(I work at an extremely well-known big box retailer known for having virtually everything and a very lenient price-matching policy. However, if I am told a price that I think is incorrect, I am allowed to ask what store it’s from and make sure it’s not ludicrous.)

Me: *preparing to scan an item*

Customer: “…and that’s [price that seems too low].”

Me: “Okay, sir, and which store is that from?”

Customer: “I don’t have to tell you that! The [Company] policy says I don’t have to tell you!”

Me: “Actually, sir, I can ask, and the store you are asking me to price match must be within 50 miles of this store.”

Customer: “No, it says in the policy I don’t have to, and I happen to know insider information about this kind of thing because my ex-wife is the store manager of one of these stores in New York, so you are wrong. I have the personal phone numbers of all sorts of people in the corporate office, and I can get anyone I want fired.”

(I go ahead and give him the price — it is busy and my supervisor has asked me to send someone home at another register — finish out his order, and give him his receipt while he continues to tell me his story.)

Customer: *becoming more smug by the moment* “Once, a cashier at another store, not here, wouldn’t honor the sign saying the pants I wanted to buy were $3 and told me I’d have to pay $15, and it was 3:00 in the morning, mind you, and I made her get her supervisor. Her supervisor told me that I couldn’t pay $3 for the pants and would have to pay $15, and I asked her if she was sure about that because there are laws in this country that require companies to have truth in advertising, and she said she was just doing her job. I told her I had the personal number of [Executive that does not actually exist], and I would be perfectly happy to call him, and I did, and he screamed at her on the phone and told her she’d be fired if she didn’t make me happy! Then she had the cashier change the price for me.”

Me: “Ah, yes… I—”

Customer: *positively gleeful* “Then, that manager told me I am a horrible person! And if you think that’s bad, when my wife was an assistant manager at a [Company] in California, her boss was a gay man who decided he hated women and sexually harassed my wife, and I called [Executive that doesn’t exist], and he not only fired that man and promoted my wife, he made that gay man unemployable in the state of California!”

(I was completely unable to figure out how to extricate myself from this conversation, which actually took over 15 minutes and nearly cost me my break, and in addition, the person I was supposed to relieve wound up being sent home by the supervisor because I couldn’t get away from this man. I found out later from a friend of mine that he comes in all the time and tries to pull that crap on people, and none of it is true.)

(I work fast food. Normally, I open the store, but tonight I’m closing. I’m working with a Mexican man and a Somalian man. I don’t look it, but I’m a Native American woman. We are allowed to play our music in the back, as long as it isn’t too disruptive. I’m doing dishes, playing music on the little speakers, when the Somalian man comes and tries to turn it off without asking me. I stand up for myself, and this conversation ensues.)

Coworker: “You’re not letting me play my music because I’m black! You’re racist!”

Me: “Wow, really? Good job on being racist yourself.”

Coworker: “What? You can’t say I’m being racist! I read about this; there’s no such thing as reverse racism!”

Me: “While we’ll agree to disagree on that, you are, in fact, being racist. I’m Native, not white. You tried to judge me on my skin color. That’s racism. If you were doing dishes back here I wouldn’t care if you played whatever music you wanted. But you’re not. I am. I never play my music, so how about you suck it up for two more hours and deal with it, or grab a pair of headphones and listen to your own music?”

(That shut him up very quickly. And thankfully, the next night he realized he was being a jerk and apologized!)

(I am in Manila, working tech support for an ISP in the United States. I pick up my next call on the queue.)

Me: *opening spiel* “…How may I help you today?”

Customer: *in an accent I shall refer to politely as a “Southern American English”* “Transfer me to someone in the United States.”

Me: “Are you having connection problems? I can—“

Customer: “Transfer me to someone in the United States.”

Me: “Sir—“

Customer: “I know you’re in the Philippines. Just because you f****** sound like me doesn’t change that. I want to talk to someone in the f******. United. States. I’m sick and tired of dealing with idiots over there in your f****** country.”

(My coworkers have college degrees and are, by no measure, idiots.)

Me: “Sir, are you sure? You want me to transfer you to our technical support department based in the United States?”

Customer: “YES! DO IT!”

Me: “Okay, sir. I’m going to transfer you to tech support down in Texas.”

(I punch in the numbers, but hold off on that last button.)

Me: “Thank you for calling, sir. Transferring you to right now.” *pushes transfer button*

(The tech support department in Texas only supports Spanish-speaking calls.)

This story is included in our Philippines roundup – part of the Not Always Right World Tour!

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(I’m explaining the tactics of a certain terrorist leader to my grandfather in the hopes that he’ll be less racist.)

Me: “It was genius, actually, the way he manipulated other countries into leaving and turned this into a very convenient America vs Daesh, us vs them, conflict. Then, how we made him a martyr. And every time one of our politicians rails against all Muslims, they gain more one more propaganda video. They know how to manipulate people. It’s why they’ve been so successful.”

Grandfather: “Are you a terrorist?”

Me: “WHAT?”

Grandfather: “Where did you learn this?! Are you listening to terrorists?!”

Me: *pulling up the PBS website on my phone* “No! I learned it from here!”

Grandfather: “Why would you compliment them?!”

Me: “Because pretending our enemy is dumb only helps them!”

Grandfather: *mutters about me being radicalized*

My family, all Caucasian, are packing up as we get ready to return home from a vacation. My parents realize that there won’t be room in the car for a watermelon my mom bought but didn’t get around to eating.

Rather than throw it away, she decides to offer it to the hotel staff and see if they want it. As she jauntily walks up to the front counter, the man behind leaves and is replaced by a black man.

My mom slowly comes to stop as she pauses and considers what she’s about to do. She stands still for a solid minute, staring at the man, as she weighs her options. She finally just decides to ignore her concerns and asks the man if he is interested in a free watermelon. He happily takes it without comment.