(This story takes place when I am 10. I’m at a fast food restaurant with my grandfather. He has hearing problems and a speech impediment, so I go with him to order.)

Me: “Hi, can we get a cheeseburger meal with a—”

Cashier: “No.”

Me: “…No?”

Cashier: “I don’t have to listen to you. I only talk to adults.” *to my grandfather* “What can I get for you, sir?”

(My grandfather points to his hearing aid, shakes his head, and gestures to me.)

Me: “My grandfather has trouble hearing, so I’ll be helping.”

Cashier: “Fiiiiiine. What do YOU want then?”

Me: “We need one cheeseburger meal with a coffee, two #5 meals, one with [Soda] and one with iced tea, and a chicken nugget meal with iced tea.”

Cashier: *to my grandfather* “That will be [price].”

(As expected my grandfather couldn’t hear what she said, so he looks at me.)

Me: “She said it’ll be [price].”

Cashier: “I bet he can hear fine. You just want attention!”

(At this point, my 10-year-old self has taken as much as I can handle and I snap back.)

Me: “Unless you want me to speak to your manager, take the money, give us the food, and shut up.”

Cashier: “You can’t talk to me that way! You’re a little girl and I’m a grown-up!”

Me: “You’re being very rude and childish for a grown-up.”

(The cashier reluctantly enters our order. We finally get our food but realize there are multiple mistakes in the order. I go back to the counter with the receipt and the incorrect food.)

Me: “There were a couple mistakes with our order. I ordered two chicken burgers and one cheeseburger, but we got two cheeseburgers and one chicken burger. We’re also missing one thing of fries, and this chicken burger doesn’t have sauce on it.”

Cashier: “Not my problem. I don’t make the food.”

Me: “Can you please ask the kitchen to fix it, then?”

Cashier: “Sure, if it’ll make you shut up!”

(After finally correcting all of this I return to the table but realize I don’t have a drink.)

Me: “I paid for a drink and I didn’t get one. That is your problem since you are the one who poured the drinks. ”

Cashier: “You don’t have to be rude about it!”

Me: “Why should I be nice to you? You haven’t been nice to me at all.”

Cashier: *mock politeness* “SORRY ABOUT THE MISTAKE.”

(As I take the drink and turn to go…)

Cashier: “Stupid ungrateful little b****!”

(I spin around and glare.)

Me: “Manager. NOW!”

Cashier: “I don’t have to let you talk to my manager. You’re just a stupid kid!”

(I am angry beyond belief, but also starving. I flip the cashier off and go back to my grandparents. When we get home I tell my mother what happened. She takes me back to the restaurant and demands to speak with the manager.)

Mum: *to the manager* “My father was here earlier with my children. One of your cashiers insulted both him and my daughter… ”

(The manager takes us into his office, where I tell him what happened. Afterwards, the manager calls the cashier into the office.)

Cashier: *sees me* “You again! Why can’t you just get lost?”

Manager: “This young lady has told me about an incident that happened earlier. Would you like to explain it?”

Cashier: “She’s a stupid f***ing selfish little brat! She’s just mad because I didn’t let her do whatever she wanted!”

(I won’t type out what the manager said to that, only that he fired the cashier on the spot. From what he told us, she’d been written up before for insulting and yelling at children, and may have threatened to hit a customer’s son.)

(I’m teaching a class of seven kids between the ages of seven and thirteen who are all brand new skiers. The oldest kid has refused to listen to me and is interrupting me while I’m trying to explain to the other kids how to do the exercise. This happens at the top of a hill, where there are two other classes as well as the lift attendant.)

Me: “Okay, so for this run, we’re going to play a game called ‘Red Light, Green Light’—”

Student: “That’s a baby game! I’m not playing that!”

Me: “Jack, it’s going to be more difficult because we’re on a steeper slope this time.”

Student: “Well, I’m not going to do it! Screw you! I don’t need f****** ski lessons!”

(The student takes off down the hill, ignoring me shouting at him to stop and wait. He crashes into a kid from one of the younger classes, who falls and starts crying. He ignores him and continues recklessly down the hill.)

Other Instructor: “Did he just take off?”

Me: *frustrated* “Yes.”

Lift Attendant: “I’ll radio down and ask them to keep him there until you get to the bottom of the hill.”

Me: “Thanks.”

(We start heading down the hill and we find my student standing with his mother, who is yelling at a Ski Patroller and my supervisor.)

Mother: “She should be fired!” *pointing at me* “She let my baby ski off on his own!”

Ski Patroller: “Ma’am, from what the attendant at the top has told us, your son refused to listen to the instructor, and also injured another student on his way down.”

Mother: “He would never do that! She just can’t teach; I want her fired! She can’t be trusted with the safety of other people’s children!”

Supervisor: “Well, she’s been teaching here for five years, and we’ve never had a problem before. If you remember, I spoke with you yesterday about your son’s refusal to participate and follow instructions, as well as the rude language he was using around the younger students in the class.” *waves me over* “Can you please explain what happened at the top of the hill?”

Me: *explains what happened*

Supervisor: *to me* “Good work. I’m sorry you had to deal with this.” *turns to the mother* “Either you teach your son some manners, or you teach him to ski yourself. I’m not putting my employees through this; they’re all good workers and they deserve to be treated better.”

Mother: *embarassed* “Well, we’ll just go to [other ski hill]; they know how to teach kids how to ski!”

(She storms off, pulling her son behind her who is struggling to get away from her.)

Ski Patroller: “I think I’ll give my buddy over at [other ski hill] a heads up about those two; they’re f****** dangerous.”

(Later, I received a huge thank you and a bonus for not snapping at the mother or the student.)

(I work in the toy department of a fairly large bookstore. For the past few weeks, we’ve been finding empty boxes of large Lego kits tucked away on the shelves. I notice a woman crouched down behind a display in the back corner, a large backpack at her feet, and a Lego box in her hands that she’s trying to open.)

Me: “Hi there! Are you finding everything all right today?”

Woman: “Oh, uh, yeah.”

(The woman shuffles to her feet and I start “tidying up” a nearby display. She puts the box of Legos down and grabs her backpack. She wanders off to the teen section, and I keep a discreet eye on her as she grabs a book and sits down to read. I find my manager and tell him what happened. He approaches the customer, who is still reading.)

Manager: “Hey there, I hear you like Legos.”

Woman: “Uh…?”

Manager: “My kid really likes Legos, too. But he’s really disappointed when he opens the box and the pieces are all missing.”

Woman: “Um…”

Manager: “So, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to leave my store and not come back. If you do, I’ll have to call the police.”

(The woman left the store, still flustered. We never saw her again. Mysteriously, the Legos stopped disappearing, too.)

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(My three-year-old daughter has decided that I have to give her a pedicure. She wants to use the Crackle nail polish, which she, unfortunately, calls “crack.”)

Daughter: “I want some crack.”

Me: “I don’t have any crack left.”

Daughter: “But I want the crack.”

Me: “I promise as soon as I get some crack, you can have it.”

(Pauses.)

Me: “This is a terrible conversation.”

This story is part of our Nail Salon roundup!

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(I am a female woodworking student, shopping for a specific kind of saw in a hardware store. There’s only one on the shelf, so I grab it and start to move towards the register.)

Customer: “You can’t have this saw.”

Me: “And why not?”

Customer: “Because I need it!”

Me: “Well, I’m sorry about that, but I picked it up first when you weren’t even near it. They’ll probably order some soon.”

Customer: “Give it to me. I really need it.”

Me: “As much as I do. I’m sorry, sir, but it’s mine.”

Customer: “I clearly need it more than you; you’re a woman! You can’t have any use for a saw!”

Me: “I’m doing woodworking and I need this saw for an order a client placed with me. I am not going to give it to you and delay my client’s order.”

Customer: *sheepishly* “Oh, I’m sorry, I couldn’t know… If I knew you were a woodworker, I wouldn’t have said that.”

Me: “You shouldn’t make sexist comments like that, regardless of what field I work. Every woman is allowed to buy a saw… not only woodworkers.”