(I get my car serviced at the dealership, but I get my oil changed at the big box company shop near my work; it’s more convenient because I can drop my car off and walk to work instead of waiting there. I’m a female, but the regular guys don’t usually bother to bully me into getting additional services. The worker I talk to after this particular oil change must be new.)

Worker: “I’m calling to let you know your oil change is complete and you can come to pick up your car. I do want to mention that it looks like your power steering fluid needs to be changed.”

Me: “Oh, really? It’s still a pretty new car.”

Worker: “If you drive often, it can get dirty quicker than expected.”

(My car probably has about 12K miles on it.)

Me: “How much will it cost?”

Worker: “It needs to be completely flushed and replaced, so with labor, it will come to about $300.”

(I’m pretty surprised he’s pushing this on me. I decline a couple times but he insists it needs to be done immediately. I then call my dealership after telling him I’ll see him in a few minutes to pick my car up.)

Dealership: “Your car is too new to need your power steering fluid flushed. Let’s verify. How many miles are on your car? Do you experience difficulty turning your steering wheel?”

(He asks a few more questions. I give him all the info he asks for.)

Dealership: “Bring the car in when you have a chance, but I wouldn’t let them do that yet. We will take a look at the color of the fluid and see if it really does need changing.”

(I went back to the auto shop, declined once more for the $300 added service, and took my car to the dealership later that week. The dealership said the fluid was fine. I actually never had to change it up until the point that I traded that car in for a new car. I have multi-point inspections on my cars whenever I go in for regular maintenance checks with my dealerships, and nobody has ever insisted on services I don’t need. Oddly enough, I’ve always had really good experiences and honesty with car dealership service. I’m glad there are still honest and truthful people in the world. It’s just those darn big box companies that like to scam girls.)

(I work in an animal shelter. I’m out walking one of the rescues, a beautiful black and white pit bull who just loves meeting new people. This is probably the friendliest dog I have ever met, and one who has bonded with me over two months.)

Little Girl: “Puppy!”

Mother: “Oh, no, honey, don’t go near that; you might get bitten.”

Me: “I really appreciate you not letting your daughter run right up to her, but if she would like to pat Jazz, she’s definitely welcome to.”

Mother: “Oh, no, never. I saw one of those on TV once; it mauled somebody. I will not allow that beast to hurt my precious little angel. Maybe if it were a beagle, but not that monster.”

Me: “Oh, I understand the fear of pits for sure, but I assure you, Jazz is a really good girl. She loves children.”

(Jazz lays down and rolls onto her back as I scratch her belly.)

Woman: “How can you touch that thing without being afraid? It could bite your hand off!”

Me: “Jazz and I are best buddies; I’ve been with her since she got here. Now, I don’t want to scare you with her anymore, so I’ll continue going this way. The shelter is back the other way a little bit.”

(I continue my walk into the woods, where there are a nice set of trails. The customer decides to yell out to me.)

Woman: “It’s a monster! It could hurt you very badly. I suggest you leave it in the woods. Tie it to a tree and never come back!”

(I ignore her and continue my walk. When I return to the building, I put Jazz outside in one of the pens and walk in to return the leash. I see the woman and her daughter looking at the different dogs with the shelter manager. She spots me out of the corner of her eye.)

Woman: “Oh, it’s you. I’m going to guess you didn’t leave that monster out in the woods, did you?”

Manager: “The monster?”

Woman: “Yes, this boy had a pit bull. I told him he should just tie it to a tree and leave, but I guess he decided not to.”

Manager: “Yeah, I’m sorry, but suddenly all of our dogs have been adopted already. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Woman: “Is this about the pit bull? I’d never hurt an animal, but I think you should put a bullet in the head of every one of those.”

Manager: “Out.”

(The woman’s name was put on the cannot-adopt list, and to my knowledge never came back. I will never understand why this woman would say any of that, especially in front of her daughter, but I suppose that’s one less neglected dog in someone’s house.)

(I am doing an exchange for a gentleman, and once the receipt prints I hand it over to him. I am male.)

Customer: “The f*** is this? You’re ripping me off! I should have gotten more back! I want your manager!”

(I call over my manager, who is a short, young woman, and explain the situation. She is a very blunt person and very good at math, so I know she can figure out what happened)

Manager: “May I see the receipt, please?”

Customer: “Who are you? I wanted a manager!”

Manager: “And you got one; let’s see that receipt and figure this out.”

(I grab it off the counter and hand it to her. After just a few seconds of looking at it, she figures it out and explains how everything worked out, that the amount he got back is correct. She even shows him with the calculator the simple math she used to solve the confusion.)

Customer: “How the f*** do you expect me to trust a woman with math stuff? This is a joke that you are management here!”

Manager: “If I can’t do math because I am a woman, then what is your excuse, exactly? Tell you what; you grab a second-grade math book and double check my formulas, and give me a call if you need a tutor to get you through it. Until then, you have a wonderful day.”

(The customer leaves with a very red face.)

Me: “How do you put up with stuff like that?”

Manager: “The secret to success is to not give a f*** what people say you can and can’t do, and to relish the looks on their faces when you prove them wrong.”

(When I am born, my mom isn’t married. Due to circumstances good enough for another story, my mom becomes a single, working mom. At one point when I’m about four, my mom takes me to a dinner with family at her cousin’s. When everyone else is seated at the nicely-set-up dining room table, my mom’s aunt comes in, sees me, and says:)

Cousin’s Mom: *slightly irate* “I’m not sitting at the same table as a child born out of wedlock!”

Cousin: *recovering more quickly than the rest* “Oh, no problem, Mom. I’ll set the table for you in the kitchen, then, shall I?”

(I get a kebab and join two ladies at a standing table in front to eat. It’s a basic counter-only place, so the three standing tables are where everybody eats. A man with crutches, missing a lower leg, joins. In order to eat, grabbing the kebab with both hands like everybody else, he rests his —  fully-clothed — upper leg stump on his crutch and sets his elbows on the tabletop. All nothing to write home about, but this seems to disgust the other two ladies at the table. They scoff and scowl, and as the man ignores it, they finally speak up.)

Lady #1: “This is disgusting.”

Lady #2: “Yeah, talk about losing one’s appetite!”

Lady #1: “You should be ashamed. Can’t you eat somewhere else so you don’t bother other people?”

(The man, hardened by such stuff it seems, ignores them, but I feel like I can’t.)

Me: “Are you listening to yourself? How can you say such things and still think you are in the right?”

Lady #1: “Well, if you don’t mind eating next to something disgusting that’s your business. It is simply our opinion that people like that should not flaunt their abnormalities around where everybody can see them.”

Me: “Well, sure, you are free to speak your mind, but with this ‘opinion’ you are just discriminating a**holes.”

Lady #2: “I can’t believe it. How dare you?! This is what Germany has come to, with all the immigrants and such!”

(Mind you, the guy is not in any way foreign-looking, not that that should matter.)

Lady #2: “How can you expect us to eat while he waves his disgusting stump around?”

(The dude is eating his kebab rather fast and does not acknowledge the whole thing.)

Me: “Yeah, you should not eat in his presence. I agree.”

(I know it’s not right, but I am just so angry. In a quick motion, I sweep the rest of their two kebabs from the table; they splatter over the outdoor pavement. The one-legged dude finally looks up from his food and starts laughing. The two women freeze and then explode into curses. They demand that someone call the police, that I should be arrested for destruction of property, assault, terrorism, whatever comes to their mind. Other diners look, one shouts for them to zip it, some laugh. One lady even starts pushing me, and another guest comes up and pulls her away. The employees come out from behind the counter and tell them to stop shouting. The man with the crutches stops laughing and holds up one hand:)

Man: “Stop, all of you. Stop. Here, I’ll pay for your food.”

(He got his wallet and handed [Lady #2] a 20€ bill, at least double the amount of what the two kebabs had cost. They sputtered but took the money without hesitation. They kept cursing, but left, as other diners were telling them to get lost, as well. I turned to the employees and offered to sweep up the food, but they were already at it and were all smiles. One told me that what I’d done was awesome. The man with the crutches handed me a can of soda and we chatted a bit. He’d lost his leg as a teenager due to an infection. We parted and he thanked me again, saying that I’d really made him feel like not all people are s***.)