(I’m sitting in the back seat as a kid test drives a car, deciding if it would be a good fit for him while he’s at college. His mother is in the passenger seat.)

Mother: “So, this car only has 6,000 miles on it?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am.”

Mother: “That seems low for a three-year-old car.”

Me: “I wasn’t here when they took this in trade, so I don’t know its story, but it is pretty low. That’s what makes it such a bargain!”

Mother: “How do we know the odometer hasn’t rolled over once?”

Me: “Um, it’s a six-digit odometer, ma’am.”

Mother: “So?! What does that have to do with anything?”

Kid: “Mom! Someone would have to drive it over a million miles!”

Me: *jokingly* “And if it’s got 1,006,000 miles on it and still running, you know it’s reliable at least!”

(They didn’t buy the car.)

(While we are shopping for a used car, my husband hears me range from humor to anger about the chauvinistic salesmen talking down to me. At one dealership, the salesman pops the hood and goes into a detailed discussion of the engine with my husband. He then pulls me to the passenger side to discuss the vanity mirror, cup holder, and car color. The salesman then hands my husband the keys for a test ride. His mouth falls open when hubby gives me the keys and gets in the passenger seat. He is actually pacing outside when we return. He runs over to us.)

Salesman: “How did she handle?”

Me: “We’re not buying it. It needs a new transmission, the steering pulls to the right, the brake rotors have been resurfaced incorrectly, and it leaks antifreeze.”

(As we turn to leave, my husband calls back to the dumbstruck chauvinist.)

Husband: “But I absolutely looooove the vanity mirror!”

Me: “Thank you for calling [Dealership]. This is [My Name]. How may I direct your call?”

Woman: “I just got off the phone with the bank and there is nothing wrong with my card. You need to try running it again!”

Me: “Okay, ma’am, who was your salesman?”

Woman: “What salesman? I don’t know! Just try running my card again!”

Me: “Ma’am, who were you working with?”

Woman: “I was talking to the two ladies at the front desk.”

Me: “Okay, I’m going to transfer you to them because I’m in a different building and am unaware of the situation.”

Woman: “I don’t want to talk to them! They were rude and I could barely understand them! Can’t you just take my order?”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but without knowing who your salesman is or what your customer is, I don’t have a way of looking up your information.”

Woman: “What is wrong with you?! I don’t have a salesman! I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I just want to order my f****** pizza or is that too hard for you?!”

Me: “…ma’am?”

Woman: “I called the bank and there is nothing wrong with my card! So you need to take my order again!”

Me: “…ma’am?”

Woman: “I don’t see why you can’t just take my d*** order over the phone. This isn’t that hard!”

Me: “…ma’am!”

Woman: “What?!”

Me: “This is a car dealership.”

Woman: “…what? Well, why the h*** didn’t you say that when you answered the phone?!”

Me: “You mean like when I said ‘thank you for calling [Dealership]’…?”

Woman: *click*

(In the car dealership I work at we have a large station featuring multiple pots of complimentary coffee, hot water for tea and cocoa, and a large tank of lemonade. One of my smaller, more menial tasks is to refill the lemonade tank when it gets low. Please note that the tank is rather tall and sits atop a counter. I am a five-foot tall female.)

Me: *comes out of the break room with a large pitcher of lemonade for the tank*

Coworker: *sees me* “Woah, woah. You’re not going to try dumping that in there, are you?”

Me: “I do it at least three times a day.” *sets pitcher down and stands on toes to remove tank lid*

Coworker: “No! You’re too short!”

Me: *frowning* “Seriously, I do this all the time.”

Coworker: “You’re not tall enough.” *holding his hand up to his shoulder* “You must be this tall to ride this ride.”

Me: “I really can—”

Coworker: “YOU MUST BE THIS TALL.”

Me: “…”

(My coworker proceeded to fill the tank up for me, all the while making good natured jokes about my height (or lack thereof). Every time he saw me trying to fill the lemonade tank on my own, he insisted on doing it himself because I’m ‘just not tall enough for that ride!’)

(I was a cashier in the service department of a car dealership… nice cars, too. A customer’s oil change and miscellaneous service bill was almost $100.)

Me: “Good evening, sir. Your total is $***.”

Customer: “What’s included in this bill? It’s too much!”

Me: “Sir, you signed the estimate prior to the service being done. Your signature is right here. The service advisor also went over this bill with you afterwards and explained everything that was done. I’m just the cashier. If you have anymore questions I can happily call the advisor to help you.”

Customer: “Well, why do I have to pay these extra fees? What’s waste disposal? I don’t want to pay for that!”

Me: “We are required to properly dispose of the oil waste from your service. You agreed to that charge prior to the service as well, sir. The total is still $***.”

Customer: “Can’t I just have my oil back and I’ll throw it away myself?”

Me: “Uh, no… No, you can’t.”