(My nephew is almost two years old, so my husband asks his brother what kinds of gifts we should get him. We get a standard response, like cars and tools. Since his father is a mechanic, we assume he’s a chip off the old block. However, things turn out to be different when we get there. The boy gets crayons, at which his father scoffs. The boy loves the colors and the crayons and he starts coloring. He picks a pink crayon.)

Brother-In-Law: “No, we don’t use that one.”

(He hands the boy a blue one. It strikes me as odd, but since I’m a guest, I mention nothing. The talk then changes to my pregnant sister-in-law, who recently found out she’ll be having a girl.)

Me: “I wonder if she’ll love cars just as much as her brother or father!”

Brother-In-Law: “Of course not. Why would she even love cars?”

Me: “Well, why wouldn’t she?”

Brother-In-Law: “Because she is a girl! No girl of mine is playing with cars! And no boy of mine is playing with dolls!”

Me: “Oh… okay…”

Brother-In-Law: “Did you know that [Nephew] picked out [Dutch pink cakes] for dessert?! I’m not raising a [homosexual slur]! H*** no. I’d punch that out of him!”

(I see my husband’s eyes grow, but we both remain silent. It’s a kid’s birthday and we don’t know how to act. In the car:)

Me: “My gosh, did you hear what [Brother-In-Law] said?! I’m so worried that if [Nephew] turns out to be gay, he might get kicked out!”

Husband: “Well, if that is the case… then we have to make sure he knows he can stay with his aunt and uncle! Because my brother is just… just… GAH!”

(I’m glad my husband thought the same, and we still don’t know how to deal with this. Luckily the kid is only two years old now.)

(I work at a big box store, and one of my coworkers has a pretty severe stutter.)

Customer: “Excuse me. Can you tell me if you carry [Item]?”

Me: “I’m not sure, sorry… Let me ask.” *calls out over the walkie*

Coworker: “They’re, l-l-located along the w-w-wall.”

Customer: *in a suddenly nasty tone* “Well, I already looked along the wall. Is the wuh-wuh-wall something different?”

(I was shocked, but the only thing I could do was tell her, “Then we’re sold out.” Our managers won’t let us refuse service.)

(I am having one of those mornings where everything goes wrong: almost no sleep, car trouble, spilled juice on my clothes, burned myself in the kitchen, dog chewed a hole in the rug, etc. I’m tired and I’m on my last nerve. I’m running errands and the pet store is my last stop before taking a break for lunch. I put a large bag of dog food on the counter — I’m a small woman so I have to carry it with both arms — and start digging in my purse for my credit card. I go to pay but notice that the cashier hasn’t rung up my purchase.)

Me: “Is there a problem?”

(The cashier is grinning at me.)

Cashier: “I’m not ringing this up until you smile for me.”

(I stare at him. I assume he’s joking and stand there, waiting for him to ring up the dog food. He keeps grinning and nods at me.)

Cashier: *in a cutesy voice* “Come on, now. Smile for me.”

(And that’s the moment when I’ve had enough. I flip him off with both hands, leave the dog food on the counter, and walk to the door.)

Cashier: *sounds shocked* “Hey, wait! It’s just a smile!”

(I flipped him off again over my shoulder and kept walking. I had to make an extra stop at a different pet store, but I don’t regret it.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Bank]. How can I help you?”

Caller: “I need my balance.”

Me: “I’ll be happy to assist. I do need to verify your information.”

(Other than his name, he does not answer any security questions correctly.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but for security reasons, you will need to contact a branch during business hours.”

Caller: “No, you will help me now.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but…”

Caller: “No, you listen here. You sound like a black guy. I’ll go to every branch and tell the managers you called me a cracker and you have been racist.”

Me: “Absolutely, sir. You do what you need to do; however, I should let you know that this call is being recorded and they can pull this call and listen to it.”

Caller: *hangs up*

(Many of the associates in my store have learned that it’s easier to clip our walkie-talkies to our back pockets instead of a front pocket or our belts. It prevents us from constantly whacking the walkies with our arms, hitting it against displays, and so on. One day, a customer sees my walkie clipped onto my back pocket. I’m an overweight female.)

Customer: *insultingly* “I’m surprised your radio doesn’t break when you sit on it.”

Me: “HA! I wish I had the chance to sit down around here! I’ve been here for six hours now and haven’t had a chance to sit down once.”

(In a store with too few employees, we were always SO busy that many of us are forced to skip breaks and only take the barest of lunches on every shift. Ignoring the way this man is commenting on my weight AND has to have been looking at my butt while I work, I try to be civil.)

Me: “And when I do finally get a break, I take this thing off.”

Customer: “Oh.”

(His wife smacked him on the arm, and they paid for their copies and left without another word. I hope she gave him a talking to when they were on their way home!)