I work as a bouncer and doorman at a local bar. It is a bar but not exactly a “party” kind of bar, so I am supposed to turn away anyone who turns up that is too drunk to behave.

A man approaches wearing a hot pink shirt and very tight white pants. He is staggering and slurring his words and very clearly drunk.

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you in.”

Man: “AND JUST WHY THE H*** NOT?!”

Me: “Because you are very clearly drunk. I can call you a cab but I won’t be letting you in in your current state.”

The man leaves in a cab. The next day, however, I am called in by my boss. When I arrive, the man is sitting there with my boss, and both look extremely angry.

Boss: “[My Name]. This man claims you kicked him out of the bar for being gay.”

Me: “Uh… First off, I had no idea he was gay, and I didn’t kick him out. I didn’t let him in because he was hammered.”

Man: “Shut up, you homophobe. Honestly, I can’t believe people still hire a**holes like you.”

Boss: “Wait, wait, wait. If you never even went in, and you were turned away at the door, how would he even know that you were gay?”

Man: “I mean, look at me; I am flaming! I had a hot pink shirt and everything; he obviously knew! Now, I demand you fire him!”

Boss: “So… you want me to fire an employee because he didn’t stereotype you?”

Man: “It’s not hard to spot a gay man; we have a pretty distinct style!”

Boss: “Okay, first off, I will not fire an employee for doing his job, and secondly, I’m gay and have never worn pink in my life, so you shouldn’t stereotype!”

After double-checking security footage, where we could clearly see the man fall over drunk, my boss banned the patron from the bar and apologized for calling me in on my day off.

A guy approaches my desk. He has an aggressive stance, fists clenched, and a nasty glare. I know I’m in for it.

Guy: “Give me a room!”

Me: “No, we don’t have any rooms.”

Guy: *Barks* “NOW!”

Me: “I said we don’t have any rooms.”

Guy: “Liar! Give me your name!”

Me: “My name is [My First Name].”

Guy: “And your last!”

Me: “No.”

Guy: “I want your last name! You are required, by law, to give me your full name!”

Me: “No, I’m not, and if you don’t leave I’ll call the police.”

He slapped his palm on my desk loudly and stomped off, twisting his neck to glare at me as he went. Later, he put in a complaint that I had discriminated against his race because I didn’t give him a room. The manager checked and saw that we were indeed sold out, but I admit, I wouldn’t have sold him a room anyway because of his nasty attitude!

I’m a customer in line at a post office. A mother, her young son, and a baby in a carrier are with her; the baby is on the floor, as there are no desks. The young son and the mother are speaking in Hebrew. I’m wearing a simple black T-shirt and wide punk-style rave pants.

Boy: *In Hebrew* “Mom, that girl is staring at [Baby] weirdly.”

Mom: *In Hebrew* “Just ignore her. You know how non-Jews are. They’re all stupid idiots. Just ignore her.”

I reply to them, grinning widely.

Me: *In Hebrew* “I can speak Hebrew, too.”

Both mother and son turn to stare at me in shock. The employee behind the counter grins as well, but otherwise says nothing.

Me: *In Hebrew* “Hi! Your baby is adorable.”

I’ve never seen a family rush out of an establishment so quickly before. The employee behind the counter gave me a free stamp.

I work in a call center for a company that mostly sells vitamins and supplements among other things. On a very slow day, I receive this call. 

Caller: *Loudly* “Where are you guys located?”

Me: “In North Dakota, sir.”

Caller: “Where the h*** is that? Never heard of no North Dakoteeeee.”

Me: “It’s south of Canada, between Montana and Minnesota.”

Caller: “Oh, you’re in Mexico, then? I don’t want no non-white people talking to me.”

Me: “Uh, no, sir. Wrong border. We’re in the northern plain states of the United States. Mexico is south of the United States. Canada is north.”

Caller: “Bull. This is not what this map says. It says Mexico is north and Canadeeeee is south.”

Me: “I apologize, sir, but it’s just the opposite. Could your map possibly be upside down?”

Caller: “I know what I’m talking about. F*** you… you [slur] moron! I’m never calling Mexico again. Bye, b****!”

After he hung up, I went on break. I couldn’t stop laughing and shaking my head.

I am a British-born Filipino. I am visiting family in the rural part of the Philippines for the first time. They are quite poor but run a fruit stand in their local marketplace, which they are very proud of. Not wanting to be dead-weight, and wanting to improve my Bisaya — local dialect — I spend time manning the market stall.

I spot some tourists one day, which is uncommon enough in this area, and I recognise the twang of the American accent. I decide to have a little fun.

Tourist: “How much for the bananas?”

I suddenly explode into my most stereotypical East-London cockney rhyming slang. Imagine Dick Van Dyke from “Mary Poppins” coming out of a Filipino face.

Me: “Gawdon Bennett, if it ain’t some lovely Yanks! Forget the Gertie Gitanas, my love, come and ‘ave a butchers at my Ungle Reg!”

The tourist just looks at me blankly, and I can’t help but smile. I return to my normal accent: neutral British.

Me: “Sorry, just having a laugh. The bananas are a hundred pesos for a bunch.”

The tourist is still just staring at me, as if I had two heads. Going on a hunch, I break down into a probably-offensive stereotype of the Filipino accent, like swapping Ps and Fs, the whole works.

Me: “Yes, ma’am. Saging por one-hundred.”

Tourist: “Oh, a hundred, cool! You should stick to English; I couldn’t understand your Filipino before.”

And that was when I learned never to joke with customers ever again.