Human resource recently issued us updated nametags which include pronouns on them. The scheme has been a massive success with staff and has picked the mood up considerably.

Our nametags have sparked some conversations with some customers, but the reaction has been mostly positive. Mostly.

I’m rather visibly masculine, identify as such, and have a male-coded name. The pronouns on my name badge read “he/him”.

Customer: “Ahem.”

Me: “Hi, how can I help?”

The customer glances at my nametag and rolls his eyes.

Customer: “Well, [Female Version of My Name], I’m looking for the toilet roll.

Me: “It’s [My Name], and we have a selection of toilet roll on aisle five. Would you like me to take you there?”

Customer: “I’m perfectly capable of going there myself, [Female Name]. And stop pretending to be a man.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “I’ve had enough of d*** [transgender slur]s! You’re just pretending to be a man!”

Me: “I’m going to have to ask you to leave the store. We won’t be serving you.”

This stops him dead in his tracks.

Customer: “But… you… I want a manager! Now!”

My manager, hearing the commotion, practically sprints over.

Manager: “What’s going on here?”

The customer spots my manager’s nametag and his pronouns.

Customer: “Can I speak to someone in this store that isn’t a f****** [slur]?!”

Manager: “Leave.”

Customer: “I DEMAND A MANAGER.”

Manager: “I am the manager; get out of my store.”

Realising that he is getting nowhere, the customer shoves past us and storms out, continuing to loudly rant and ramble about “Those d*** [slur]s!”

Manager: “Good riddance.”

I’m a pharmacy tech who works in a retail setting with lots of non-English-speaking customers. Most of the techs I work with can speak more than two languages. I only speak English. I can understand Chinese but can’t speak or read it, but I know how it looks compared with Japanese or Korean. One day, a customer comes up to me with a list written in Chinese and starts communicating with me. I pull out my phone to translate to her that I don’t know how to help her since I don’t know what exactly she is looking for. She walks away.

Five minutes later, she comes back with one of the assistant managers.

Assistant Manager: “[My Name], do you understand Asian handwriting?”

She shows me the list again.

Me: “Asian handwriting?”

Assistant Manager: “Yes, you know handwriting that comes from Asian?”

Me: “No, I don’t understand Asian handwriting!”

They both walked away and I was left standing there wondering what had just happened.

Related:
Don’t You Speak Asian?, Part 3
Don’t You Speak Asian?, Part 2
Don’t You Speak Asian?

A male patron pushes ahead of other patrons, demanding service first.

Coworker: “Please wait your turn, sir.”

Patron: “Just serve me, b****!”

Coworker: “You might want to find another library if you’re going to treat women that way.”

Patron: “Call your boss. I’m getting you fired.”

The request goes to me, a manager, before going up to the boss. The boss, a happy yes-man, just refers the fellow back to me. Sure enough, Mr. Delightful calls up the next night and demands to speak with me.

I let him rant for a while and don’t say much because it would be a waste of breath to do so; he isn’t going to listen to me anyway. When he takes a breath:

Me: “I sympathize that it was a terrible thing for my colleague to ask you to have manners. However, I do not just have my librarian’s word on what you said to her, but also the corroboration of several patrons who said you were rude for no reason.”

Patron: “I don’t care! You need to fire her and demand that she write me a letter of apology!”

Me: “That isn’t going to happen, sir.”

Patron: “You need to do something about them fat b****es you got. They both hate men. You need to fire them, ’cause they are fat and they are b****es! I hate fat b****es!”

My last nerve has frayed completely.

Me: “Sir, I think you should be aware that if you want to deal with fat b****es, you are talking to the queen of fat b****es. If that’s how you are talking to my staff, I think you should be writing us a letter of apology. I will thank you to either behave yourself and wait your turn or, as my colleague suggested, find yourself another library in another town. Good night.”

I hung up and was sick to my stomach as I just KNEW he would call my supervisor to complain. I wrote up a quick report to email to the boss and went about my duties for the rest of the evening.

It’s been three years. I am happy to say that I never did hear from my boss about any complaints and, surprisingly, Mr. Delightful has been nothing but a model patron ever since.

Related:
Fat Chance Of An Apology

My dad and I are waiting in front of the host stand at a Mongolian BBQ. It is pretty busy, so we wait for a while. Another family walks in and gathers at the entrance. A few minutes go by before the mom of the family walks up to my dad.

Woman: “Ummm, are you going to seat us? We have a party of six.”

My dad and I are both Asian, but we were clearly on the customer side of the host stand and were dressed very casually.

My dad was caught off guard and didn’t know what to say. I was trying my best not to burst out laughing, but I was very much laughing at both of their faces. Immediately after, the white, blonde hostess took us to our table. We took one more look back and Mrs. Party Of Six looked like she’d just peed her pants. It was a delightful meal cooked by four Puerto Rican gentlemen.

My carer and I are doing some shopping at a small local shop. We are about to enter when we are stopped by a female shop assistant.

Shop Assistant: “She’s not allowed in.”

Carer: “Why?”

Shop Assistant: “Social distancing rules. Everybody knows they can’t social distance.”

Carer: “Who can’t?”

Shop Assistant: “Those with special needs.”

We left to avoid confrontation.