I work on delivering packages for a major online store. They have recently started scheduling delivering as early as 8:00 am, so this means I’m up around 2:30 am to be ready for the early-morning delivery blocks. I am on the way when I realize I should put more gas in the car and grab some liquid caffeine at the same time, so I pull into a local gas station to tank up.

When I get there, I notice a rather thin man walking around in a thin coat — which is understandable, as it can get quite cold at night here, even in the desert. What I do not expect is that he is wearing sandals… and a red, ankle-length dress. I am a little unnerved, but he doesn’t make any violent moves toward me as I get out of my car and doesn’t even seem to notice me. I think, “Live and let live,” and head in to get a drink and some fuel.

As I’m paying, I mention the guy to the cashier, because he should probably know the guy’s around for safety reasons. When I describe him, he says, “Yeah… he used to be a cashier at one of our other stores.”

Already thinking this night might be a little too surreal, I ask, “Used to be?”

The cashier responds, “Yeah. He got fired when he spilled a soft-serve cone on the floor and then began licking it up. He hangs around a few of the stores sometimes.”

When I step outside, the man is gone, leaving no trace behind. I pump my gas, looking around me multiple times, but he does not reappear.

I still think about him. Shine on, you crazy, dress-wearing, ice-cream-off-the-floor-licking diamond.

(In the United States military, the Military Police branch is jokingly referred to as the “Women’s Infantry.” This is because, since its inception, the MPs have always accepted female soldiers as equals, going back so far as the 1940s. As such, it’s pretty much one of the few places where female soldiers are respected without question and don’t experience the same harassment other female soldiers can. At one of my last postings, I was assigned to work in the Traffic Office, basically dealing with minor infractions and keeping the patrols running smoothly, things like that. Almost everyone there, including the civilian workers, were female. And the civilian workers were prior MPs, too. One day, a male Infantry Soldier comes into our office with paperwork.)

Infantry Soldier: “I need to get stamped to final out.”

(This means he is transferring to another post and needs confirmation signed off on his leaving packet.)

Lieutenant: “I can help you, Corporal.”

(He hands his packet to our section leader, a female officer. She checks her computer and then looks back to him.)

Lieutenant: “Okay, Corporal. So, our system has this glitch where sometimes past infractions will not show as being paid for. Unfortunately, this means I can’t sign off until someone at Legal checks their system and confirms your ticket was paid in full. Luckily, they’re only two doors down. Tell them I sent you, they’ll check and sign in the box, and once you come back, I’ll stamp it.”

(This is something we deal with constantly, and since it’s the Army, no one will fix the system so we don’t have to send people on a side trip. But it’s only a fifteen-minute detour at most, so most people don’t mind. Most people.)

Infantry Soldier: “No, look again. I paid for that ticket. It’s over five years old.”

(Keep in mind, he is enlisted, and the lieutenant is an officer. The fact that he hasn’t addressed her as “ma’am” and is using that tone of voice makes everyone look up.)

Lieutenant: *amazingly keeping her cool* “Corporal, as I explained to you, there is a glitch in the system. Just step down two doors to Legal, explain what I said, and they’ll sign it. Then I can stamp it for you. It won’t take long and you’ll still be out of here in less than thirty minutes.”

Infantry Soldier: *raising his voice and getting aggressive* “No! I don’t owe any money! I paid the d*** ticket.”

(The lieutenant now stands up from her desk so her rank is one-hundred percent noticeable. She’s usually laid back and easygoing, so long as you stick to protocol. But now she fixes him with a death glare.)

Lieutenant: “I am not legally allowed to stamp your paper until Legal signs it. No one will stamp the paper until it is signed. We are not doing this to mess with you; we are doing this because that is how the system works. I know it’s inefficient, but I cannot control it. Now, go to Legal and—”

Infantry Soldier: *INTERRUPTING, of all things* “WHY AREN’T YOU LISTENING TO ME?!”

(At this moment, the Sergeant walks in, second only to the Lieutenant. The Infantry Soldier turns to him.)

Infantry Soldier: “Hey, can you help me? She won’t sign my paperwork!”

Sergeant: *ignoring him, as the corporal dropped his rank, too* “Ma’am, what’s the problem?”

(The Lieutenant coldly informs the Sergeant of the situation, with no less than eight interruptions from the Infantry Soldier. Keep in mind, in the military world, these sorts of slights can land you in so much trouble, you get court-martialed! The Sergeant finally hears the full story and turns to the Infantry Soldier.)

Sergeant: “So. I’m a Marine. Hurt my leg, transferred to the Army. I was an MP in the Corps too. And be it Marines or Army, your kind never changes. Females are part of the MP Corps. They fight with us, they bleed with us, they die with us. The Lieutenant, who you’re treating like s***, can break your arms with her bare hands. Males like you make the rest of us look bad. So, I’m going to keep this paperwork, and you’re going back to your unit and bring your First Sergeant down so we can have a talk. And if you try to fight me or refuse to leave, I’ll just throw you in the brig and call him myself. What’s it going to be?”

(The Infantry Soldier tried to argue, but once the Sergeant took out his handcuffs, he left. I wasn’t present when he came back with his First Sergeant, but I imagine it was not a fun time. By the way, the phrase “Women’s Infantry” is worn with pride by us MPs, especially our males!)

(I’m a cashier at a popular craft store. I’m not officially a manager or lead, but I am often put in charge of the front end when it gets busy and the actual lead cashier is out. We have a new cashier, and while she’s learning quickly, there’s still the occasional question. She’s also an Iraqi immigrant, though she speaks perfect English.)

Cashier: “[My Name], can you please help?”

(I come over. The customer reads my name tag.)

Customer: “Oh, good! An American! You can ring me out!”

(I already realize what I’m getting into.)

Me: “[Cashier], what’s up?”

Cashier: “She said she didn’t want my terrorist hands touching her stuff, in case I planted a bomb.”

Customer: “Yes, she’s obviously trying to kill me! Ring me out and then get your manager to fire her!”

Me: “First, [Cashier] is not a terrorist in any way. Second, I will be calling the manager, but only to deal with you, because your behavior requires someone above my level.”

(I page the manager. She comes over and I explain the situation. She looks at the customer.)

Manager: “Is that true?”

Customer: “Yes! Fire them both!”

Manager: “[Cashier], did you have any plans to harm this woman or anyone else?”

Cashier: “What? No!”

Customer: “She’s lying!”

(My manager looks at the customer.)

Manager: “Leave. If you refuse, I will call the police and tell them you were trying to frame my employees as terrorists. I’m sure they’d love to hear your side.”

(The customer glares at us and runs out the door. My manager apologizes to the new cashier and insists that those kinds of things hardly happen.)

Cashier: “Oh, don’t worry too much. I saw too much s*** at home and dealt with a lot of it when I first moved here. If I let dumba**es like that get to me every time they were racist, I would have stopped at New York City and gone back home. Next, please!”

(I’m the manager on duty getting a head start on closing duties, which includes wiping down the windows. A customer walks by.)

Customer: “Why are you doing that? Didn’t you hire that Mexican girl?”

(I am a white male, and I’m moderately alarmed he is dedicated enough to remember this specific cashier, who has been on staff for months, by the way. I barely manage to reply politely without speaking through gritted teeth.)

Me: “I’m the only one scheduled to close tonight, sir.”

Customer: “Oh.” *lowers voice* “Trump sent her back home, huh?”

Me: “GET OUT!”

Customer: *walks over to my female manager and me* “We need a man to help us over here.”

Manager: “I’m sorry, but there are no male associates in the store right now. What can we help you with?”

Customer: “No, you don’t understand. My husband needs help with shoes so we need a man.”

Manager: “I assure you that we are all well trained in multiple departments here and can help. What can we help you find?”

Customer: “Well, my husband needs a size fifteen.”

Manager: “Not a problem. Does he need something specific? Dress shoes? Athletic shoes?”

Customer: “Tennis shoes. A man helped us last time. Tall guy, with a beard.”

Manager: “Oh, you must mean [Employee]. Unfortunately, he no longer works at this store — he moved to another location — but we’ll let him know you were pleased with him.”

Customer: “Oh… Well… Okay… So, I guess he won’t be helping us, then?”

(My manager then continued to lead the customer over to her husband and the shoes he was looking for. They ended up purchasing several pairs. The husband was very polite and thanked us several times. The wife still looked flustered on her way out.)