I think I’ll try somewhere else to get hot chips, next time.)

(I find out I am pregnant. My fiancé is overjoyed because he is told the likelihood of him having children is very slim. We decide to have a small get-together with our immediate family to announce my pregnancy. Naturally, our families are excited and the usual question is asked.)

Husband’s Step-Dad: “So, do you want a boy or a girl?”

Me: “I think it’s a boy, but a girl would be fine.”

Husband: *snorts* “Yeah, ever since she found out she was pregnant, she’s been saying that she just knows it’s a boy.”

Mother-In-Law: *snottily* “Well, I think it’s going to be a girl. I need a granddaughter, because I already have two grandsons.” *pats my fiancé’s youngest nephew’s head*

(The room suddenly falls silent and everyone stares at her a moment before my dad changes the subject by asking if we have any ideas for names yet. Fast forward to my next ultrasound, where the tech asks if I’d like to know the sex. No surprise: it’s a boy. We call our mothers to tell them the news. I hear a shriek from my fiancé’s phone loud enough to drown out my mother and stare in shock as my fiancé holds his phone away from his ear while his mother screeches.)

Mother-In-Law: *obviously outraged* “There’s no way they can tell the sex right now! It’s too early! It’s got to be a girl!”

(My fiancé rolls his eyes and tells her that it’s definitely a boy because he saw the penis on the ultrasound and we had the photo to prove it. Fast forward several months to my baby shower:)

Aunt: “So, how long before you and [Fiancé] have another baby?”

(Before I can answer, my mother-in-law butts in.)

Mother-In-Law: “Oh, as soon as possible, so that I can have a granddaughter.”

(My aunt and a family friend exchange a look while two of my cousins whisper to each other, obviously not sure how to react to my mother-in-law’s rude behavior.)

Me: “Not likely. [Fiancé] and I have discussed it and have decided that we’re only having the one, because I don’t think I could handle the stress of more than one child.”

Aunt: *nods* “I can understand that. You don’t want to have more than you want or can care for, or you’ll resent them.”

Mother-In-Law: “Well, if they space it out so that [Son]’s in school when they have the next one, I think she could handle it.” *to me* “You have to keep having babies until I get a granddaughter.”

(There’s a collective gasp of shock, followed by dirty looks cast at my mother-in-law, then sympathetic looks for me.)

Me: “No, [Mother-In-Law]. I’m not having any more children, and that’s the end of it.”

(Sadly, that was NOT the end of it; my son will be two in a couple of months and this crazy cow STILL keeps trying to tell my now-husband and me that we “need to give [her] a granddaughter.” Little does she know, my husband is getting “the snip” when he comes home from his deployment next year.)