Mis-Gendering The Complaints

, , , , , , | Right | February 3, 2021

I am intersex but identify as a boy. A lot of people mistake me for a girl, despite the fact that I have short hair and a flat chest. It doesn’t help that my name is unisex and my voice is high-pitched. I work at a superstore as a cashier.

Old Man: “Thank you, [Female Version Of My Name]!”

Me: “Actually, it’s [Male Version Of My Name], but that’s okay.”

Old Man: *Stares* “Are you sure?”

Me: *Chuckles* “Yes, I’m sure.”

The old man blushes and leaves. A few days later: 

Manager: “We had a complaint about you.”

Me: “Really? What did I do?”

Manager: “A man said you called him stupid on Monday.”

Me: “No, I didn’t. He called me by [Female Version Of My Name] and I told him it’s [Male Version Of My Name]. Check the cameras if you don’t believe me.”

A couple of days later, I’m helping a woman with her items at the till. 

Woman: “Is your name [Female Version Of My Name] or [Male Version Of My Name]? I can’t tell what you are.”

Me: “It’s [Male Version Of My Name].”

Woman: “That isn’t right. You look like a girl. Your chest is flat, though, and your hair is short, so you must be one of those tomboys.”

Me: “No, ma’am, I’m not a girl. I’m a boy.”

The next day:

Manager: “We had another complaint about you. A woman said you insulted her.”

Me: “I didn’t insult anybody; I was the one insulted. Check the cameras again.”

Today, I went into work, and there’s a sign stating that “Any abuse of staff or false complaints will not be tolerated.”

This story is part of our Best Of February 2021 roundup!

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Time To Play Our Favorite Game: Bigotry Or Stupidity?

, , , , , , | Working | February 3, 2021

I live in both the US and France, and to avoid international fees, I have credit cards for both. I can’t remember my password to log in to view my statements for my US card, so I call them up.

Rep: “Oh, no problem. Just tell me the place and amount of your last transaction and we’ll reset your password.”

Me: “Well, I haven’t used this card in almost a year, so I have no clue.”

Rep: “Don’t you have a statement?”

Me: “No, it’s all online. I passed the security questions; isn’t that enough?”

Rep: “No, we need to make sure it’s you.”

I think, “Isn’t that what the security questions are for?” 

Me: “I just need my account balance. I’m not looking to make any transactions.”

The rep would not budge and we eventually hung up.

My husband called later for his balance and told another rep about my problems. Note that we do not have a joint account. All he did was give my name — the account was still in my maiden name — and she entered it and gave him my balance!

I told my father the story and he went into his local bank to talk to them about it. We also have no joint accounts. The bank gave him full details about my call, my account balance, and the fact that they had me marked as a “suspicious person.”

So, I give my name, address, birthday, and telephone number, answer two security questions, and give the number, expiration date, and CCV of my card, and I get marked as a suspicious person, but two men just give my name and absolutely nothing else and get my account balance!

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Got The “Balls” To Say It

, , , , , | Right | February 1, 2021

I am a manager.

Customer: *To a server* “Let me talk to your manager!”

I go over to talk with them.

Customer: *To me* “Don’t you have a male manager?!”

Me: “Trust me, lady, I’ve got enough balls to deal with your s***. You just try me.”

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All Of The Meats, None Of The Class

, , , , , | Right | February 1, 2021

A large black man stumbles in, clearly under the influence, and goes straight to the counter where I am.

Customer: “I want a footlong on white bread with everything on it.”

Me: “Uh… like all veggies?”

Customer: “Yes, that, too! Now gimme all the meat and all the cheese!”

Me: “Is this a joke? Y’know it would be very expensive to order every meat and cheese, right?”

The man then slams his fist on the counter, making me jump along with the other customers behind him.

Customer: “I know very well what I want! You calling me stupid?! You racist whore!”

Me: “Sir, calm down. I never said I wouldn’t serve you because of your skin, nor was I rude. I’m just surprised; that’s all.”

I make this man his very large sandwich. It takes a long time to make because I have to cook all the meat and try to make it look as nice as possible. The man is cussing and complaining at me the whole time and whining about his wait.

Me: “All right, sir, this sandwich is extremely messy because I couldn’t close the bun due to how many items are on it.”

I ring him up and his total is over a hundred dollars.

Customer: “Are you kidding me?! I am not paying that much for one sandwich! I got this sandwich before and it was never that much! You racist a**hole!”

He stormed out of the store, screaming and cussing.

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For The World Is Hollow And I Have Touched The Pie, Part 2

, , , , , , | Right | January 30, 2021

I’m one of two concierges at a high-end hotel in Los Angeles, so most of the people I serve tend to be fairly cosmopolitan. A couple in their late fifties from Montana is definitely not. They have been at the hotel for a couple of days already, and my coworker has supplied them with a list of highly-rated restaurants in and around Beverly Hills, and at their request, managed to get them a last-minute table at a VERY celebrated Japanese restaurant last night.

It is afternoon and I see them heading over to the concierge desk, looking extremely upset. The wife is already yelling as she approaches.

Wife: “You’d better get our money back! That d*** restaurant made us pay three hundred dollars for that s*** they dare to call food!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m here to assist you in whatever way I can, but I do request you that lower your voice a little considering we’re in the lobby.”

The wife starts to sputter angrily, but the husband steps in.

Husband: “That restaurant your coworker sent us to did not serve us real food, and we were basically robbed, and I demand that we get that money back.”

Me: “I’m really sorry to hear you did not enjoy the food, sir, but the hotel cannot refund you money that you spent at an establishment not affiliated with us. I can, however, try to get you a comped meal at one of the high-end restaurants that we enjoy a continuing relationship with.”

Wife: “Fine, but it had better be real food.”

Not wanting to cause any further upset, I try to figure out what kind of food would appease them. I figure their complaint is the smaller-than-average serving sizes at high-end restaurants similar to the one they’ve been to, since this tends to be one of customers’ primary issues.

Me: “My apologies, ma’am, I just want to clarify that when you say real food you mean bigger portions?”

Wife: “No! I mean real food. Good American food, not that fruity garbage they fed us last night. This is an American city, for f***’s sake! How could they serve us all of that raw fish and expect us to eat it like we’re f****** [Asian slur]s?!”

Me: *Trying to not react* “Ma’am, I’ll have to ask you to refrain from using such derogatory language, or I will be unable to help you. I apologize if it was not made clear to you that you were requesting a table at a Japanese restaurant. I can book you a table at a restaurant that serves American pub food or a steakhouse, if those seem all right to you.”

Husband: “We shouldn’t have to work so hard to get a good burger, you know? How can people in this city survive on this ethnic s***? It’s not meant for good honest Americans to eat.”

Me: “Again, I’m sorry if your experience last night did not meet your standards. Now, should I reserve a table at the bar tonight for you two?”

Husband: “Yeah, and it had better cost as much as that dump last night. I want my money’s worth.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but this place isn’t as expensive as the Japanese restaurant you went to, and I don’t know if I can even find you a place serving burgers where your meal would cost as much as an eight-course sushi dinner.”

Wife: “This f****** city is full of idiots! [Asian slur]s & idiots! Who values this s*** over good, honest American cooking?! We should never have come here. We can’t even eat!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m gonna ask you to stop using that word and to speak at a much lower volume, or I will have to refuse to help you any further. You might not have liked the food yesterday, but you sat there and ate it and then you paid what that food costs. The hotel does not bear any responsibility for your negative experience there. Moreover, your outburst is disturbing other guests, whose experiences within the hotel we are responsible for. I can get you a reservation at a restaurant tonight, but only if you speak to me and my colleagues politely.”

Wife: “The gall of some people! Fine! Get us a table at an expensive restaurant, that doesn’t serve sushi or whatever. One of those fine-dining places, with real food.”

Me: “I’ll send you a list of places, with menus for each, so you can make sure you like the restaurant you end up going to. Just call the concierge desk once you’ve made your choice and I’ll make the booking.”

At this point, it’s of relevance that I’m of Indian descent, and I look it, while the other concierge is white.

Husband: “Actually, can the other girl make the list? I don’t want you to pick out whatever curry places you go to; we only want American food.”

I’m pretty livid at this point, but before I can react, the wife jumps in.

Wife: “Don’t worry, she came here to escape that place! She probably finds it as stinky as we do! You’ll find us proper food, right?”

I am so gobsmacked that I can’t think.

Me: “Yes, ma’am.”

I still hate myself for how I ended that conversation, but it probably saved my job. I sent the list and the menus up to their room, but they hadn’t called back by the time I left. My coworker told me she had a pretty uneventful encounter with them when she made the booking, and they seemed pretty happy with the place they ended up going to.

For The World Is Hollow And I Have Touched The Pie

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