(I work with my dad fixing garage doors. A lady calls us asking us for a quote. We go to her house to check out the job.)

Customer: “So, you can fix my garage?”

Dad: “Yeah, but it’ll be [sum].”

Customer: “That’s crazy! You fixed my neighbor’s garage for [smaller sum]; why can’t you do that for me?”

Dad: “Because your springs are broken and require a whole new bar, plus a strap. Your neighbor only needed a strap.”

Customer: “F****** Mexicans!”

(The customer proceeds to go on racist rant and my dad is just really calm. I am about to go off on her, but my dad just gives me a look and I stay quiet.)

Dad: “Well, if you want to call someone else to fix it, go ahead, but keep in mind that if you call me back here it’s doubled the price because I have to waste gas.”

(She huffs and goes inside, and my dad and I go home. I ask why he didn’t go off on her.)

Dad: “Just wait; this happens all the time.”

(Guess who called a few minutes later? We charged her double the sum and a little more from her rudeness.)

(I have just started working at a store that sits right in the middle of the higher- and working-class population, so a mix of different people will come and shop. Within my first week, on a slow day, I’m chatting with two of my coworkers as a customer with a semi-noticeable limp enters through the elevators.)

Coworker #1: “Ugh, she’s back.”

Coworker #2: “Hey, [My Name], when she’s ready, can you check her out?”

Me: “Okay, why?”

Coworker #2: “Well, she has a bit of an attitude, and you’re new. Have to graduate somehow, right?”

Me: *rolls eyes* “Haha. But sure, all right.”

(Eventually, she comes up to my register. She smiles and acknowledges that I’m new, since she doesn’t recognize my face. She’s wearing a veteran cap, which I point out and ask about, as my cousin is a veteran, too. We end up chatting for a bit while I ring her out. She pays with an EBT card for her groceries and goes off on her way to the elevators once again. She was perfectly polite, and I am left confused over the warning I had received about her from my coworkers until they both approach me again.)

Coworker #1: “Wow. How did you do that?”

Me: “Do what?” *starting to think I was lucky for catching the customer while she was in a good mood*

Coworker #1: “Keep a straight face?”

Me: *more confused* “Over what?”

Coworker #1: “Come on, you know.”

(She then starts to imitate an exaggerated limp, mocking the customer. My second coworker laughs. I’m left speechless.)

Coworker #2: “I’m more surprised that you were able to keep it together when she flashed her EBT card. She always does it so casually, too! It’s so shameless.”

(By now, my confusion has manifested into anger.)

Me: “Why does it matter how she pays for her food?”

Coworker #2: “Well, I mean, it’s not just that. It’s just the shamelessness. I try to act casual, too, but then she always gets attitude and all mad about it. Like, dude, at least I’m trying!”

Coworker #1: “She always takes the elevator, too. Like, at least try to look active.”

(Now my anger is BOILING.)

Me: “Are you kidding me? She’s clearly a veteran!”

(Both give me a blank stare.)

Coworker #1: “So?”

Coworker #2: “Yeah, wasn’t that her choice, anyway?”

(I gave up and walked away at this point as I was literally shaking with rage. We never got along after that, but I got along with my other coworkers just fine — most of whom also had issues with how ignorant and conceited the other two usually acted — and I was always happy to see my regular who, by the way, never gave “attitude” towards anyone else BUT the two coworkers, solely because they gave it to her first. Eventually, one quit and the other was let go, the latter due to her behavior towards customers. None of us were shocked.)

(I’m a bisexual female wearing a rainbow wristband. I am checking out a customer I have sometimes seen around the store. The customer has been friendly enough to me up until this point.)

Customer: *points at my wristband* “You’re one of those queer f******!”

(Occasionally, I deal with things like this, so I try to keep my cool.)

Me: “I prefer the term ‘bisexual,’ ma’am.”

Customer: “The Lord says you’ll burn in Hell! He condemns those who sleep with the same gender!”

(I sigh and endure this abuse for a bit longer because she has, unfortunately, purchased A LOT of items. Soon, I decide to ask her to stop after a particularly abusive comment.)

Me: “Look, ma’am, you can have the views you want on homosexuality, but please realize that abusing a cashier is not an appropriate response, especially in front of children.”

Customer: *shouting* “I will not do anything you tell me! God hates [slur]s, and therefore, so do I!”

(A girl who can’t be older than fourteen walks up to the woman who is ranting at me.)

Girl: “Hi.”

Customer: *coldly* “Hello.”

(The customer then continues yelling at me.)

Girl: “You’re not being very nice to the cashier. She never did anything to you. All she was doing was checking out your items.”

(I see the girl’s mom looking surprised and slightly pale.)

Customer: “So? God hates people like her.”

Girl: “That’s not true. I’ve seen you at church, ma’am, and I recall the pastors teaching us that God loves everyone. And He makes everyone, right? Doesn’t that mean that He made her?”

(The customer seems about ready to give up, but has something else to say.)

Customer: “It literally says in the Bible that He condemns homosexuality, so why don’t you go back to being a good Christian girl and love the Lord like everyone else?”

Girl: *visibly getting tired of this* “You know, I seem to recall that the Bible said it’s okay to own slaves and that women were the property of men. Please step out of your homophobic bubble and take a look at modern American society.”

(The customer goes magenta in the face and leaves, sputtering, with her groceries.)

Me: *to the girl’s mother* “You have raised an extraordinary daughter.”

Mother: “Don’t I know it!”

(I never saw the homophobic customer again, but I saw the girl and her mother several times at the store while I worked there and gave them a discount on their purchase each time.)

(I’m 18 and staying at a friend’s house the night before I get an early coach to the airport. This is my first time getting a flight alone so I’m pretty nervous. I pack up early and book a ride through a well-known taxi app. My friend lives on a road that has one main section with two smaller roads coming off of it but they’re all named the same street and just numbered as if it’s one road. As this can be confusing, I’ve made sure my location is clearly marked for pick up on the app and have left extra time. Despite this, the driver is still late and won’t answer his phone before eventually showing up.)

Driver: “What are you stood down here for?”

Me: “This is where I arranged pickup from, see?” *points to his phone screen on the dash*

Driver: “Well, it wasn’t showing that a minute ago. Anyway, coach station, right. I’m not going the way this thing tells me. Google Maps is rubbish; it always takes you the slow way.”

Me: “Right…”

(I’m a bit concerned but don’t want to tell a taxi driver how to drive, and the city can be a bit strange if there’s roadwork that Google doesn’t know about.)

Driver: “Where are you getting a coach to, then?”

Me: “The airport.”

Driver: “The airport? Why aren’t you driving there?”

Me: “Oh, I can’t drive.”

Driver: *laughs* “Good! That’s for the best. Women are terrible drivers; it’s best they keep you off the roads. Every crash I’ve been in was caused by a woman driver. I don’t know why they’re allowed. Don’t you think, when they’ve shown with all those tests that women are worse at driving, that they should have to pass a harder test?”

Me: “I actually did a psychology degree, and the tests really don’t show that women are worse drivers. The spatial experiment studies show that—“

Driver: “Now, now, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m just saying it’s good you can’t drive. Anyway— Oh. Where are we? Oh, blast it, I took a wrong turning. Hang on.”

(He drives hurriedly, and pretty dangerously at times, in a really random route. I’m getting a bit nervous because I’m close to being late for my coach even with the extra time I’ve allowed.)

Me: “Um, I think you need to take a right here.”

Driver: “Don’t you worry. I know what I’m doing. I was only kidding about being lost.”

(He ignores me and carries on straight, ending up opposite from the coach stop with four lanes of traffic between me and my coach, which is already at its stop.)

Me: “I can’t get out here!”

Driver: “Ugh. One second, then. We’ll turn around. Is that your coach?”

Me: “Yes!”

Driver: “Calm down! We’ll make it!”

(He turns the car around and goes down the road I indicated before, just in time to see the coach pull out of its stop. I stare at it in shock.)

Driver: “Oh, dear. Well, next time, be sure to be where you booked the pickup for; we lost a lot of time messing around.”

(I wordlessly got out, still in shock, as he got my bags out and then left me at the side of the road. I ended up having to get the next coach at a cost of another £25 and barely made it to the airport in time for my flight. I already have an anxiety disorder and was too anxious to deal with customer service so I didn’t make a complaint, though did give him a one-star review.)

(I am a nurse. I am invited by one of my former boyfriends to go to a movie with him and his current girlfriend. Since I have no current boyfriend, he says that I can bring a friend with me. I ask a former classmate from nursing school along. The classmate is black. After we are picked up, the former boyfriend starts making bigoted jokes. After each one, he will look at my classmate in the mirror and say, “Oh, no offense.” After about three of these, the classmate turns to me.)

Classmate: “[My Name], we had an interesting case last week.”

Me: *who knows a straight line when I hear one* “Oh, really? What happened?”

Classmate: “Well, we had a new patient on the hall, and as the charge nurse, I was the one checking him in. The whole time, though, he kept making remarks.”

Me: “What kind of remarks?”

Classmate: “Oh, you know. Sexual remarks.”

Me: “So, what happened after that?”

Classmate: “Well, you know at my hospital, nurses are required to insert Foley catheters. So, I was getting him ready for it, and he started making his remarks again. I proceeded with the intubation, though. But I’m afraid I made a mistake.”

Me: “What kind of mistake?”

Classmate: “I forgot to use any jelly.”

(There was an audible hiss from the driver, and the classmate looked up at him in the mirror.)

Classmate: “Oh, no offense!”