(I am female and work in the call center for an industrial supply company. We are trained to handle most situations in basic troubleshooting of our products, and our customer service is somewhat renowned. Part of our training also includes, unlike a lot of other call centers, that we DO NOT have to put up with foul language, sexism, or otherwise abusive or demeaning behavior.)

Caller: “Can you put me on the phone with a guy in parts, honey?”

Me: “I’m in parts. What can I help you with?”

Caller: “No, I need a guy.”

Me: “We all get the same training. What can I help you with?”

Caller: *actually laughs* “Oh, I know. I know you all get the same training, sweetheart, but you see, with this technical stuff, there’s just a difference between the way a guy and a gal understands things. Do you understand? Can you connect me with a guy now?”

Me: “Certainly. You’re free to call us back and see if you get a guy next time.” *click*

(I’ve just opened a new package of white American cheese made by a company whose initials are LOL. I set a large plastic bag on the counter and write on it the date, the product code, and “LOL White” as a scowling old man walks up and sees what I’m doing. For reference, he’s white and so am I.)

Old Man: “What the h*** do you think you’re doing?!”

Me: “Huh?”

Old Man: “Laughing at the white man?!”

Me: “What are you talking about?”

(He slams his palm down on the bag I’m writing on.)

Old Man: “Right there! ‘Laughing out loud at the white man!’ F****** millennial [racial slur]-loving libtard feminist SJW socialist traitor!”

(I groan. Oh, joy, another one of those.)

Me: “That’s not what that means.”

Old Man: “Shut up! I know what all those stupid things your generation write on your liberal chat rooms mean! You millennials almost ruined this d*** country trying to destroy the white man! Well, you ain’t gettin’ away with it ever again now that Trump is in charge! Trump’s gonna send you all to Hell where you belong!”

(I grab the block of cheese and slam it on the counter right in the man’s face. Over the course of about three seconds, the look on his face goes from, “What the hell is he doing?” to, “Uh-oh, is that what I think it is?” to, “Oh, God, I’m an idiot,” to “NO, I CAN’T be the idiot!” to, “ENEMY! DESTROY! DESTROY!”. He slams both hands down on the counter and leans over it to scream in my face.)

Old Man: “TRUMP 2020! TRUMP 2020!”

(He turned around and stomped out of the store muttering about “f*****’ [racial slur]-lovers.”)

(A man comes into the store holding his phone.) 

Me: “Hi. How can I help you?”

Customer: “I need help with my phone.”

Me: “Of course. Could you describe the problem?”

(As he talks, it becomes clear that I’m not trained well enough or experienced enough to help him. There are only a couple coworkers in the store, including my female manager in the back. She’s the only one I can think of who would be able to solve his problem.) 

Me: “All right, well, I can’t help you, but I can go get [Manager] from the back. She’s good at this kind of thing.” 

Customer: “[Manager]? No, thanks.” 

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “[Manager] is a girl’s name. This is too complicated for a girl.” 

Me: “Sir, [Manager] is the most qualified person here. Nobody else would be able to help you.” 

Customer: “Look, you’re a man. I bet you could do this better than this [Manager] girl.”

Me: “I just started working here last month. I don’t know how to do this. [Manager] is your best bet.”

Customer: “No! I’ve already said I don’t want a ‘[Manager]’ touching my phone. She’d probably mess it up even more. Look. If you can’t do it, get me another man who can.”

Me: “There aren’t any other men.” 

Customer: “Well, why don’t you go look through your book? I know you guys have a book in the back that tells you how to do everything.” 

(Wanting to get rid of him, I agree to go look in my “book.” I find [Manager] sitting at her computer.)

Me: “Hey, are you busy? I’ve got a real a**hole customer out there who needs your help but doesn’t want to talk to you.”

(I describe the whole situation)

Manager: “Yeah, I’ve seen things like this before. Just bring the phone in and I’ll look at it. “

(I go outside. The man is waiting where I left him.) 

Me: “Could I take your phone into the back with me, please?”

Customer: “I’m not letting my phone out of my sight. For all I know, you could hand it to that [Manager] b****.”

Me: “Okay, well, sir…”

(Unsure of what to do, I trail off and run back into the back room. I tell [Manager] what happened.) 

Manager: “Oh, he’s one of these customers…” *sigh* “Ask him what kind of charger he has.” 

(I spend the better part of an hour running between the back room and the table where the customer is sitting, relaying information from the man to my manager and back again. After the phone has finally been fixed…)

Customer: “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it? I bet that’s a better job than [Manager] would have done!”

(I am a customer in line at a grocery store, standing behind two Japanese girls. The employee bagging their groceries is clearly mentally challenged and her work is a little slow, but neat. The girls smile as they start saying rude things about her in their native tongue.)

Rude Girl #1: *in Japanese* “God, what’s wrong with this girl? She’s taking forever.”

Rude Girl #2: *in Japanese* “I don’t know. Maybe she’s a friend of the manager or something. I mean, look at her, smiling like an idiot.”

(They laugh, and I’ve had enough. I’m not totally fluent in Japanese, but I know enough.)

Me: *in Japanese* “She may not know what you’re saying, but I do. I won’t hurt her feelings by telling her so, but I think you both should be quiet right about now.”

(I smiled sweetly at the pair. Both girls went pale and shut up, not saying another word as they took their bags and left. The employee thanked me for what I did, since she had an inkling as to what was going on, and her smile made my day.)

(One of the people who works at the little bead shop on the corner is a fashion-conscious straight guy who has a lisp.)

Coworker: “Will that be all?”

(At this point, the customer actually looks at him.)

Homophobic Old Guy: “I don’t want to be served by a gay; get me someone else.”

Coworker: “I’m not actually gay.”

Homophobic Old Guy: “You’re one of those bisexuals, then; that’s worse. GET ME SOMEONE ELSE. NOW!”

(There are only three people who work there and only one is there at a time.)

Me: “I could serve you.”

(The customer is suddenly all smiles and sweetness.)

Homophobic Old Guy: “Here you go. £20 for the earrings, and £10 for being such a nice young lady.”

(He looks meaningfully at [Coworker] as he says this.)

Me: “Thank you. Come again.”

Coworker: “Aren’t you bisexual?”

Me: “Of course not.”

Coworker: “Okay, I was sure you were…”

Me: “No, I’m pansexual.”

(We split the tip, despite the fact that I don’t actually work there.)

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