Obama-Drama Is An Art Form

, , , | Right | July 3, 2018

(I work as a hostess and cashier at a popular casual restaurant that serves breakfast all day. The customers are mostly older and middle-class, and usually pretty friendly. I am cheerful with them and make small talk as they pay their bills on their way out. On one occasion, a couple of seemingly pleasant older ladies come up to pay, and we get to talking about how I am also trying to make money doing commission artwork.)

Guest: “That sounds lovely. So, you do paintings?”

Me: “Yes, I’ve taken all kinds of commissions. Usually people give me a photo or something, and I’ll make a painting out of it. But I can do all sorts of things.”

Guest: “I’ll tell you what I’d like to see: Obama, swinging from a tree.”

Me: *speechless*

(The ladies finished paying and left, while I stayed silent, completely caught off-guard. Sometimes you never can tell when good ol’ southern racism will rear its ugly head.)

A Pizza For All Nations

, , , , , | Right | June 29, 2018

(I work at a small pizza parlor. We have six customers standing in line.)

Me: *working register* “Next customer, please!”

(The next customer walks over to my register from the line, but [Customer #2] proceeds to cut the entire line and approach my register.)

Me: *to [Customer #2]* “Sir, there’s a line. This gentleman was next.”

Customer #2: *looks at me in shock* “You’re really going to serve this [racial slur] before me?!”

([Customer #1] and I exchange glances of astonishment.)

Me: “Sir, there’s no need to use that language here. You’re going to have to go to the back of the line.”

([Customer #2] continues with racist remarks and something about being a traitor to my kind.)

Me: “Sir, if you have an issue with me treating this man with the same respect that I would have given you had you merely stepped to the back of the line, then you can leave.”

(The customer makes more comments on how I’ve been brainwashed by the [racial slurs].)

Me: “Have a nice day, sir.” *turns to [Customer #1]* “It’s on the house.”

([Customer #2] threw his arms in the air and continued screaming until the owner forced him out the door.)

A Security White-Out

, , , | Working | June 29, 2018

(Strangely, our university doesn’t have security. After the November 2015 Paris attacks, our university hires private and mobile security guards.)

Security Guard #1: “Student card, please?”

Friend: “No problem.”

(My friend shows her student card, and the security guard authorises her to go into the building.)

Friend: “You didn’t look in my bag?”

Security Guard #2: “No. Why?”

Friend: “You never know! Just because we are students, it doesn’t mean that we don’t want to blow up the university.”

Security Guard #2: “With you, we didn’t worry because you are white.”

([Friend] and [Security Guard #1] were shocked. [Security Guard #2] was fired.)

Selective Homophobia Is Still Homophobia

, , , , | Working | June 28, 2018

(I just got a new job as a cook in a hotel kitchen and am in training on night shift, even though I’ll be working mornings regularly once I’m fully trained. It’s about my fourth day of training. My coworker is Mexican-American and has his phone plugged into the radio, playing music in Spanish in the background. About halfway through the night, he offers to let me plug my phone in instead and pick the music, but jokingly adds “as long as it’s in Spanish.”)

Me: “Oh, yeah. I actually have a few Spanish songs on here.”

(I plug my phone in and pick one of the songs. It’s upbeat, and a little more pop than the hip-hop-sounding stuff he’s been playing all night, but I like it; it really puts some bounce in my step as I move around the kitchen preparing orders. After the second song by the same artist, I look at my coworker and he seems… not angry, but maybe exasperated.)

Me: “Don’t like this song?”

Coworker: “It’s too poppy. This would be like if I was listening to *NSYNC.”

Me: *jokingly* “You mean you don’t listen to *NSYNC?”

Coworker: “Of course not. Bands like that are why I’m homophobic.”

(I stare at him blankly for a minute, trying to decide if he’s joking; he’s not. It should be noted that I’m pretty obviously gay, from my short hair, to my clothing choices, to the rainbow pin on the bag I bring to work every day. The town I live and work in is super liberal, and I even talked about my same-sex fiancée in my interview when it came up, so I really wasn’t anticipating dealing with this sort of thing there.)

Me: “Uh… [Coworker], you do realize I’m gay, right?”

Coworker: “No, it’s okay. I’m only homophobic against gay guys.”

Me: “That’s… That’s really not better.”

(Later that night, he talked about how much harder it is to get a good job because of his brown skin and his accent. You’d think someone who faces discrimination themselves would be the first person to realize why discrimination is never okay! Thankfully, I’m on mornings now and all of my morning coworkers are super accepting.)

Don’t Try To Reason With The Losers

, , , , | Right | June 26, 2018

(I work as a customer service rep for a pretty popular dry cleaning company. I get a lot of wealthier customers at my store, and they tend to come in waves. We have a drive-thru with a sliding glass door, and a walk-in counter. I am, luckily, with my manager and her lead, which means three of our store’s four employees are there. This day, a lady has driven in and is trying to pick up clothes she never actually dropped off. All three of us are looking for any clothes that could be hers mixed in with other orders. There’s a line forming behind her, but no one’s walked in yet. An older, snobby lady behind her speaks up.)

Lady #2: *rolls her window down* “EXCUSE ME!”

Me: *runs out our front door to help her* “Hi! I—”

Lady #2: “What the h*** is taking so d*** long?!”

Me: “I’m so sorry, ma’am; we’re just having a few snags with this customer. I can he—”


Me: *managing not to flinch* “Of course! Just a pickup, then?”

Lady #2: “Yes! Four pairs of pants!”

Me: “Right away!” *runs in and rings her up, coming out with her total*

Lady #2: “I’m giving you exact change so you don’t waste my time trying to figure it out!” *takes three minutes trying to count it out, shoving it roughly into my hands, grumbling loudly*

Me: “Thank you!” *runs back into the store and gets her pants, hanging them up*

Lady #2: “Doesn’t this b**** realize she’s holding me up?!”

Me: *does the bad thing and tries to reason with her* “Well, we do end to get backed up with the window; that’s why we have the walk-in counter. It’s also a lot cooler than sitting in a hot car!” *smile*


Me: “I’m very sorry, ma’am, I hope your day is better.”


(My hair is very short, and my mother has yelled at me for getting it cut “like a butch,” and I’m overweight. Normally, I’m very thick-skinned, but this is just getting to me.)

Next Customer: *pulls up* “Well, that was bracing! You okay, sweetheart?”

Me: *nods shakily*

Next Customer: “Well, I think you’re doing great! You’ve always been so nice to me and my wife! That lady was an idiot not to see how beautiful you are, too!”

Me: *trying so hard to keep the tears back* “Thank you, sir. How can I help you?”

Next Customer: “Just dropping off, and don’t worry about the wait. If I was in a hurry, I’d have walked in! Take care now!” *drives off much more carefully*

(Luckily, I had finished my shift. I clocked out and went to my car, and cried for a solid five minutes. The lady never reported me, and when she returned a week later, she apparently didn’t even recognize me, though she complained a bit about “that fat lesbian” that treated her poorly on her last visit. I informed her that it was me, and she got really pale and sped away.)

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