I am a Hungarian transgender woman in transition. In 2020, the government decided that being transgender is a sin, it’s evil propaganda from the West, and it harms children. I am also a desk officer in the police, and only my superior officer knew that I had started to transition.

A man from the ministry came in to give us the new rules.

Ministry Man: “From this point onward, [Special Group] will give orders on what people are to be arrested for being or suspected of being [transphobic slur]s.”

Superior Officer: “Excuse me. Can you check the door again for me?”

[Ministry Man] peeked at the door, which said “Police” on it.

Ministry Man: “What about it?”

Superior Officer: “Oh, for a moment, I thought we had turned into the KGB.”

Ministry Man: “What?

Superior Officer: “Arresting people on suspicion of being transgender?”

Other Officer: “I don’t know… [Ministry Man] looks too much like a woman to me. Permission to initiate arrest?”

Ministry Man: *Instantly angry and shouting* “You must follow the rules!”

Me: “Can I see some of those rules?”

Superior Officer: “Yes, let us see those rules.”

We checked. It was a badly written paper trying to give full power to some office to call the cops everywhere they wanted, to install a hotline we must work with, and to generally put someone above the police in rank without the necessary training.

Superior Officer: “Come back when the rules make sense. We are not the KGB, and we have actual emergencies to worry about. Good day.”

I was very happy with this, and the whole department agreed that this was a powergrab.

Sadly, two years after that, I got fired by the top level for being an openly asexual woman, because it seems that was also corrupting children somehow. I moved abroad anyway.

The store I work at happens to be near a Native American Reservation, and most of the people that live there are amazing and wonderful people. Others… not so much.

At our store, we are not allowed to accept Tribe ID cards for purchases of alcohol and tobacco products. This can cause issues, and I (a white woman) have been called a racist more than once because I would not sell to them with just the Tribe ID. What most of the argumentative ones don’t know is that we’ve reached out to the elders of the tribe before about this issue. This will be important in a moment.

The other night, I was training as a backup for the customer service manager, and the lady working the self-checkout asked me to explain the policy to a woman who was refusing to accept what my coworker was telling her.

I went over, and the first thing out of this woman’s mouth was:

Customer: “What’s the real reason you won’t accept my Tribal ID?!”

I decided that since she was being somewhat aggressive, I wasn’t gonna pull any punches.

Me: “Your chief has told us that we should not accept any Tribal IDs because the Tribe is supposed to be dry.”

That means no alcohol or tobacco products are allowed. This is true, though it’s also store policy.

She gaped like a fish for a moment before grumbling that she didn’t even live on the reservation before leaving the store, thankfully leaving the beer behind.

I will admit that she did look old enough to purchase it, but once the ID check is initiated, we have to be presented a valid ID. We can get in a lot of trouble if we don’t.

And I don’t care if you live on the reservation or not; we don’t accept them. I’m seriously debating asking if we can put a sign up by the beer stating that we don’t take them, but the sign probably wouldn’t be read anyway.

I work in a fast food place. A customer is moaning that the burger he has been served isn’t identical to what’s on the televised ad.

Me: “Let me call my manager over, sir.”

Customer: “You do that; you’re obviously unqualified even for this minimum-wage job!”

I ignore the insult and call over the manager, who responds promptly.

Customer: “Your staff are stupid, and they must think that I am stupid if they think I’m willing to accept this crap.”

The customer holds up his burger.

Customer: “This burger looks juicy and huge on the ad. This thing in my hand is dry and tiny.”

Manager: “Sir, that burger has been made to the standard specifications as outlined by corporate. If you’d like we can refund you—”

Customer: “What I’d like is to get the burger as it has been advertised!”

Manager: “Well, any burger we make for you tonight will be similar to what is currently in your hand, so—”

Customer: “Are you defending your incompetent staff out of some misplaced sense of loyalty? Your loyalty needs to be to the customer! The customers are why you all have jobs!”

He then points to me but continues to talk to the manager.

Customer: “Either get him to make the burger the way I deserve or have him fired.”

Manager: “Sir, as you have so enthusiastically pointed out, [My Name] here is on minimum wage. You’re asking someone on minimum wage to redesign a corporate-created burger on your whim.”

Customer: “Why should I care? If they think it’s so bad, they should get a better job. Lazy people spend their whole lives in minimum-wage jobs and keep complaining about how ‘unfair’ life is!”

Manager: “That’s a great way of saying that you agree that these jobs need to be done, and in fact, it’s in your interest that they are done, but the people doing said jobs deserve to live in poverty.”

Customer: “Yes! If they weren’t forced to live poor and uncomfortable lives, nothing would push them to do better!”

Manager: “Sir, I believe we’re done here. Finish your burger or get a refund, but I won’t stand here debating the issue. I’m sure your time is more precious than ours, anyway.”

Something about the manager’s sickly sweet yet almost sarcastic tone made the customer very uncomfortable. He finally shut up and left the store in a strop, but leaving is leaving, so … win!

Related:
Minimum Wage, Minimum Effort

I work for a food delivery app. One Friday afternoon, a request comes in for a delivery at a local college. I get there and see several signs advertising a gay pride event in one of the buildings on that day.

There is a group of people walking back and forth across the crosswalk that serves as the main entrance to the campus, basically making it impossible to get in. I see that they have large posters saying things like, “GAY SEX IS A SIN,” and, “ADAM AND EVE, NOT ADAM AND STEVE.” There are also a few posters about the immorality of abortions, which makes me laugh because… well… I would think gay couples are the least likely to need abortions.

I sit there waiting politely, but they just keep going back and forth. I honk a few times, but they only turn their disgusting signs toward my car and continue to circle. There is a line of people behind me now, all honking.

Finally, a police officer arrives and blocks their path on one side so I can get through. One of the protesters decides the best course of action is to throw her drink at my car as I pass. I pull over immediately and get out. 

Me: “What the h*** is wrong with you?”

Protester: “It is our right to protest peacefully. Jesus, our Lord and Savior, will—”

Me: “It’s not peaceful if you’re throwing s***!”

The woman breaks away from the group and comes toward me. The officer reaches for her, but he has his hands full with the other five still screaming about abortions and religion.

Protester: “Child of God, let me lay hands on you and pray so that you may gain the Lord’s wisdom!”

She is less than a foot away when she tries to grab my head. I dodge and pull my keys from my pocket.

Me: “If you lay a finger on me, I will pepper spray you.” 

Protester: “She just threatened to assault me!”

Officer: “I have had twelve complaints about you guys today. You cannot block the college. You cannot harass people who do not want to listen to you.”

Protester: “But—”

Officer: “If I get one more call, I’m arresting every single person here.”

Protester: “She—”

Officer: “The judge isn’t in until Tuesday. Choose wisely.”

The protester spat at my feet before walking away.

I got in my car and completed my order. The customer was understanding and tipped me an extra $10 for the trouble.

When I returned, the group was on both curbs, leaning out as far as they could. The woman who spat at me started to cross the street when I came up, I suppose thinking I would stop for her. 

I did not. She had to quickly backpedal to avoid becoming my new hood decoration.

I was a telecom sales representative and worked closely with our support department to ensure any issues with our commercial customers were resolved properly. I had a particular customer who constantly told me that she liked working with us because we were all based in the USA and didn’t outsource our support or billing overseas.

We had a new hire in our support department who was an amazing tech. He was highly recommended by a local college we got a lot of employees from, and he came on board knowing more than some of our other techs from day one. His family was from Senegal, and although he had lived in the US for many years, he still had a trace of an accent. Of course, this customer of mine happened to get this tech on a call and immediately demanded to be transferred to me.

Customer: “You lied to me! You said you’re in the US, but you’re not! You’re sending all your calls overseas!”

Me: “Uh… I can guarantee you that everyone is in one of our offices here on the East Coast. Who did you speak with?”

Customer: “Someone who claimed his name was Jeff! He was lying! He’s a foreigner, and you’re sending our business there! I want a copy of my contract so I can see when I can cancel with you, you liars!”

Me: “Okay. Hold on for me just one minute.”

I parked the call on hold, walked across the hall to our support department, and spoke with the tech in question. His name was indeed Jeff. I gently explained the situation and let him know what I was about to do, which got him to laugh. I picked up the call and put it on speakerphone.

Me: “Hello! I’m over here in support with Jeff! Say hello!”

Tech: “Hello! Is everything running properly now? All the tests from our end look fine, and your bandwidth looks great from here.”

The customer sputtered incoherently for a minute.

Customer: “What’s going on here?! Why are we on a three-way call?!”

Me: “Nope, I just walked across the hall, and now I’m standing next to Jeff. I just wanted to let him know you were following up on the closed ticket. Everything good now? Did you still want me to send a copy of your contract to review?”

Customer: “Ah… no. Everything’s fine. Goodbye.” *Click*

I wasn’t terribly upset when she didn’t renew her contract with us a year later.