(I’m a female in my mid-twenties, and have just started a new job. One of the upper managers, who is in his early sixties, has come over to my desk to introduce himself. Somehow we get on the subject of football. I’ve been watching football with my dad since I was ten.)

Manager: “You watch football?”

Me: “Yep! My favorite team is [Hometown Team].”

Manager: “So, if you know football, tell me about [My Team’s Quarterback]. What do you think of him?”

(This happened several times at my previous job; guys don’t believe that a girl can like football. I feel an evil grin spread across my face.)

Me: “Well, I think he should stop throwing to [Wide Receiver] in triple coverage. That’s just asking for an interception! We’ve got so many great wide receivers, and he never uses them. Maybe his judgement has been clouded by the number of hits he’s taken. I guess that’s not his fault. The offensive line gets overrun by opposing defenses on every play. But I don’t want to talk about our offensive line. It’s the worst.”

(The manager is staring at me, open-mouthed.)

Manager: “Um, hmm. I, uh, don’t actually know that much about football. So, I guess I can’t comment.” *walks away*

(I told my dad the story a couple days later. He got a good laugh out of it.)

(I have worked at this restaurant since it opened. It is a mom-and-pop-style place, not a chain, and therefore we have some items not commonly seen. A gentleman and his wife come in for dinner and peruse the menu for a while, then call me over.)

Me: “Do you have any questions, or are you all decided?”

Woman: “I’ll have the fish and chips.”

Man: “I’m curious about this pork chop dinner. Apples and blueberries?”

Me: “Yes! It’s actually quite delicious. It is a bone-in chop, 1.5 inches thick, and is stuffed with apples coated in a cinnamon glaze. Once cooked, we top it with a house-made blueberry sauce.”

Man: “Hmm. Sounds interesting, but pretty weird. I’m not sure if I’d spend $30 on it.”

Me: “Well, sir, if you’d like to try it, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. If you don’t, I’ll comp the dish for you and get you another meal! I’m positive you’ll love it.”

Man: “Can’t say no to that deal! Sure, I’ll take one.”

(The couple eat their food and rave non-stop. They become regulars, and the man has the pork chop once a week for the next four months! I tell my manager about this, and he scoffs.)

Boss: “Yeah, who cares. Don’t be giving food away; that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

(Some months later, a woman comes in from out of town for a bite to eat on her road trip. She’s scanning the menu.)

Woman: “I can’t seem to find anything I think I’d like… Can you do the pork chop without the apples and blueberries?”

Me: “Well, our chef prepares the chops fresh every morning once they’re delivered, so, unfortunately, all the chops are stuffed already. I can hold the blueberry sauce, though!”

Woman: “I’m just not sure I’d like that.”

Me: “Well, if you—”

Boss: “Let me tell you a story! When we first opened…”

(He rattles off my entire story about the previously mentioned couple, then finishes with:)

Boss: “—and so I told him I’d pay for his entire bill if he didn’t like it! I do that with all my customers and haven’t ever had to yet. That’s why people love this place so much; my service is always above and beyond. I’ll get your bill for you if you aren’t satisfied.”

(I’m standing there this entire time, absolutely flabbergasted and appalled at what I just heard.)

Woman: “Sure, I’ll have one. With the sauce! Also a glass of [Expensive Top-Shelf Red Wine] with it, and [Top-Shelf Cocktail] for now.”

(Her food arrives and she takes a bite, immediately spitting it out and letting out an, “EEEUGH!”)

Boss: “What’s wrong?”

Woman: “I didn’t know this had cinnamon in it; I hate cinnamon… I’ll just go to [Fast Food Joint] across the road… Blegh!”

(She started to leave, when my boss stopped and asked her to pay for her drinks. She reminded him of what he had said, and looked confused. He had no choice but to let her know it was covered… out of his own pocket! Karma bites!)

(I work at a care home. It is my day off when I get a phone call from my manager:)

Manager: “You’re an hour and a half late for work.”

Me: “It’s my day off.”

Manager: “No, it’s not. We switched it with tomorrow. We changed it on the rota in the staff room; didn’t you look?”

Me: “I checked the rota before I left yesterday; it hadn’t changed.”

Manager: “No, we changed it. We changed the rota at nine pm yesterday. You should have known, and now we’ve not been able to cover some of your clients, so people are still in bed; you need to be here to get them up.”

Me: “I left at eight; why did no one ring me earlier if that’s the case?”

Manager: “Erm…” *long pause* “Say, do you think you could do us a huge favour and come into work right now? We’ll give you tomorrow off, instead.”

(I am working in a department store around the holidays. In the days leading to Christmas, we are slammed with customers every day. Although my name is uncommon, I somehow end up working with two other girls who have the same name. I work registers, one works stock in the back, and another is a shift manager, and we all look very different from each other. I’m checking out customers when my coworker tugs my shoulder.)

Coworker: “Hey, can you help me with something?”

Me: “Sure, what’s up?”

Coworker: *gestures towards customers in front of her* “Can you explain the return policy to them?”

Me: “Why? You’ve been here longer than me.”

Coworker: “But I don’t speak Spanish.”

(I’m Native American, so it’s a pet peeve of mine when people assume I’m Mexican because it leads to other insults. So, naturally, I get offended.)

Me: “And what? Because I have dark skin, I must speak Spanish?”

Coworker: “What? No!” [Store Manager]—” *who is not working that day* “—told me you spoke Spanish.”

Me: “No. I don’t. Are you sure you have the right [My Name]?”

Coworker: “Hmm.” *speaks into walkie* “Hey, [Assistant Manager], which [My Name] speaks Spanish?”

Assistant Manager: “Uh… Honestly, I don’t know. Page [My Name #2] up. She’s on the floor right now.”

(We page [My Name #2] to come to the register.)

My Name #2: “What’s up?”

Coworker: “Do you speak Spanish?”

My Name #2: “No. Why? Who told you that?”

(It turns out that the store manager told the other managers that [My Name] could speak Spanish, but failed to mention which of the three could. Of course, it ended up being the one who worked stock in the back and didn’t have a walkie.)

(I am arranging a training course for several managers at my office. One manager has asked about the facilities. I reply to her email after a brief call with the venue. About an hour later, I am called into the senior manager’s office. Said manager is also there, and she looks to be furious.)

Senior Manager: “I have had a serious accusation from [Manager] that you referred to her in a way that she believes to be homophobic.”

Me: “Oh?”

Senior Manager: “Yes. I won’t repeat it here out of respect to—”

Manager: “BULLS*** LESBIAN! That’s what you called me. I always knew you were a bigot.” *to Senior Manager* “I want his a**e out of here, immediately!”

Me: “I have never referred to you by that. I don’t know if you know, but I’m gay myself.”

Manager: “Oh, a [lesbian slur]-hating [gay slur]. Just typical!”

Senior Manager: “Okay, let’s just calm down for second. When did he call you this?”

Manager: “On his email!”

(She hands a piece of paper to him and glares at me. The senior manager reads it quietly.)

Senior Manager: “Um, [Manager], BSL stands for British Sign Language.”

Manager: “What? That doesn’t even make any sense.”

Senior Manager: *quoting* “’…and the venue also offers BSL interpreters.’ What part of that was meant to suggest ‘BSL’ stands for ‘bulls*** lesbian’?”

Manager: “I… I guess I didn’t read the email.”

Senior Manager: “So, I take it the confusion regarding homophobia has cleared?”

(She nods.)

Me: “Well, not exactly.”

(I then spoke about her referring to me as a “[lesbian slur]-hating [gay slur],” to which she said I was overreacting and stormed out of the office. Yes, I’m overreacting when you called me a “[lesbian slur]-hating [gay slur],” but when I used an acronym that you misunderstood, it was perfectly justified. In the end, she was threatened with dismissal unless she issued a formal apology. I’m still waiting on it, but she’s on unpaid leave until it is received.)