I work in a small shop and I’m the only one working since my coworker has gone to lunch. I’m checking out a nice, older couple when I see one of our frustrating older regulars come in the door sans-mask. Masks have been mandated in my state for many months now and he’s been in before while the order has been in effect.

Me: “Hi, sir! I just ask that if you’re going to shop with us today, you put on a mask. Thanks!”

He grumbles a little but turns around to go back out to his car to get a mask. While he’s looking for his mask, I continue checking out the couple and continue to talk with them.

Older Lady: “He’s in an at-risk group, so he should be better about wearing a mask, shouldn’t he?”

Me: “Yeah, he’s a regular and gives me problems about masks every time he comes in.”

Older Lady: “It’s so frustrating when people don’t follow the science.”

Me: “I know. I mean, just look at the numbers here versus Georgia; we’re both mostly open, but there, the governor is refusing to let anyone make mask mandates and their numbers are much higher.”

Older Lady: “Exactly!”

I thank them for coming in and they leave as the other problem customer walks back in. He’s got a mask on but his nose is out. Deciding that I don’t really want to fight him on that until he’s actually within six feet of me, I don’t say anything. While he’s shopping, I check out a few other customers. My coworker comes back from lunch just as the regular comes up to the registers to check out. He says something to her, but she doesn’t quite catch it.

Coworker: “I’m sorry, what?”

Problem Customer: “I said all women look like Muslims with their masks on!”

With that, he comes up to my register and places his items on the counter.

Me: “Do you mind just pulling your mask up over your nose while I check you out, please? Thanks.”

Problem Customer: “I do mind! Last time I did that, I fell down two stairs because it fogged up my glasses!”

Both my coworker for the day and I wear glasses but I doubt he’s noticed. Just wanting to get him out of here, I start ringing up his items.

Problem Customer: “You know, the death rate is…”

Blah, blah, blah… I’m sure no one on the Internet needs reminding of the nonsense that people like this come up with, though it is shocking to hear it in real life. I keep trying to get a word in, but he keeps talking over me.

Me: “Well, no one knows what the long-term effects of this are going to be. There are some who’ve had symptoms for weeks.”

He keeps on going about all the usual nonsense about this particular illness versus the flu and so on. But he adds one last gem in there as I’m putting his purchase, change, and receipt on the counter where he can reach them.

Problem Customer: “You know, the masks are just the government controlling you!”

Me: *Pauses* “You’re all set.”

My responsibilities in cashing him out done, I walked quickly to the store’s back room so I didn’t say something that may get me fired.

When I was a freshman in college, I registered for a basic English 102 course that doubled as a humanities credit. I thought, “Great! Two birds one stone,” despite the professor’s online rating for this class being abysmal at best.

I have ADHD and dyslexia, so I have a hard time reading most times but especially handwritten stuff, even my own. I have an ADA allowance on file, meaning I get some permissions to allow me to take classes and function as normally as possible. These permissions include use of my tablet during class to write notes and about an hour longer on tests.

On the first day of class, the professor strolls in with the arrogance and snobbitude of someone who THINKS they’re getting tenured this year. He starts talking and going over the syllabus.

Professor: “There will be no phones, laptops, or technology of any kind in my class. You will write all your notes by hand.”

That isn’t going to work for me, so I raise my hand.

Me: “Can I talk to you privately about the rule?”

That goes over like a lead balloon and he starts getting snippy.

Professor: “Anything you need to talk with me about can be found in the syllabus.”

Me: “I do need to talk to you; it’s pretty important.”

Professor: “Just say it to the class. I don’t have time to take out to deal with whining of any kind.”

Okay, dude.

Me: “I’m dyslexic and need my tablet to do the notes and read the assignments, and my ADA permissions are on file and emailed to all my professors before class.”

Professor: “Yeah, I saw the email, but I don’t care. You can do the work just like everyone else. You’re not special even if you were in special ed.”

The class goes deadly quiet at that.

I’m absolutely shocked at his bold and completely hilarious lack of awareness and care for his job. I stare at him open-mouthed, and he thinks he’s won. He’s got this smug little face like I’ve just been told and there’re no other options or any way he’ll regret his behavior.

One of the girls in class — whom I’ve never met before — finally finds her voice and calls him out in his ableism and lack of decorum, but he cuts her off.

Professor: “If you don’t like my rules, you can drop the class.”

Classmate: “Okay.”

She pulls out her laptop and drops the class right in front of him, and, taking the cue from her, three other students and I do the same, and we all leave class together.

Classmate: “Do you want to go to the dean about this?”

Honestly, I was really shaken. I said yes and we went straight to the office of the dean of students and explained what happened, and we spoke to the ADA counselor. They took the girl’s statement and mine. They discovered that this professor had pulled this s*** for years but nobody wanted to get involved.

Six months later, I heard that not only had the professor not gotten tenured, but he was fired and blacklisted from teaching at the collegiate level.

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I am a waiter in a country cooking restaurant that serves no alcohol. Most of the servers there are female, many of them teenagers. A customer is seated in a coworker’s section. She’s in high school. I’m ten years older than her, and while she’s generally better at the job, I’m known for my long temper and excellent manners.

Coworker: “Oh, God. [My Name], can you take this one? I don’t want to deal with him.”

I’m thinking I might get a tip.

Me: “Okay!”

Coworker: *Clearly relieved* “Thank you.”

I arrive at the table.

Me: “Hi, welcome to [Restaurant]. My name is [My Name] and I’ll be your server today. Can I get you something to drink to start?”

Customer: *Loudly* “I want a woman to take care of me!”

Me: “Sir, I assure you, I can provide you with excellent service.”

Customer: *Yelling* “I don’t care!” *Louder* “I want to be taken care of by somebody with tits!”

I stare in stunned silence. There is no way any woman, anywhere, of any age, deserves to be subjected to this, not even those working in the numerous strip joints less than ten minutes away.

Customer: *Still screaming* “If I don’t get a woman to take care of me by the time I count to ten, I’m leaving! One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten! That’s it! I’m not eating here!”

We watch him go.

Hostess: “God willing, he won’t come back.”

I work at a boarding kennel. On this particular morning, there are four customers in our reception area. [Customer #1] is a young girl with special needs, and her mother is with her. [Customer #2] is my hero. [Customer #3] is a bitter, mean-spirited hag.

The girl with special needs has short-cut hair that has been dyed in a mix of pink, purple, and blue. She obviously finds communication difficult but she’s always polite. With her mother’s encouragement, she answers the questions I need to ask about her cat and even manages a shy smile as I take the box from her.

I leave my coworker to process payment while I take the cat to get settled, coming back just in time to see the girl’s mother already outside while the girl steps back, holding the door open for [Customer #3] to enter. She swoops in with an exaggerated huff of disgust.

Customer #3: “Teenagers these days, am I right? They have no respect for anyone.”

At first, I assume something must have happened prior to her visit since nothing I’ve witnessed could be seen as remotely disrespectful.

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer #3: “Well, fancy doing that to her hair? Why should I have to look at an ugly [lesbian slur] like that?”

I’m both stunned and outraged, trying to find words that won’t get me fired while secretly desperate to tell her what I really think. The girl in the doorway was already upset about having to leave her cat and is now on the verge of tears.

[Customer #2] is an older gentleman with shock-white hair and an infectious smile that suddenly turns to a stony glare as he speaks up.

Customer #2: “Get your eyes tested, you old hag. She looks great. I might get my hair done like that.” *To the girl* “Do you think it would suit me? I mean, I’m not as pretty as you, but it might look cool? Or I could have green, orange, and red; I’d look like a fruit salad!”

The girl went from tears to giggles in seconds and nodded enthusiastically at his suggestion for what colours he might try in his hair. [Customer #3] ended up storming out in disgust. We never learned why she was there in the first place.

Thank you, sir, for saying what I couldn’t and for putting a smile back on that girl’s face.

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I have a fairly unusual, high-pitched voice. It is especially noticeable when I use my “customer service voice.” I often have people mock me by speaking in a much higher pitch than normal or laugh out loud as soon as they hear it, and it doesn’t bother me as much anymore. However, it isn’t usually THIS bad.

Me: “Good afternoon, how may I help you?”

Customer: “Yeah, I’d like a root beer and a Coke.”

Me: “Sure! Would you like anything else?”

The customer suddenly speaks in a much higher pitch than before.

Customer: “Umm, we’re actually transgender.”

He and his passenger crack up laughing.

Me: “Uhhh… Okay. That’ll be $2.13.”

It takes me a minute to process what they just said. I have a response ready by the time they get to my window, which takes a few minutes. Two teenagers pull up.

Me: “Hi, you guys ordered the root beer and Coke?”

Customer: “Yep, that’s us.”

Me: “Okay, well, I hate to judge, but you’re not actually trans, are you? You heard me speak and thought it would be funny to mock me. It’s not funny to make fun of trans people, and I don’t appreciate being laughed at.”

Customer: “Wow, are you really saying you think I don’t like gay people? I love gay people! My mom is gay! My little sister is bi! I love gay people!”

I start to respond, but he interrupts me.

Customer: “Are you really going to refuse to serve us because I made a joke? Are you that immature and so easily offended that you’ll refuse to serve me for a joke? You shouldn’t have a job at this kind of place if you’re so thin-skinned.”

Me: *Forceful but friendly* “Yes, I am refusing to serve you. Please feel free to leave.”

Customer: “Wow, are you serious? You’re really going to be so immature?”

Me: *With a smile on my face* “Yep!” *Even more forcefully* “Please feel free to leave.”

Customer: “Then go f*** yourself!” *Speeds away*

I told my manager about this incident and she thought I should have been harsher with them. I was prepared to be but was happy that I got them to leave, even if they didn’t give me enough time to explain the difference between gay and trans people, or why it’s not at all okay to make that kind of “joke.” This job sucks, but at least one of my managers has my back.