(I work at a beautiful, open-air pool and spa complex, often frequented by a visiting international A-Grade sports team. We currently have one unwinding in one of our public, open-air spas. Another customer approaches me.)

Me: “Good afternoon, and welcome to [Pool]. How many children and adults will you be paying for today?”

Customer: “Just me, my child, and my friend here.” *motions to her friend*

Me: “All right, then. That’ll be [price]. The changing rooms are immediately left for women and right for men.”

(She pays, changes, stores her things in one of the lockers, and walks out, towel in hand. I should have called for help as I saw her on her way back. I stupidly didn’t.)

Customer: “Excuse me, but there’s a problem with your pools! They’re filthy and filled with s***!”

(Panicked, I look at the team leader, who hears this. She shakes her head no and continues on her path watching the rest of the pools.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but our lifeguards would have immediately noticed if there was that issue and closed the pool down. There isn’t any way this could have been missed.”

Customer: *immediately starts screaming at the top of her lungs* “NO! I MEAN THEY’RE FULL OF FILTH! YOU NEED TO GET THEM OUT OF THE POOLS AND CLEAN THEM IMMEDIATELY.”

Me: “I beg your pardon?”

Customer: *with her friend in the back with a s***-eating smirk on her face* “THOSE FILTHY F****** [RACIAL SLURS] IN THE SPAS UP THERE!” *referring to international sports team* “I REFUSE TO HAVE A SPA IN THOSE POOLS; THEY’RE FILTHY AND THEY NEED TO LEAVE SO I CAN HAVE MY SPA! THEY’RE DISGUSTING. FILTH. SCUM. THEY SHOULDN’T BE ALLOWED IN PUBLIC SPACES! THEY’RE MAKING THE WATER FILTHY! GET THEM OUT! I WANT MY MONEY BACK!”

(I am completely stunned, but wary of her getting physical, I call up to the personal trainers in the attached gym for security and manpower:)

Me: “I’m sorry, we don’t do refunds, and we are not making anyone leave. This is a public pool for the public and they have just as much right to be here as you do, and if you don’t accept that, then you can leave.”

(Two fairly bulky PTs have turned up by now, along with the complex manager.)

Customer: “I WANT MY MONEY BACK! CAN’T YOU MAKE THOSE FILTHY [SLURS] LEAVE?”

Me: “I’m sorry, no. We don’t do refunds, and I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Now. Your behaviour is not acceptable for this establishment, and you will be trespassing if you try to come back in.” *looks at the complex manager for approval, she nods and motions to the PTs to remove her*

(The customer screamed and bellowed horrific abuse and racist insults all the way out the door. We wound up giving the sports team free access to all parts of the complex and a voucher for dinner at the attached restaurant. They seemed to think it was hilarious and were incredibly kind and good-natured about it all, much to my relief.)

(My nephew is almost two years old, so my husband asks his brother what kinds of gifts we should get him. We get a standard response, like cars and tools. Since his father is a mechanic, we assume he’s a chip off the old block. However, things turn out to be different when we get there. The boy gets crayons, at which his father scoffs. The boy loves the colors and the crayons and he starts coloring. He picks a pink crayon.)

Brother-In-Law: “No, we don’t use that one.”

(He hands the boy a blue one. It strikes me as odd, but since I’m a guest, I mention nothing. The talk then changes to my pregnant sister-in-law, who recently found out she’ll be having a girl.)

Me: “I wonder if she’ll love cars just as much as her brother or father!”

Brother-In-Law: “Of course not. Why would she even love cars?”

Me: “Well, why wouldn’t she?”

Brother-In-Law: “Because she is a girl! No girl of mine is playing with cars! And no boy of mine is playing with dolls!”

Me: “Oh… okay…”

Brother-In-Law: “Did you know that [Nephew] picked out [Dutch pink cakes] for dessert?! I’m not raising a [homosexual slur]! H*** no. I’d punch that out of him!”

(I see my husband’s eyes grow, but we both remain silent. It’s a kid’s birthday and we don’t know how to act. In the car:)

Me: “My gosh, did you hear what [Brother-In-Law] said?! I’m so worried that if [Nephew] turns out to be gay, he might get kicked out!”

Husband: “Well, if that is the case… then we have to make sure he knows he can stay with his aunt and uncle! Because my brother is just… just… GAH!”

(I’m glad my husband thought the same, and we still don’t know how to deal with this. Luckily the kid is only two years old now.)

(I work at a big box store, and one of my coworkers has a pretty severe stutter.)

Customer: “Excuse me. Can you tell me if you carry [Item]?”

Me: “I’m not sure, sorry… Let me ask.” *calls out over the walkie*

Coworker: “They’re, l-l-located along the w-w-wall.”

Customer: *in a suddenly nasty tone* “Well, I already looked along the wall. Is the wuh-wuh-wall something different?”

(I was shocked, but the only thing I could do was tell her, “Then we’re sold out.” Our managers won’t let us refuse service.)

(I am having one of those mornings where everything goes wrong: almost no sleep, car trouble, spilled juice on my clothes, burned myself in the kitchen, dog chewed a hole in the rug, etc. I’m tired and I’m on my last nerve. I’m running errands and the pet store is my last stop before taking a break for lunch. I put a large bag of dog food on the counter — I’m a small woman so I have to carry it with both arms — and start digging in my purse for my credit card. I go to pay but notice that the cashier hasn’t rung up my purchase.)

Me: “Is there a problem?”

(The cashier is grinning at me.)

Cashier: “I’m not ringing this up until you smile for me.”

(I stare at him. I assume he’s joking and stand there, waiting for him to ring up the dog food. He keeps grinning and nods at me.)

Cashier: *in a cutesy voice* “Come on, now. Smile for me.”

(And that’s the moment when I’ve had enough. I flip him off with both hands, leave the dog food on the counter, and walk to the door.)

Cashier: *sounds shocked* “Hey, wait! It’s just a smile!”

(I flipped him off again over my shoulder and kept walking. I had to make an extra stop at a different pet store, but I don’t regret it.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Bank]. How can I help you?”

Caller: “I need my balance.”

Me: “I’ll be happy to assist. I do need to verify your information.”

(Other than his name, he does not answer any security questions correctly.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but for security reasons, you will need to contact a branch during business hours.”

Caller: “No, you will help me now.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but…”

Caller: “No, you listen here. You sound like a black guy. I’ll go to every branch and tell the managers you called me a cracker and you have been racist.”

Me: “Absolutely, sir. You do what you need to do; however, I should let you know that this call is being recorded and they can pull this call and listen to it.”

Caller: *hangs up*