I’m a disrupted operations manager for my airline, and this happened in March 2021, soon after I returned from maternity leave.

Due to industry-wide staff reductions in most airlines in 2020, mine included, now that the flights are restarting in a “normal” fashion, we are a bit understaffed. This means I sometimes have to take over duties I normally don’t do, such as check-in, during this period.

I am staffing one of the check-in counters for a flight to Boston.

Me: “Good morning. Passport and reservation number, please.”

Passenger: “Here. Can I place my bag?”

She hands me a US passport and the reservation paper.

Me: “Of course, ma’am. Did you pack your bag, and was it always in your possession?”

These are mandatory security questions.

Passenger: “That’s none of your d*** business! Who do you think you are? Get me your supervisor right now, you hussy.”

She starts yelling up a storm, while my coworkers and the other passengers stare at her, and I call the police.

As soon as they arrive, she turns toward them and demands they arrest the “Irish-Mexican” filth that dared to question someone of her “status.” (I’m pale-skinned with auburn hair, and Portugal equals Mexico to this woman, apparently.) The police take her aside, and the commanding officer come to talk to me.

Commanding Officer: “Hey, [My Name], what’s happening?”

Me: “The passenger refused to answer security questions, and she was spewing insults at me.”

Commanding Officer: “Really? What do you want to do?”

Me: “Check-in and boarding denied due to disruptive behaviour.”

The commanding officer nods and then goes to the passenger to inform her that she is going to the security inspection room and that she’s going to miss this flight due to her behaviour. Her screaming begins again.

Passenger: “What!? Who the h*** does that b**** think she is? I demand to speak to a manager!”

Commanding Officer: “Sure. [My Name], can you come here? This ‘lady’ wants to speak with a manager.”

Me: *With my best customer service smile* “Hello, ma’am. [My First Name, Clearly American Last Name], disrupted operations manager. How may I be of assistance?”

The other passengers began laughing. The passenger screamed insults while being escorted by police. She did leave for the US — three days later as a deportee.

I am looking for a place to get my bike fixed, so I take the train one stop into the closest town to my suburban college. I get off the train and exit the station, and I begin to receive comments as I walk.

Cop: “You shouldn’t be here; it’s not safe for a girl like you.”

Me: “???”

I keep walking because that just seems patronizing.

Man At The Gas Station: “Hey, little girl, what are you doing here? Go home. It’s not safe.”

Me: “???”

I keep walking because everything looks fine and the white guy is probably just being racist toward the people around here.

Homeless Man: “Hey! Hey, miss, excuse me?”

Me: “Oh, hi. How are you?”

Homeless Man: “Um, good, but what are you doing here? This isn’t a good place for someone like you.”

Me: “Why?”

Homeless Man: “A little white girl like you? Isn’t it obvious?”

This guy is Black, so maybe the concern isn’t just racism.

Me: “It’s not obvious. So far, everyone I’ve met has seemed pretty nice.”

Homeless Man: “There are all sorts of unsavory folks around — drug dealers, gangs, you name it.”

Me: “…What do you think I’m going to be doing to piss off those people? Or do they just go hunting for the stray innocent to sacrifice? Where I come from, if I mind my business and am nice to everyone, I generally don’t have any trouble.”

Homeless Man: “Sure, but this isn’t like the suburbs.”

Me: “I’m from Oakland, California.”

Homeless Man: *Laughs* “Oh! You’ll be fine, then.” *Laughs more*

Me: “Thanks…”

I keep walking. Later, an old lady on a stoop calls out to me.

Old Lady: “Sweetheart! Oh, my goodness, sweetheart, did you get lost?”

Me: “I’m actually just a block from the bike shop where I’m headed.”

Old Lady: “But it’s not safe for a sweet thing like you.”

Me: “You seem fine. A sweet thing like you? Surely, I’m fine.”

Old Lady: *Sighs* “Thanks, sweetie, but I’m not sweet.”

Me: “From where I’m standing, you are. See you later.”

Later, I arrive at the bike shop.

Bike Shop Owner: “How did you get here?”

Me: “I walked.”

Bike Shop Owner: “But it’s not safe out there for a little white girl like you!”

Me: *Pauses* “So, can we fix my bike?”

Other than all the concern, it seemed like a perfectly fine place. It was a weird experience, though.

An older man and a teenager are at my checkout. One of the items they’re purchasing is a slab cake from our bakery with “Happy 16th Birthday!” written on it.

Me: “Happy birthday to whoever is turning sixteen!”

Teenager: “Oh, I am actually.”

Customer: “My nephew, turning sixteen! Can you believe it?! I told him I’d give him twenty dollars for every A he got at the end of the year, and he got nothing but A’s! Can you believe it?!”

Me: “That’s amazing, congratulations!”

Customer: “Yeah, he’s a hard worker.”

The uncle then spots a homeless man sitting outside the store — his usual spot. The uncle turns to his nephew.

Customer: “Work hard and get a good job, or you’ll end up a useless bum like him. F****** drain on society, I swear.”

I actually physically stop scanning items for a second, since the change of the uncle’s tone is so jarring. The nephew notices this, too, but doesn’t say anything straight away.

I ring up the total and tell them.

Nephew: “When I’ve been here before, I’ve been asked if I’d like to round up the purchase to give to a charity.”

Me: “That’s right! If you’d like to do that, you could donate thirty-one cents to one of the charities that our store supports.”

Nephew: “Do any of them support homeless people?”

Me: “We actually do!”

Nephew: “I’d like to donate to that one, please.”

The uncle scoffs but doesn’t protest.

Customer: “I see what you’re doing, [Nephew]. Whatever, fine, it’s just thirty-one cents.”

Nephew: “I’d like to donate all of this, too, please.”

The teenager produces a pile of cash from his pocket. It’s easily over a hundred dollars.

Customer: “What?! No! That’s your birthday money! That’s for you!”

Nephew: “And this is what I’m doing with it.”

Customer: “I forbid it! I told you that money was for you to invest!”

Nephew: “And I am. I’m investing in the people that society has forgotten. You wouldn’t take back the money that I earned fair and square now, would you, Uncle?”

The customer glares at his nephew and then at me, as if I could do anything about it, and then he just kinda gives up.

Customer: “Fine. Waste your money. You’ll never get another cent from me!”

The uncle storms off, and the nephew actually donates all the money!

Nephew: “Honestly, if he hadn’t won $100,000 in the lottery a couple of years ago, he’d be homeless, too. I’ll consider this his hypocrite tax.”

The next generation will be all right… 

Related:
Homeless Is Where The Heart Is, Part 13
Homeless Is Where The Heart Is, Part 12
Homeless Is Where The Heart Is, Part 11
Homeless Is Where The Heart Is, Part 10
Homeless Is Where The Heart Is, Part 9

Picture the scene: I’m two days postpartum (and look it), and I am home alone with my newborn while my husband has popped to the shops to get milk.

There is a permanent sign on the door requesting that cold callers bugger off — worded more politely than that! — and a paper one advising them that we have a brand-new baby inside and to please go away. 

Suddenly, the doorbell rings and someone starts knocking. I quickly answer it as they’re about to wake my sleeping baby. This is a mistake, I know. 

Stranger: “Hello, love. Are your parents home?”

Me: “Um, no. I’m an adult and I live here.”

Bear in mind, I’m in my late twenties, and I look it. I no longer get ID’d in shops — sob!

Stranger: “Ah, okay, sorry. Do you rent the place?”

Me: “No, I own it.”

Stranger: “Wow, you’re getting younger and younger these days.”

I’m too tired for this.

Me: “I’m sorry, how can I help you?”

Stranger: “Right, yeah. Is your husband home?”

That’s a h*** of an assumption to make, but okay.

Me: “Is he expecting you?”

Stranger: “No, but it would be better if I spoke to him.”

Me: “About what?”

Stranger: “Your hedge is dying.”

Am I going mad?

Me: “Yes, I know.”

Stranger: “Well, I can sort it for you. I’m doing some work for your neighbour and can cut it down for you for £500.”

Me: “That seems like a lot of money.”

Stranger: “You won’t get a better deal than that.”

The baby starts crying, and I really want this person to leave.

Me: “Look, if you leave me your card, we can call you if we want you to do the job, but I’m not agreeing to anything right now.”

Stranger: “I don’t have a card.”

Why did I answer the door?!

Me: “Okay, well, have a nice day, then.”

Stranger: “I could do it for £400.”

Me: “I really can’t discuss this now. I have to see to the baby.”

Stranger: “All right, no need to be rude.”

Me: “Okay, goodbye now.”

I shut the door and comfort my baby. Before long, a note is put through the door.

Note: “£300. Have your husband call me at [number].”

Naturally, I recounted all of this to my husband when he got back. He decided against calling and found a legitimate gardening company that did the job for £150. We also spoke to our neighbour, who had no clue who the man was. So far, he has not been back! I wonder why?

Customer: “I need to send this package.”

Me: “Please place it on the scale and let me know the address.”

Customer: “That’s the thing, y’see. It’s… it’s…”

She leans in close and whispers as if she’s embarrassed.

Customer: “It’s going to… Canada!“

Me: “Ah, that’s fine. It’ll be considered international shipping.”

Customer: “Will it get there okay?”

Me: “Provided your address is valid and has a postal code, it should be fine.”

Customer: “But do they like… have a postal service over there?”

Me: “Uh… yes, ma’am. They have Canada Post.”

Customer: “And it like… it works? It’s not corrupt?”

Me: “It works just fine, ma’am.”

Customer: “You can never be too sure with foreign countries.”

Me: “I understand, ma’am.”

Customer: “I don’t think you do! I bought this item from [Handmade Goods Site] in good faith, and when I found out it was made in Canada, I had to send it straight back! I can only get my refund if they get it, so you make sure they get it!”

Me: “It should get there just fine, ma’am.”

Customer: “Stupid [Site], letting foreigners in to sell their foreign stuff!” 

Where was her item going? Windsor, Ontario — the only place in Canada where you have to drive south of the US border to get there!

Related:
Blame Canada! Part 13
Blame Canada! Part 12
Blame Canada! Part 11
Blame Canada! Part 10
Blame Canada! Part 9