(My youngest brother is thirteen and a very sweet kid. He can be a bit overwhelming at first; he’s very energetic and loves to talk your ear off with fifty different topics all at once. Despite this, my family and I love him dearly. He has some mental damage done from seizures he had as a baby, so he’s certainly “different” to others, but to us he’s normal. Most people in our family accepted him right away when they met him, thinking he’s a sweetheart… Some didn’t — not right away, at least. One day, my cousin, about four years older than my brother, visits from out of state to see us and our grandparents. I offer to drive her and my brother to the store as they need something. This happens while we’re there.)

Brother: “Oh, oh! [My Name], look, look! This shirt has a Minecraft creeper on it! I want it.”

Me: “It’s 30 bucks! I don’t have that money on me right now, bud. Sorry.”

(He’s a bit upset but walks it off. He tends to mumble to himself to let off steam. He’s mumbling something about getting money himself for it, and I can hear him. So can [Cousin].)

Cousin: “Um, excuse me?!”

(Both my brother and I look at her.)

Cousin: “What did you just say?! Under your breath?”

Brother: “N-Nothing…”

Cousin: “I know you said something. What was it?”

Brother: “I… I just wanted the shirt…”

Cousin: “Okay, so you act like a f****** baby because she said no?”

Me: “Woah, woah. Calm down, [Cousin].”

Brother: “N-No… I wanted it but… I can wait for it… I just said that I could get money myself.”

Cousin: “Yeah, okay, sure. You need to stop acting like a f****** baby. Grow up! You’re too old for Minecraft, anyway. Get over it.”

Brother: “But I like it. It’s fun and I play with friends.”

Cousin: “You’re too old! Grow up. Your stupid friends are probably younger than you. Why do you act like such a baby?!”

Brother: “I just–”

Cousin: “No excuses! [My Name], your brother is so immature. What the h*** is wrong with him?”

Me: “[Cousin], you don’t need to make a scene. I heard him and he said nothing bad. You don’t need to be insulting him like this.”

Cousin: “Yeah, well, it’s not like it’s my fault he’s so [disability slur].”

(That’s when I stare at her, unsure of what to say. My brother tears up and runs off, about ready to cry.)

Me: “Excuse me?! It’s not his fault… You have no right to act this way towards him.”

Cousin: “This is why he acts spoiled. You’re a f****** idiot for giving him what he wants.”

(She stormed off towards the checkout with whatever she happened to pick up while I ran off to look for my brother, who was crying in the toy aisle. I tried to calm him down, letting him know I’d talk with [Grandparents] when we got home. He accepted that and walked with me towards [Cousin] who looked impatient. The drive home was silent, save for a few sniffs from my brother. I tried to explain the situation to my grandparents, but [Cousin] kept interrupting and, in the end, my grandparents scolded my brother for his behavior and me for allowing him to act like that. [Cousin] was smug about it, too. My brother and I went home and I refuse to speak to my cousin, who has tried to talk to me like nothing happened since.)

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.

(From my first period at age 12, I have been having horrible pain with each menstruation. Several months later, the pain is so bad that I can’t stand. My mother is alarmed and takes me to the ED. They suspect appendicitis and operate, only to find a healthy appendix. I am referred to a gynaecologist.)

Gynaecologist #1: “So, I hear you’ve had a bit of a sore tummy, huh?”

Me: “Yes, it really hurts, and I—“

Gynaecologist #1: “Now, [My Name]. You’re grown up now. This is part of being a woman; you just have to put up with it, all right? Take some paracetamol when the pain starts and get on with it, all right?”

(I’m embarrassed to have caused such a fuss and take what he says to heart. For the next 12 years, I put up with horrendous, increasing pain, assuming all women go through it. Every cycle, without fail, I spend a minimum of 12 hours in such pain I am vomiting. It gets so that I am in pain all the time, even when I’m not menstruating. Finally, at 25, I have an epic period of 17 days of vomit-worthy pain. My parents convince me to go to the ED in my new city where I live.

The ED doctors give me a high dose of morphine and check for acute problems, then refer me to a gynaecologist. I am already convinced that this one will think I am wasting his time, too, and begin rehearsing apologies. Finally, I meet the new gynaecologist.)

Gynaecologist #2: “So, I hear you’ve been sore?”

Me: “Yes…” *describes situation*

Gynaecologist #2: “Can I feel your stomach? Hmm. Okay, I’m not going to, but if I pressed hard, would it hurt?”

Me: “Yes.”

Gynaecologist #2: *taking his hand away* “Does it hurt now?”

Me: “Yes.”

(The gynaecologist went a little grim and told me that I needed an operation immediately. He fit me in the following week and ended up excising a LOT of tissue. It turned out that I had a condition that caused infertility if it was untreated, and the main symptom was immense pain. Luckily, the disease hadn’t yet damaged my tubes so I can still conceive naturally. With medication to manage ovulation and possibly more operations should the tissue regrow, I should be completely healthy. Most importantly, I’m not in constant pain. How lucky that I found a doctor who knew that “women troubles” was no longer a proper medical diagnosis!)

(As a middle-aged female, I’ve acquired more than a few chronic ailments, and each time I’ve changed jobs, I’ve had to change health insurance companies, resulting in having to be under the care of numerous doctors for the same conditions. I’ve been divorced for 14 years, and I’ve always had my own health insurance as a working adult. While calling up yet another new doctor to make yet another “new patient” appointment, I give the friendly lady receptionist my pertinent information. All goes well until she drops this line:)

Receptionist: “And that’s your husband’s insurance, correct?”

(That’s the first and ONLY time I’ve ever been asked that, even when I WAS married — and he didn’t even have insurance. Probably shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did, but there was no way she could have ascertained I was married based on anything I told her. Welcome to the 21st century, friendly lady receptionist.)

(I work at a store that mostly sells pranks and novelty items, and the staff often jokes around with customers. An older man has come in and I am quickly able to help him find the item that he is looking for. We have two counters in our store — one up front and one in the back — but our only register is at the front counter. We are located at the back counter, and the man has remained quiet the whole time, and before I can direct him up front, he silently shoves a hundred dollar bill in my face.)

Me: “Actually, sir, we’ll need to check out up front, but I’ll be happy to take that bill off your hands!” *laughs*

Customer: *completely somber, putting the bill back into his wallet* “It’s just like a woman to ask for money and take it.”

Me: “Um… Let’s go get you checked out.”

(My managers are out of town. I work for close family friends; they own the franchise I work for so things are often pretty lax and they leave the store to my coworkers and me without a “real manager” on duty sometimes. In these times, I have to act as the manager and handle comments and complaints, etc. A customer enters the store with her grandchildren and my coworker takes their order.)

Coworker: “Thank you for choosing [Fast Food Restaurant]. What can I do for you today?”

Customer: “I want your three-piece strip five-dollar lunch with a honey mustard and a ranch.”

Coworker: “Okay, ma’am, no problem. It will be fifty cents for an extra sauce; is that okay?”

Customer: *suddenly angry* “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU WOULD CHARGE FOR AN EXTRA SAUCE!”

Coworker: “I apologize for the inconvenience, ma’am, but it is company policy.”

Customer: “FINE. Just give me a honey mustard, then!”

(I walk away. I have only overheard this conversation as I am stocking up something close to the register. I immediately forget the customer, as I usually do if I don’t take the order. The transaction finishes; my coworker gives the customer her food and even ends up giving her the sauce for free. She eats and leaves with her grandchildren. About thirty minutes later the phone rings.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Fast Food Restaurant]. How may I help you?”

Customer: “IS THIS HOW YOU RUN YOUR BUSINESS?!”

Me: *immediately confused, but recognizing her voice from earlier* “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know what you mean; was something wrong with your meal?”

Customer: “I CAME IN WITH MY GRANDCHILDREN AND THERE WAS A COUPLE HUGGING AND KISSING IN YOUR DINING ROOM AND YOU DID NOTHING ABOUT IT!”

Me: *still confused* “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I didn’t see the couple, and even if I did, there’s nothing I could really do. It’s not illegal.”

Customer: “MY GRANDCHILDREN WERE THERE! THEY HAD TO SEE A GAY COUPLE HUGGING AND KISSING. IS THIS HOW YOU RUN YOUR BUSINESS?”

Me: *suddenly understanding* “Well, ma’am, as I said it’s not illegal, so there is nothing I can do.”

Customer: “WHY DIDN’T YOU KICK THEM OUT? MY GRANDCHILDREN HAD TO SEE IT!”

Me: “Ma’am, this franchise of [Fast Food Restaurant] is a major supporter of [Local Pride Celebration] and we believe that all love is equal. We would never kick a couple out for being gay.”

Customer: “Well, you just lost a customer!”

Me: “Well, ma’am, we don’t want your bigoted money, anyway.”

(The customer then hangs up the phone and I proceed to tell my coworkers about it.)

Coworker: “How do you think she would have felt if you told her all her food and ice cream were prepared by not one, or two, but three gay people?”

(The cook and I are bisexual and my other coworker is a lesbian. Ha!)