I work at a restaurant. A woman and a kid are seated at one of my tables, and they tell me they are waiting for someone to join them. I get their drink orders and then leave them to wait, checking in once or twice. Eventually, the guy joining them comes in. Naturally, I see about getting his drink order and then letting them look at the menu. The guy wants to tell me his entree order first, so I take it.

Me: “And would you like the soup or the salad?”

Man: “Salad.” *Looks confused* “Wait. The salad comes free anyway, right?”

Essentially, he is asking if he gets free salad no matter what, regardless of whether he has it with the meal.

Me: “The salads aren’t free for every guest; the entree comes with a choice of soup or salad.”

Many guests assume that a salad is free upon walking in, so they try to order something that results in an extra charge and then become upset, even if I explain it to that effect that it will result in an extra charge. There are even some who assume ordering only water will get a free salad, though it is very rare.

Man: *Looking at me funny* “Man, you’re confusing me.”

Then, he told me his drink order and asked me to give him a minute. I thought maybe he wanted to reconsider or something.

He then went to the host and requested a different server, saying, “I think he’s slow or r****ded or something.”

The host told me this as I was getting the guy’s drink. Naturally, I was agitated and didn’t want them in my section. But they stayed in my section for the whole meal while another person dealt with them.

The only funny part is that the server who took over for me got their food order wrong, and since it was my section, they basically got ignored the whole time since their server had other tables halfway across the building.

I talked with the managers about how bluntly rude they were acting to the staff, including the host. They said they couldn’t throw them out or move them for that, though one professed that he wanted to throw them out for their behavior. Then, I found out later that they should have been thrown out according to company guidelines.

It was very frustrating to be insulted and then try not to get visibly angry. Mind you, I wasn’t rude to them or trying to cause tension. I just explained simple restaurant policy.

I work for a popular pharmacy chain. I am deaf. My grandma’s dog ate my hearing aids. (Don’t worry: the dog was fine. But my hearing aids were NOT.) I was nearly completely deaf for almost seven months until I got a cochlear implant.

During this time, I used a transcription app on my phone to help me communicate with customers a little better. I had worked there for nearly two years at that point, and most of them knew me and were willing to speak slower, look at me when talking, repeat themselves, etc. Some even learned a few basic signs, and a couple defended me in front of customers who would announce (I assume loudly) that I had no business working customer service while being deaf because it defeated the purpose.

Despite all the times customers refused to talk to me because I wasn’t normal — not kidding: the most USED excuse was “I’m in a hurry. I need someone who can understand me!” — it never bothered me too much because of these angel customers, my fabulous boss who went all momma bear on ANYONE who tried to mess with me or blame me for things CLEARLY not my fault, and my colleagues who would often step into a conversation a customer was having AT me and then getting mad when I didn’t respond, with a simple, “Oh, she’s deaf. You have to look at her so she can read your lips.”

I was recently offered a promotion at a different store across town, and I thought it’d be a great opportunity. Aware this store had a weirdly low customer service score, I thought to bring everything I had to raise those scores.

A week into my new role, I got a text from my new boss. (I CAN hear on the phone now, but my implant picks up too much static to properly sort through the words, so most of my conversations are still via texts and emails.) She told me she had three complaints filed against me, all within the last two days.

The weirdest thing was that every single one of them was anonymous. Complaints don’t HAVE to have a name, but it’s very strange to not leave one since most customers want retribution from corporate, so they leave their name and contact information to make sure corporate can let them know their issue is taken care of.

I was FLOORED. I kept thinking, “Hey, maybe I accidentally treated a customer very poorly that day my friend died and my closing manager called in sick, so I had to work two thirteen-hour shifts in a row, with no time to grieve? That would make a lot of sense.”

Not one to back away from accountability, I asked:

Me: “What happened? What’d I do?”

She sent me a screenshot of the complaints, one at a time.

At first, I was… confused? Then flabbergasted. Then outright irritated and seriously TICKED. OFF.

Complaint #1: “She greeted me very loudly. When I asked if she could help me find something, she walked right past me. When I finally caught up to her, she said very loudly, ‘I’m sorry! I’m deaf!’ I felt very disrespected!”

Was she upset because I spoke loudly? (Being deaf means you can’t hear yourself talk, which means that sometimes, you have a loud voice.) Or was she upset because I apologized for inconveniencing her normalcy with my own disability?

I do remember this customer. I do not recall the situation the same way she did, but I also remember her smiling and thanking me for my help on her way out. Was it a dream? Maybe.

Complaint #2: “I was looking for bleach, but you never have it. I saw what appeared to be the new manager blocking the aisle, just yapping away with her female employee. When I tried to get her attention, she didn’t greet me, and when she met my eyes, she ignored me. I just wanted to buy bleach! Why does she have to make it so hard?!”

Wait, was this the customer that I walked to the bleach, only to find that we were out, so I offered to check the back, only to learn the warehouse never sent us any, even when they said they did, so I offered to call another store nearby and ask them, only for her to say it wasn’t necessary?

It didn’t occur to me until several weeks later that I wasn’t wearing a name tag that day. My new position required a specific name tag, and it had to be specially ordered, so I was waiting for it to arrive. I had only been there for a few days at that point. How did she know I was the manager on sight?

The last complaint was my favorite. (READ: I hate people.)

Complaint #3: “I was at the register getting checked out when the alarm to the back room sounded. I peeked around the corner and saw the new manager just standing there, not turning off the alarm. Someone told me she was deaf, and I thought to myself, ‘Wow, what a safety hazard.'”

Again, no name tag. How did she know? Also, when the alarm initially went off, I was actually two aisles away, not just “standing there, not turning off the alarm.”

I spent the next two weeks greeting my employees, friends, and family that way. “How are you doing? How’s the new job?” “I’m a safety hazard. Yourself?”

Fast forward to several weeks after this conversation with my boss, and all of a sudden, two employees quit on the same day with no notice. (I’m still convinced they planned this.) That night, I got a message from the previous manager of my new store.

Previous Manager: “I heard [Ex-Employee] quit today and said some terrible things about you in front of customers. Are you okay?”

Me: “Yeah, it’s nothing I haven’t heard before. I should tell you about the formal complaints I got a while back. Boy, I was upset. Cried my eyes out.”

Previous Manager: “Wait, complaints? Were they anonymous?”

Me: “How’d you know?”

Previous Manager: “I never had proof, but due to certain suspicious behaviors, I always suspected [Ex-Employee] to be filing complaints about his teammates under the guise of being a customer. They were always anonymous and always about the same two colleagues.”

Me: “Wait. So, you think [Ex-Employee] might’ve filed these complaints about me, as well?”

Previous Manager: “There’s no way to tell for sure, but I wouldn’t put it past him. The complaints are too specific to be from a customer, and they all have the same kind of wording. ‘I think his name is—’ ‘Pretty sure her name was—’ Stuff like that. I told someone in the district leader’s office my theory, but they said they couldn’t do anything about it without proof. Why? What’d he say about you?”

Me: “He took my disability — something that people use as an excuse to hold me back, something so personal to me — and used it to make me feel small and insignificant, then looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘D***, that’s just wrong. What’s wrong with people?’”

Previous Manager: “There’s something seriously wrong with that guy. Good thing he’s never coming back.”

Me: “Yeah, but now who am I supposed to beat to a bloody pulp?”

He laughed. I was not kidding.

My parents are the type of people who grew up poor and kept a lot of frugal habits but made enough that they had property investments, stocks in several large companies, two holiday homes, and enough bad art to make me hate the sight of bronze. Even so, they’d cook with gone-off food. (I still gag at the smell of fish, fresh or otherwise.) They refuse to spend on necessities. (The radiator in your bedroom broke and it’s below freezing? Live with it!) And they refuse to spend on actual doctors, opting instead to attempt to treat the symptoms of my ADHD with quack treatments like acupuncture and something I’m pretty sure was thinly veiled hypnosis. 

Basically, they do everything they can to appear rich while acting like misers to do so. 

This all becomes relevant due to my wildly different nature as someone who finds friends in all sorts of places. Some have criminal backgrounds, some have neurodivergent traits, and some have the audacity to be from other nations! 

My mother is the worst offender by far. I could tell tale after tale about her abuse, bigotry, and delusions, but the two that I’ll stick to are as follows.

My first romantic partner was a girl I met in a mathematics grind. She was tomboyish, practical, and well-cultured, and her parents actually were wealthy, but they appeared poor due to living to save up for a country house and grounds that they’ve since bought.

She was also from Poland.

As I talked about her to my mother and said I was head over heels, she accepted that my crush was tomboyish, praised her practicality, and then did a complete about-face when I mentioned that I think she said that she was from Poland. Why?

Mother: “You never know what kind of people they’ll turn out to be, so be careful.”

I don’t think she ever got over that, to be honest, and she’s still upset that our break-up was easy and clean so we’re best friends to the day. 

You’d think that would be bad, but my current boyfriend got it worse. 

Somehow, my mother got it into her head that this poor man wasn’t good enough for me, and she desperately needed to prove that there was something wrong with him — something, anything to justify splitting us apart.

First, there came:

Mother: “Well, you know his parents work in the public sector.”

As if I cared in the slightest what his parents did! Then, there was:

Mother: “It’s so nice of us to treat him to dinners and a week in the countryside since he can’t afford holidays and pizza!”

Like he’d never left his city and only ate porridge and stew. And then, there was:

Mother: “Are you sure he doesn’t hang around with the wrong crowd?”

That was the strangest one to my mind since the only crowd [Boyfriend] hung around with was me and my (by that point) ex, to whom I’d introduced him. 

In her crazed lust for vindication, my mother finally crossed a line. She invited us both to holiday with her and my father down on an island I still dream about. She also invited her sister who’s a special needs teacher to join us, too.

This was all so that, without telling us, my mother could get [Boyfriend] diagnosed with autism. Upon finding out, my mother’s sister balked and told us flatly what my mother had tried to do before conveniently cutting her holiday short three days early!

Somehow, having lived with all the other things that my mother did that were far worse than this, I didn’t cut off contact with her. I did move out that year to move in with [Boyfriend], into a crappy flat with what little money I can save and earn with my hobbies and not enough space to hide a cat, much less swing one. Surprise, surprise, I’ve felt happier, healthier, and wealthier than I ever did under my parents’ roof.

I count my blessings that the few upsides of the childhood they gave me meant that I spent time abroad to learn about other cultures, that I learned hobbies and skills I could never have afforded living as I am, and that I’m not racist, abusive, or crazy like they are!

We rent out houses for people with low income. About 99% of our clients are normal, decent people. And that 1%…

This happens when I am still relatively new at the job. A woman walks into our reception and yells in a mix of English and Dutch.

Client: “I’m not paying! I’m not paying! I’ll pay when I feel like it!”

Me: “Good afternoon, how can I help you?”

Client: “I’m not paying!”

Me: “I heard that, but which house are you renting from us? Then I can look into it.”

Client: “I won’t tell you that.”

Me: “Can you tell me your name, then?”

Client: “You don’t need to know that!”

Me: “I’m afraid I can’t find your file…”

Client: “YOU DON’T NEED THAT, AND I AM NOT PAYING! You white people are all the same! You are all alike! You white people are evil! I won’t give you anything! You should all rot in Hell!”

At that moment, a more experienced coworker comes in. He is of color; I am blonde and pale-skinned.

Coworker: “Hello, Ms. [Client], I heard you down the hall. How may I help you today?”

Client: “That white witch tries to steal my identity, but I am onto that hag! I’m not paying! This bill is illegal!”

Coworker: *Gets papers from her* “Ms. [Client], this is your rent. Your curator deals with your bills for you. You don’t have to worry about this.”

Client: “I want that racist b**** fired! She is corrupt!”

Coworker: “I’ll deal with her, Ms. [Client]. Do you have any other questions?”

Client: *While leaving* “I’m not paying! I’m not paying!”

My coworker notices my shocked face.

Coworker: “Yeah, she’s early this month; we should have warned you. She has mental issues and has a memory worse than a goldfish. She won’t remember you next time she’s in. Might even call you the sweetest doll. But if she’s upset like this, she only wants to talk to non-white people. I’ll contact her caretaker to let them know she’s upset about something again. Are you okay?”

I took a small break to compose myself again. When this woman returned the week after, she was a charming rainbow, talking all about how wonderful the world was, with all kinds of people. Two weeks later, she was upset again and I was called a white w***e who probably slept my way to this job, including sleeping with my female manager.

It took quite some time to get used to her… antics. She was banned once, which resulted in her screaming racial slurs from the sidewalk. Believe me, letting her come inside, accepting the screaming, and informing her caretaker was the best way to deal with her.

Our clothing store’s target market could be described as “lightly rebellious teen”, so the apparel reflects that. We don’t have anything too offensive; it’s mostly playful.

We have just stocked a range of shirts that say, “Sorry, boys, I like girls,” and, “Sorry, girls, I like boys.” The shirts have just the text on them, with no offensive imagery or anything else. Of course, we knew these shirts might ruffle some feathers

On the first day they’re on the store floor, a woman approaches me: feathers ruffled.

Customer: “I would like to speak to your manager about the horribly inappropriate display you have over there!”

I call my manager over. He knew he might be needed a bit more today, so he doesn’t take long to come down.

Manager: “How can I help you, ma’am?”

Customer: “You can start by explaining why you have such disgusting clothing on display in front of the children!”

Manager: *Playing coy* “Clothing is a matter of taste, ma’am. If you’re not a fan of a particular style or color, it doesn’t mean someone else doesn’t like it.”

Customer: “I’m talking about the gay indoctrination you have written all over your clothes! You may be comfortable with grooming our kids to be gay, but Jesus isn’t, and this is a Christian country! Take them down and burn them!”

Manager: “Well, ma’am, this store is here to serve everyone, not just people with your opinion. We will not be taking down any of our clothes to suit you—”

Customer: “It is not an opinion! It is the word of God, and you would do well to adhere to it!”

Manager: “Ma’am, please lower your voice. If you could—”

Customer: “Adhere to the scripture, or I will be blasting your disgusting store all over Facebook!”

Manager: “1 Timothy 2:11-12. ‘A woman should learn in quietness and full submission. I do not permit a woman to teach or to assume authority over a man; she must be quiet.'”

The woman opens her mouth to protest, but nothing comes out.

Manager: “Now be quiet.”

For what it’s worth, my manager is not religious, and he’s definitely not sexist. He didn’t believe in that scripture (or any other), but it did come in useful in that instance!

Of course, the customer still complained on Facebook, but our company social media team shut her down and sent her a link to the store’s Pride range, instead!