(We have a lot of issues with third-party reservations at the hotel. We encourage people NOT to book with them because they’re going to screw it up one way or another eventually. This is one of those cases. The guest is not irate with me by any means; she knows the fault is with the third party, but she decides she is going to yell at this person over the phone in my lobby like it is that individual’s fault. She’s cursing and using racial slurs because most call centers with third-party agents are overseas. We have children in the lobby. So, I address her on the issue — I hate racists — very calmly because yelling back at her doesn’t do anything but make it worse.)

Guest: “I want to speak with your manager!”

Me: *points to the manager on duty sign, with my name under it*

Guest: “Well, I want to speak with corporate! Give me their number!”

Me: *gives her the number*

Guest: “You’re in for it now!”

(She gets on the phone with corporate, in front of me, on speaker as if their answer to this is going to surprise me, and of course, they call me to get my side of it. She’s getting pretty frustrated because no one seems to be on her side.)

Guest: “Look. I was referring to the incompetent people with [Website].”

Corporate: “Ma’am… a [racist slur] is still a [racist slur], no matter who it is directed at or intended for. We at the [Hotel Corporation] cannot condone that behavior, and now your status is put up for review to revoke your membership with [Hotel Company] entirely.”

Guest: “THAT’S BULLS***! All this over me calling someone a ‘[slur]’?”

Corporate: “Ma’am… my mother is one of those [slurs] you are referring to.”

(And that’s the first time this particularly well-known hotel brand insisted that I kick someone out of the hotel. They did not have to tell me twice.)

(I am 18. I live with my family. I have recently started dating a woman. I am a woman and identify as such at the time. My girlfriend has been my best friend for four years by this point, and my family already loves how respectful and helpful she is. As such, I assume that “coming out” won’t be a big deal. My girlfriend, my mother, my stepfather and I are in the room. I’m only including the most interesting parts of this event.)

Me: *after long conversation and lead-up* “So, after [Ex-Boyfriend] tried to hit me, then stormed off, [Girlfriend] said that she loves me and doesn’t want to see me hurt like that. I told her I didn’t have an answer yet, but it’s been four months, and we’re dating now; we started dating a couple weeks ago and it’s going well.”

Mom: *dramatically rolls her eyes* “Okay, whatever. It doesn’t matter. It won’t last.”

Girlfriend: *patient as a saint* “What makes you think so?”

Mom: *to girlfriend* “She isn’t a lesbian. This is a phase. Listen. We love having you around. We don’t care what you’re doing when the doors are closed. But don’t put your hopes up; I’d hate for my daughter to hurt you.”

Me: *angry* “It doesn’t even matter how I identify sexually. I love [Girlfriend] emotionally. You told me love is what matters most.”

(The conversation tapers off. Four years after, my girlfriend and I move in together, and sometime after that we get engaged. Throughout the whole time, my mother occasionally asks if we’ve broken up yet. We move a thousand miles away from my mother. A few weeks after the tenth year of our dating anniversary, we decide to get married, due to fear of marriage equality being abolished by a change of political control. I inform my mother that we are eloping and do not have time or money to have a proper wedding.)

Me: “We are eloping on [date], to make sure we can before the right is taken from us. We will send you pictures later.”

Mom: “HOW DARE YOU GET MARRIED WHEN I CAN’T EVEN BE THERE?!”

(She begins calling and texting several times.)

Me: *pissed off* “You weren’t even going to be invited if we had a proper wedding. You uninvited yourself after saying you didn’t think we’d last!”

(I had to block my mother’s phone number for a few weeks after that, but thankfully any relatives she told about the situation agreed with me, even the homophobic ones!)

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(I need some of the stuff you rub on cast-iron fireplaces to blacken them, which is called fireplace black. I can’t find it on the shelves, so I go to ask the chap working in the section where it ought to be, who happens to have extremely dark skin.)

Me: “Hi there, do you have any fireplace black?”

(The worker says nothing, just stares me right in the eye. There is a long, uncomfortable silence while he makes prolonged eye contact. Finally…)

Worker: *continuing to glare* “The fireplaces are over there, whitey.”

(I was just starting on stumbling out an incredibly embarrassed explanation and apology when he fell about laughing, and to my great relief he turned out to have been winding me up.)

(I overhear this from the back of my private school bus. The company runs a public service, also. We pass a broken-down bus from the same company, and they hail us down.)

Customer: “Excuse me. We need to get on this bus. I need to be at my job in five minutes.”

(The nearest bus stop is over 15 minutes away.)

Bus Driver: “Sorry, madam, but this is a school bus to [School]. You can’t be on here for safety regulations.”

Customer: *getting irate and red faced* “Don’t make a fool of me, young man. You are going to let me on this bus; it clearly says, ‘[Bus Company],’ on the side of the bus.”

Bus Driver: *trying to stay polite* “I know, madam, but I cannot let you on to this bus; you need to wait for the next public bus to get on.”

Customer: *barges past driver with smug face* “Well, you have to take me now; otherwise, all these children will be late for school!”

Bus Driver: “Madam, please get off the bus; I need to take the bus elsewhere.”

Customer: “No, and if I’m any later for my job and get fired, I’ll come here and steal yours, just like you steal jobs from the good English people of my country.”

(The bus driver is of foreign descent.)

Bus Driver: *reluctantly* “Fine, you can stay on the bus.”

(The woman stayed on until her stop and left, but not before flipping off the bus driver.)

(My elderly grandmother has just returned home from the DMV after passing her driving exam to renew her license, and is telling me about the experience.)

Grandma: “—and it was just so full, so many people!”

Me: “Well, it is the DMV.”

Grandma: “Yes, but there were just so many foreigners!”

Me: “I— What?”

(This caught me off guard because my grandmother immigrated here from Germany.)

Grandma: “I said, ‘There were so many foreigners.’”

Me: *now laughing* “Including you!”

Grandma: *clearly not expecting that response, but chuckling along as she realizes I’m right* “Well, I… You know what I mean!”

(I guess she’s lived here for so long that she forgets.)