(I decide to drop some bottles off for the refund on my way to work. At this particular supermarket, you turn the bottles in at the customer service desk. If no one is there, you are supposed to leave the bottles in a tray on the counter and apply at a till for your refund. I do so, pick up a drink, and go up to a till.)

Me: “Just this pop, and I brought in eighteen small bottles.”

(The cashier rings me up, but she’s frowning in the direction of the Customer Service desk, where one of her coworkers is helping a man with his bottles.)

Cashier: “Did you leave your bottles on top the counter?”

Me: “Yes, they’re all diet Coke bottles.”

Cashier: “Hey, [Coworker]! Those bottles aren’t all his.”

(Apparently, the guy was going to cheerfully stand there while she paid him for my returns as well as his and not say a word. I guess you can’t blame a guy for trying.)

(Apart from my main job, I started a minor side gig a few years ago of fixing women’s computers. I am a woman who, with my innate understanding of computers, started helping female relatives and friends, with their home computer issues. I then went to my local college to take night classes and got my IT certification. After that, I could start doing house calls for women whom I was referred to, and have it be a real business with my certificate. I charge very little because it is only my side job and I enjoy doing it. I like getting to hang out with women as I fix their computers and it is, for the most part, quite enjoyable. But it’s women only, 100%. I will never touch a man’s computer, so I get a few miffed callers after I tell them my rule, but this one takes the cake. I get a male caller:)

Caller: “Hi there. I got your name from [Family Friend]. Can you please come over and have a look at my computer?”

Me: “Sorry. Is this your wife’s or sister’s or girlfriend’s computer?”

Caller: “No, it’s mine.”

Me: “Sorry. I don’t fix men’s computers.”

Caller: “What?! That’s ridiculous! Why not?”

Me: “You have enough people to choose from to fix your computer. I only help women.”

Caller: “Look. I’ll bring it to you.”

Me: “It doesn’t matter where it is; it matters that it’s not a woman’s.”

Caller: “I… What? That doesn’t make any sense. I’m a paying customer. You have to fix my computer, too!”

Me: “There are hundreds of techs that can fix your computer. I offer my services only to women as I find they feel more comfortable having a woman come to their house.”

Caller: “I would prefer that, too!”

Me: “I don’t care. I don’t work on men’s computers, ever. Please call [Big Store Computer Repair Services] or something. There are literally hundreds of other options besides me!”

Caller: “That’s sexist. I’ll sue you.”

Me: “Oh, okay, then. I’ll come and fix your computer.”

Caller: “What? Really?”

Me: “Yeah. If you want me on your computer after you threatened me, I’ll be right over.”

Caller: “Um…” *click*

(Typically, we ask guests to call in advance with large orders so we have more time to prepare their order. In the drive-thru:)

Customer: “I’ll have twenty-four large iced capps, six dozen donuts, two dozen muffins, and a hundred-and-fifty timbits.”

Coworker: *somewhat speechless* “Okay, we’ll have your total at the window.”

(By this point, we’re all running around frantically trying to make their order so our drive-thru times are not completely destroyed. They’ve been at the window not even two minutes.)

Customer: “Holy s***! Could you hurry up a bit so I don’t run out of gas waiting here?!”

(I sell bets on horses in the restaurant at my local casino. On race nights, minors are allowed in the dining room via the family entrance. We card many people just to be sure that they are old enough to wager on the horses because anyone can get in. I look very young for my age and often use this as a joke when I card people who appear to be the same age as me. I just finished serving a table who had some kids with them.)

Me: “Any other bets?”

Kid: *no older than eleven* “Can I bet?”

Me: “Sorry, but you have to be nineteen to bet.”

Kid: *smugly* “But what if I am nineteen?”

Me: “Then you’d need ID to prove it. Sorry, bud, but if I look like I’m twelve, you’re at least seven.”

(I was bullied terribly through all of public school and high school. I was short, got glasses at a young age, and was raised very religious. My particular faith was not common where I grew up. Bullies liked to pick on this, but often didn’t know enough about my faith to be accurate. This story is one particularly bad and ignorant example. Although I am not Muslim, some students take to calling me “Muslim” as some kind of derogatory nickname. I finally get the courage to discuss the problem with my teacher, who agrees to sit down with me and the two worst bullies. For context, we are all male, and this is eighth grade.)

Me: “They won’t stop calling me names. They call me ‘Muslim’ as if it’s my name.”

Teacher: “What do you mean? Are you a Muslim?”

Me: “No. But they keep saying things like, ‘I don’t want to work with Muslim,’ or, ‘Don’t let Muslim talk to us.’”

Teacher: *to other students* “Why would you call him that?”

Student #1: *making up a desperate excuse* “We thought he really was a Muslim.”

Student #2: *playing along* “Yeah, we thought he was one, so how can it be bad?”

Me: “I told you both repeatedly that I am not, and you’re using it as an insult, and to exclude me.”

(There are a few minutes of he-said-she-said.)

Teacher: “Okay, [Student #1] and [Student #2], stop calling him that from now on. You can all go now.”

(The other students run out of the office quickly, but I stay behind a moment.)

Me: *verge of tears* “So, that’s it? Months of teasing, and you’re not going to do anything.”

Teacher: “Well… they thought you were a Muslim, so…”

Me: “Shouldn’t that actually make it worse?”

(The next day, my teacher is talking to another teacher as I pass by in the hallway. I know that [Teacher #2]’s husband is the same faith that I am. I say this as I walk by:)

Me: *to [Teacher #2]* “Out of the way, Muslim!”

Teacher #2: “How dare you?! That’s the rudest thing I’ve ever heard! Principal’s office, now!”

Me: “It’s okay. I thought you were really a Muslim—“ *locks eyes with my teacher* “—so that makes it okay, right, [Teacher]?”

(My teacher looked super embarrassed as I completely walked away, but from then on, [Teacher #2] would give me knowing looks, and she defended me from bullies the rest of the year. She must have asked my teacher what I meant. I can only imagine that conversation.)