I was walking back from the grocery store with my wife, a little before 11:00 am. I had four bags with our things we’d just bought, because I always try to carry all our things except for her purse. We were waiting for the red light to cross the street, and when it came the cars stopped.

I stepped onto the street and a guy in a motorcycle sped up, hitting my belly with his mirror and yelling insults about my mother. My blood boiled instantly, but after we crossed the street my wife managed to calm me down. When I got home, there was a big bruise over my stomach where his mirror had hit me.

That night, my wife suggested pizza and we ordered delivery. What a surprise when the guy delivering it was the same guy that had almost run over me earlier! He turned ghost-white when he saw it was me, because I’m sure he remembered what he did. Then, he jumped on his motorcycle and sped away. At least I managed to take a picture of his license plate.

I contacted the restaurant where I ordered and explained exactly what had happened: the incident that morning, and how he ran away and didn’t deliver the pizza. I didn’t know the guy’s name, but I had his plate with me and gave it to the restaurant, and the manager informed me over the phone that they would fix this right away.

Fifteen minutes later, another guy showed up with two pizzas instead of one, saying the second one was on the house. The next night, I called in to thank them for the extra pizza and order another one, and I casually asked about the “Running Man.” The girl who took my order casually said he was fired, saying he had a history of hitting and almost hitting people. Well, Karma rides fast sometimes.

(This is a friend’s story. She works at a store that sells rock-related stuff: T-shirts, accessories, etc. The phone rings.)

Customer: “Do you sell rock stuff?”

Friend: *confused* “Yes. T-shirts, accessories, mugs, pictures, and many other things.”

Customer: “Okay, cool. What about medium-size T-shirts? What do you have?”

Friend: “We have over 200 templates and bands.”

Customer: “Can you take pictures of all of them and send them to me?”

Friend: “Most of our templates are on our Facebook and Instagram accounts; you can take a look there!” *provides names for their FB and IG accounts*

Customer: “Okay, but I’d prefer if you sent the pictures via Whatsapp.”

Friend: “Sir, it’s over two hundred templates, I can’t. If you could come to the store, I’d be happy to help you!”

Customer: “No, girl. I WANT YOU TO SEND ME PICTURES FOR ALL YOUR T-SHIRTS. I’LL BE WAITING ON NUMBER…” *starts saying his mobile number*

Friend: “Sir, I can’t do it. It’ll take too long to send the pictures because…”

Customer: “WHAT KIND OF CUSTOMER SERVICE IS THIS? THIS IS ABSURD!” *hangs up*

(I am in my early 20s but have an invisible disability. It attacks my muscles and, when I’m in a crisis, makes it very hard to do ordinary things, like even standing up for long periods. I am just getting past a flare-up in my disease, and I’m out alone on a bus for the first time in ages, having a really great day. The bus is fairly full when an older lady, late 50s or early 60s, gets in. Since I’m on such a good day, I decide to offer my seat.)

Me: “Here, ma’am, you can have my seat.”

Lady: *rudely* “I should hope so. You young people have no business even standing on a bus, much less sitting. You should be walking or at least using a bike! Lazy! You’re all lazy!”

(I was gathering my things to stand, but as she begins to rant, I sit right back down.)

Lady: “What are you doing? Why aren’t you standing?”

Me: “Well, ma’am, you clearly would rather complain than sit down, so I’m giving you more reasons to do that.”

Lady: “That’s outrageous! You owe me respect! What kind of parents did you have that they didn’t teach you to respect your elders?”

Me: “Pretty good ones; they taught me to stand up for myself. And that means no bus seats for people who insult me. So, you can stand, instead, and keep complaining!”

(After complaining some more, and trying to cause a scene, she appealed to the bus driver. But since I had a disabled pass, meaning I can sit on even reserved seats, there was nothing he could do. And since everyone around heard what the woman was spouting, nobody else offered her a seat. I continued having an even better day, having hopefully taught someone to keep their mouth shut!)

(I get a cold transfer, which means the other rep didn’t talk to me before transfering the client)

– [Company], [Name], good morning.
– Good morning.
– How may I help you?
– I was waiting for the answer from the other rep.
– Well, ma’am, I’ve just gotten your call. I dont know about it. What can I help you with?
– *silence*
– Ma’am?
– I guess I’m just gonna call you later. *in an angry tone*
– You doesn’t have to. Just let me know what you need and I’ll be happy to help you.
– *click*

(In Brazil, voting is mandatory by law. We may annul our votes, but we need to be physically present at our designated voting center or have a good reason not to be. Otherwise, we pay a fee and there might be some legal repercussions. In the last election weekend, I was in Canada for work, and only took the plane back Sunday. I go to justify missing the election.)

Me: “Hi. I need to justify missing the last election, as I was traveling. Here’s my documentation.”

Clerk: “This says you left your trip at 10:00 am. You still had plenty of time to come and vote. This justifies nothing.”

Me: “Perhaps you’re not aware, but it’s a twelve-hour flight from where I was, so I arrived in Brazil after the voting was already over.”

Clerk: *condescendingly* “Then you should have planned your little trip better, shouldn’t you?”

Me: “Can you just please put the documents through? I’m sure if…”

Clerk: “That’s not my problem! I’m not submitting a justification that doesn’t even cover the election times, just because you think you’re special and can break the law.”

Me: “Can I speak to a supervisor?”

(She calls one, mumbling about stupid, entitled people. I explain to the supervisor.)

Supervisor: “She’s very right. It’s not our job to fudge a justification so you can get off easy.”

Me: *now totally perplexed* “But it’s not fudging! I wasn’t in the country!”

Supervisor: “We’re not doing this. You’d better go now before I call security.”

(I left, very irritated and confused, and tried again at a different center a couple of days later. Believe it or not, I had almost the exact same conversation at the other center! My company decided to pay the fee for me, figuring it was better than to keep having me miss work to deal with it, or have any legal hassle later. I tried complaining up the government chain, but the sad thing is that these are all public servants, and for them to get even a write-up it needs to be an offense you could pretty much get arrested over, so nothing came of it.)