I work at a museum that has a suggested donation in lieu of a set ticket price. Part of my job is greeting visitors as they walk in and explaining about the donation, etc. A man with his wife and young son comes in one day and ends up providing me with one of the most uncomfortable and absurd exchanges I’ve had while working there.

Me: “Hi! Welcome to the museum! How are you today?”

Man: “Fine, thanks. How are you?”

Me: “I’m doing well!”

Man: “No, you’re not.”

Me: *Confused* “I am doing well. It’s been a good day so far.”

Man: “You’re lying.”

I don’t really understand what he’s getting at, but I take the bait.

Me: “Why would you say that?”

Man: “Because all women are liars.”

I honestly don’t know what to say, so I remain silent with a slightly horrified expression.

The man gestures to his wife.

Man: “Well, she’s a liar.”

My horrified silence continues; I’m wondering how throwing his wife under the bus makes this any better. I think he thinks this is somehow a joke?

He gestures to his son.

Man: “Well, he’s a liar.”

At last, I find my voice.

Me: “I… I don’t think gender has anything to do with trustworthiness.”

Then, the man laughs in my face. It’s so incredibly and weirdly sexist that my soul leaves my body to go on customer service autopilot. I look at him with dead eyes and speak with an overly sugary sweet voice.

Me: “Would you like to make a donation to the museum?”

He seemed at least slightly sheepish about his weird, not-funny attempt at a joke and made a fairly large donation. For the sake of his family, I hope he’s not normally like that.

My sister-in-law is trans. She introduced herself at a small family dinner at my house, after telling me and my husband what she wanted to do. There were some mixed emotions, some confusion, a lot of loud words, and many, many tears. [Mother-In-Law] was the loudest, screaming about the sin [Sister-In-Law] had committed, about how she was a man, and about how no one would accept her as she is. [Sister-In-Law] got kicked out of her house and came to live with my husband and me.

A few weeks after [Sister-In-Law] moved in, [Mother-In-Law] dropped by unannounced with a box of things belonging to [Sister-In-Law]. They were damaged and, judging by the smug look on her face, [Mother-In-Law] was responsible. [Sister-In-Law] asked if we could say she was out so she didn’t have to deal with any of it right away.

Mother-In-Law: “Where is [Sister-In-Law’s Dead Name]? I have his stuff.”

Husband: “Who? Oh, [Sister-In-Law] is—”

Mother-In-Law: “[Sister-In-Law] isn’t real. I gave birth to [Sister-In-Law’s Dead Name]. Is he upstairs?”

She walked toward the stairs but I blocked her.

Me: “[Sister-In-Law] isn’t here. If that’s all, I’ll walk you out.”

Mother-In-Law: “I have a right to see my son!”

Husband: “I’m right here.”

Mother-In-Law: “No, you know I mean [Sister-In-Law’s Dead Name].”

Me: “[Sister-In-Law] isn’t available. You can leave now.”

Mother-In-Law: “Sinners!”

She took a swing at me and connected, scratching the side of my face and grabbing my hair. It took everything in me not to hit her back. [Husband] intervened and pulled us apart. He had a firm grip on his mother’s arm as he escorted her out the door. 

Husband: “You can accept your family or you can be alone. The choice is yours.”

He shut the door in her face as she tried to come back in. I think I actually heard her connect with the door. I suffered no long-term effects from her attack. [Sister-In-Law] still lives with us but we haven’t heard a peep from her mother.

It’s the opening night of a big movie and we’re staying open later than usual, so we’re all working nine-hour shifts. We’re between shows and it’s pretty dead in the lobby. Since the staff is working over six hours, we’re required to get a half-hour break. Half the staff is sent on break and their registers are closed. I’m one of the remaining people watching the concession stand.

A small, bespectacled man in his forties or fifties comes out to get a popcorn refill and waits at one of the closed registers. I motion him over to my registers.

Me: “I can help you over here, sir.”

Customer: *Walking up to me* “What happened to the girl who was working here?”

Me: “She’s on her break.”

The man shoves his popcorn bucket into my hands.

Customer: “Break? How idiotic. You people don’t deserve breaks.”

I give him a fake laugh while I scoop his popcorn, thinking he’s joking. He aggressively snatches his popcorn out of my hands.

Customer: *Bluntly* “I wasn’t being funny. People who work jobs like this aren’t good enough for breaks.”

He turned and walked away while I stood stunned. I really hate some people.

Male Customer: “I want a pound of ham!”

Me: “Yes, sir.”

Male Customer: “And hurry up! I’m not one of those housewives with all the time in the world.”

Me: “Um… yes, sir.”

Meanwhile, this tiny older woman walks up behind him.

Female Customer: “Excuse me?! I have all the time in the world?! Let me tell you about my day! I have to wake up at five to make sure my boys get up for school…”

I keep getting his ham while he stands there not making eye contact with her. It is VERY CLEAR he is uncomfortable.

Female Customer: “…then I have to run my errands. I went to the dry cleaner because my husband needs a suit for a wedding cleaned…”

Me: “Here’s your ham.”

He takes it and walks away. The woman follows behind him, continuing to yell at him.

Female Customer: “I’m at the store because it’s my turn to cook dinner for a family at our church who just suffered a loss. Then, I have to…”

A little while later, I walk up front to buy a drink on my break. At the register is [Male Customer]… and [Female Customer]. He is turning red and is still silent.

Female Customer: “I have to make dinner tonight! Ain’t nobody gonna help me! So, you listen to me…”

She kept going, but I went back to my department with my water.

I work in a coffee shop in a convention center, and a Star Trek convention is going down. Since I am a fan of the show, my manager has given me permission to work my shift as a Vulcan from the show. I have the hair, the uniform, and most importantly, the ears.

I’ve been serving fans all day and they’re all getting a kick out of it, until one guy comes up in a classic Captain Kirk uniform and seems unimpressed with my getup. I should note that I am Asian.

Customer: “You trying to be a Vulcan?”

Me: “Yes, sir! It was the logical thing to do today!”

Customer: “You can’t be a Vulcan!”

Me: “I think I pull it off pretty well, sir.”

Customer: “But there ain’t no China on Vulcan!”

Ah, I see. Simple racism. I know how to deal with this.

Me: “That’s right, sir. There is no China on Vulcan. There’s no Europe, either.”

The customer opens his mouth to counter my point but then realizes the ridiculousness of arguing over what the default race should be coming from a fictional alien planet. After stuttering a moment:

Customer: “There ain’t no China on Vulcan!”

He stormed off. I wish he left that kind of bigotry in his quarters; there’s no room for it on my bridge.

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