I am visiting Texas and staying at a nice hotel. I’m brown and I’m an IT executive.

I order takeout from a local BBQ place, and I am going back to my hotel with my food in a large paper bag with the name of the restaurant written in large letters on the side.

There is a group of people outside the hotel, and as I approach the hotel entrance, this woman rushes over and grabs my bag of food. I yank it back.

Woman: “I’ve been waiting for this!”

It hits me that she thinks I’m her food delivery driver here with her food.

Me: *Politely* “I’m not your delivery driver, ma’am.”

Woman: *Looking confused* “Are sure? You look like one.”

At this point, I just want her to let go of my bag. A few of her guy friends come over and tell me to stop giving her a hard time and to hand over her food. I spell it out for them.

Me: “I am not your food delivery driver. This is my food. I’m a guest at this hotel.”

I yank the bag away from her, and as I enter the hotel, I see her pulling out her phone.

Woman: “I’m calling [Delivery Service] and telling them what an a**hole you are… and I want my money back!”

Go right ahead, lady. Go right ahead.

In hindsight, I was actually not upset over the whole thing but simply amused by it. Sometimes, you just have to laugh your way through an uncomfortable situation.

I have a minor deformation of my jaw. Although it sticks out to me like a huge sign every time I see a mirror or picture, in reality, it’s a very, very minor thing. Consequences are purely cosmetic. There are people living with much worse deformations that cause them real health dangers and even pain. I’ve just got a slightly prominent chin. Mostly, I pretend it’s not even there.

I’m at work, about a half-hour before I clock out, and it’s been a pretty decent day all in all. Then, along comes a rude couple.

The husband is a typical business jerk: he thinks he shouldn’t have to wait in line, demands attention immediately, thinks his job is the most important and can’t wait, etc.

But it is his wife that gets to me.

Entitled Wife: “Well, why don’t you sell this resume paper in five-sheet packs? We only need five sheets! We don’t need fifty! You should sell five-sheet packs; that’s what we need!”

After her husband walks off to get something, she sidles over to me, and in a hushed voice, she says:

Entitled Wife: “May I ask you a question?”

Me: “Okay?”

Entitled Wife: *Moves up closer* “Well… I say this, you see, because my husband is a doctor, and my son was born with the same…” *does a sort of weird grimace and gestures to her chin* “…condition as you, and I was wondering, have you seen a specialist about it?”

I give her a “WTF?!” expression, and I respond after a moment of stunned silence.

Me: “Yes?”

I mean an orthodontist, who admittedly probably did quite a bit to tone down my deformation with some clever teeth-moving. I’ve never seen a plastic surgeon because of a lack of money.

Entitled Wife: *Peering at me over her glasses* “And…?”

Me: *Stammering* “And… and I’m fine?”

Honestly, I am getting angry now that the shock is over.

Entitled Wife: “Oh… Okay. You’re sure?”

Me: *Disgusted half-laughter of WTF-ness* “Yes. I’m sure.”

Entitled Wife: *Sympathetic gaze* “Because you know, some people with this condition aren’t aware. It might seem rough, but there is a solution for these problems.”

Me: *Through my teeth* “I’m fine. Really.”

Entitled Wife: *With a brittle smile* “Well… okay.”

And she drifts away.

Lady, what the f*** is wrong with you?! It’s bad enough to go up to a total stranger and ask if they’ve bothered to see a professional about their ugly face, but to then follow up with wanting to know what the doctor said?! That’s none of your business! And her fake-motherly-concern nonsense just made me angrier. Don’t go trying to pretend like your cattiness is some kind of concern.

I was seething. Thank the gods I got to go home then. (My poor coworker had to take over helping them.) My boss was practically shaking with rage when she came to see if I was okay and told me not to let them get to me.

My coworker hugged me and shouted, “YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL!” loud enough for the woman to definitely hear.

When I was in college, I got a job at an upscale restaurant in a touristy area, working in the kitchen. It wasn’t a bad job, but the whole thing was overshadowed by this one supervisor.

[Supervisor] was young and funny, and at first, we all loved him. His one flaw was his “weather checks”. He would tell someone he was going to check the weather, and we knew that was code for, “I’m going to get in my car and drive off the property to smoke,” as smoking wasn’t allowed on the restaurant’s lot. So, he’d vanish for twenty minutes or so. No big deal.

But the longer [Supervisor] worked there, the less effort he put into being likable, and the more some of his less stellar qualities started showing through. He would bully someone into a crying breakdown and then them take into the walk-in cooler (which was more or less soundproof) for scoldings disguised as concerned heart-to-heart discussions. Girls who worked the grills would get “accidentally” groped. And we all started to realize that whenever there was work to be done, [Supervisor] would mysteriously disappear. The weather would suddenly need to be “checked” for forty minutes to an hour, and by the time he got back? Oh, darn! Looks like all the breakdown and cleaning is already done. Good job, guys. See you tomorrow.

He also shouted, “Ándale, ándale!” a lot, which wasn’t a fault, but it was super annoying, especially with the over-the-top (read: racist) Speedy Gonzales accent he would use.

Now, honestly, we should have reported him. The restaurant was part of a larger tourist attraction, and we had great Human Resources and a good set of policies for dealing with this sort of thing. But most of us were college kids who had no idea of our rights and were afraid of losing our jobs, so [Supervisor] was allowed to reign unchallenged.

Fortunately, I’d lined up another job and knew I was getting out. That last week was glorious in the way only a soon-to-be-quit job can be, and in my newfound attitude of “don’t give a flying fig”, I decided not to put up with [Supervisor] and his antics. Most of it just earned me confused looks… until my last day.

[Supervisor] came up behind me while I was chopping carrots and started yelling about a salad that had been delivered to the wrong table and now needed to be replaced.

Supervisor: “Where’s that salad? It should have been out ten minutes ago! Ándale, ándale! Make my salads! Make my salads!”

I had finally had enough, but I was feeling giddy with the coming freedom at the end of my shift.

Me: “[Supervisor].”

Supervisor: *Slightly thrown off his groove* “…Yeah?”

I took the giant chef’s knife I’d been using and thunked it flat on the counter between the two of us with the biggest, brightest grin I could muster, looked him dead in the eye, and addressed him without breaking eye contact.

Me: “They’re not. Your. Salads.”

And oh! How I wish one of us had stood up to him sooner! Because somehow, just that tiny dash of freedom-coming-soon crazy was enough to entirely deflate his bubble of bullying, and he shut down INSTANTLY. He wouldn’t meet my eye, backed off, went out to check the weather, and didn’t come back for an hour. Absolute pushover to the smallest of resistances.

I had friends who continued working there after I left, and once the story got around a little bit, they all took the same tack with him: big scary grin, don’t break eye contact, maaaaaaybe make sure he notices that there’s a whole rack of knives behind you. Suddenly, there were no more screaming sessions, no more random accusations, and no more weird walk-in-cooler sessions. Things were WAY better… until he finally got fired for getting too handsy with a minor employee who knew her rights and reported him.

I tell this story to the college kids I work with now to illustrate this point: Know. Your. Rights. We never should have had to resort to playing mind games to get a boss to not bully us. Do not put up with someone groping you in the workplace, do not put up with quiet threats, and do not put up with inappropriate comments, especially not from a supervisor. Report their a**es, and if you have to, try to find another job.

And if all else fails… the crazy-eyes technique seems to work fairly well, too.

Around twenty years ago, I had a full-time job that I loved, but I wasn’t what I would call “flush” (pun intended) with spare cash for home maintenance, so I worked weekends as a cashier at a large home improvement store. This was not the first home improvement store I had worked in nor was it the last. As a single woman homeowner without the funds to hire a handyperson, I also had a pretty good understanding of what most of the items in the store did.

I had a male coworker who very much behaved as if he knew everything that was required and didn’t seem to have much appreciation for the knowledge of women — and me in particular since I only worked (to him) part-time.

One day, a gentleman came in holding an item that looked pretty familiar to me, and [Coworker] went to assist him. I watched the interaction from my register and got curious when the coworker started walking to the right with the customer when the plumbing section was to the left.

Coworker: “Of course, sir. What you are looking for is right over here in the ventilation section.”

Me: *To the customer* “Excuse me, sir, but is that a toilet flange you are holding?”

Customer: “Yes, it is.”

Me: “Okay, then you need to go left about three aisles down. Replacement flanges are about halfway down the aisle on your right.”

Customer: “Thanks.”

[Coworker] just stared at me for a few seconds, shook his head, and trailed after the customer. Thankfully, it was the last day I had to work with that coworker.

An elderly gentleman came into our store. He could barely walk with his cane, and his legs trembled so much that two employees converged behind him in order to catch them in case he keeled over backward. I knew at a glance that he was not able to follow me to any book section, even if I walked slowly and offered my arm to hang onto.

Either he didn’t have loved ones to pick it up for him, or else he was determined to hang on to that last thread of independence left to him, regardless of the pain and exhaustion.

Thankfully, everything aligned perfectly. He knew the title and the author of the book he wanted, AND we had it in stock. One coworker appeared out of the café with a chair as soon as the elderly gentleman tottered his way to the information desk. As the grateful elderly gentleman sat down, I went on my mission to look for and retrieve the book he wanted.

I had the information written on a piece of scrap paper and I was heading to the section when a rude regular stepped directly into my path, bodily blocking my progress.

The rude regular was a fit-looking man and could even be called handsome, but everyone hated him. This was a guy who was a complete and utter jerk to female employees because he viewed women as “the weaker gender.” This was not a secret or even an assumption; he had openly said those words, along with a number of opinions about a “woman’s place” (don’t ask where that place is, as it is too vulgar to share here) and used his height and build to intimidate female customers and employees alike. 

Management had been spineless as far as banning him, though they had begrudgingly “allowed” us to refuse him service, mostly because the female staff told them that by law they were allowed to and management feared the tangle that would happen if they tried to prevent it.

Rude Regular: “I’m looking for [Book].”

Me: “It’s in the Psychology section, which is right over there.” *Gestures*

Rude Regular: *Raising his voice a little bit* “Aren’t you going to help me find it?”

Me: “I’m actually helping another customer at the moment, but I’ll be happy to help you as soon as I’ve finished with him.”

I tried to walk around him and he sidestepped to block my path again, his voice dropping to a threatening growl.

Rude Regular: “Maybe you didn’t hear me. I need help finding [Book].”

Me: “Maybe you didn’t hear me, sir. I’m helping that gentleman over there.”

I gestured to the elderly man, who was slightly slumped over his cane in the chair but still managed to carry on a friendly and animated conversation with a male supervisor.

Me: “If, however, you are in a rush, the information desk is about ten feet behind me and you can get some help there.”

The rude regular looked at the elderly gentleman, sized him up, sniffed disdainfully, and planted himself squarely in front of me.

Rude Regular: “I’m not interested in walking that far. I’m talking to you, and I expect to get the service that I deserve.”

I gave him my most oily, nasty smile.

Me: “Certainly, sir. I will give you the service you so richly deserve.”

Rude Regular: *Relaxed, with a superior, smug sneer* “That’s better.”

And with that, I darted around him before he could react and went straight to the section. The rude regular stood there with an expression of profound shock on his face.

I retrieved the best-looking copy of the book I was searching for and carried it back to the elderly gentleman, refusing to even glance in the rude regular’s direction.

That was the right book, and he was very happy to have it. It was at the time of day when there was no line at the registers, so he was rung up right away. He politely declined further assistance and tottered out the door.

Of course, the rude regular wouldn’t let it go, and he chose, of all people, the male supervisor to complain to. [Supervisor] flicked me a reassuring glance and then turned an expressionless, dead-inside expression to the rude regular.

Supervisor: “While, yes, I agree that it is our job to assist customers, [My Name] was currently helping someone. If you really felt that you needed help finding a book, you should have asked someone who was not already busy.”

The rude regular flinched but continued to bluster.

Rude Regular: “But… but she was rude to me! She needs to be taught some manners! I demand that you reprimand her right now!”

Supervisor: “I heard her. She was polite the first two times that you rudely demanded assistance, after which, apparently, she simply decided to exercise her right to refuse service to you and continue doing her job.”

Rude Regular: “She doesn’t have the right to refuse me service! Her job is to serve me!”

Supervisor: *Putting on his most intimidating FBI stare* “Actually, she does have that right, and I will advise you to stop harassing employees.”

Rude Regular: *Squirming a bit* “If she doesn’t want to be harassed, then she should do what she is told! Come on, you’re a man! You should know how women these days—”

Supervisor: “Don’t you even pull me into your trash club. You need to leave before I call the police and have you removed.”

He whined and then left.

Supervisor: *To me* “Good lord, I wish I had the authority to ban that jacka**.”

After that, I would occasionally see the rude regular slinking around from time to time until I left the store. Management still refused to ban him, but after being taken down a peg by a fellow man, he went from openly being a slime bag to just a sulky mumbler, so it WAS a bit of an improvement.