(This happens on my way to work. I work in a call center where the dress code is business formal. I normally do a pair of black slacks and a cute but nice shirt. Today I am a bit extra and I am in my tan khakis and a red button-up shirt. I top it with my tan deck shoes and even wear an extra shirt to avoid a panty line showing. I stop at a convenience store for a drink before work, the same cashier that always helps me is there he smiles as I approach, and this happens.)

Cashier: “Hey! You look nice today.”

Me: “Oh, thank you. Yeah, decided to be a bit extra today.”

Cashier: *smirks at me* “So, who are you trying to impress, someone in the office?”

Me: “Pardon? Oh, no, I just wanted to look nice; that is all.”

Cashier: “Oh, well, I was about to say, you spent so much time on the outfit and hair but you didn’t apply any makeup; not going to go far.”

Me: *after handing him the drink* “Can you please ring me up? I need to get to work.”

(I don’t know if it was the tone of my voice, but the rest of the transaction was in silence.)

(I am working third-shift in a convenience store. One night, a somewhat intoxicated woman comes in carrying a handful of sunglasses.)

Woman: “Hi. I need to return these sunglasses.”

Me: “Hello. I can help you with that; I just need to see your receipt to process your refund.”

Woman: “They didn’t give me no receipt! Just give me my money back.”

Me: “No problem; I can reprint your receipt. When did you purchase these items?”

Woman: “Um, Tuesday?”

Me: “Okay, and about what time on Tuesday?”

Woman: “I don’t know; my sister actually bought them… from [another location]. Just give me my money!”

(At this point the customer staggers and knocks over a jerky display.)

Me: *having lost all patience* “Lady, you stole these sunglasses, didn’t you?”

Woman: “Please, just give me my money! I need some money, please!”

Me: *taking the sunglasses and putting them on the back counter* “No, I think I’ll call the police, instead.”

(The woman cussed me out and fled the store. The next day the district manager sent out an email warning about a woman who stole some sunglasses from [other location]. I called him and told him I had them right here with me.)

(I am a white woman. I am buying a brand of corn chip that comes with each chip rolled into a little tube, usually bright red, and touted as being very spicy. The guy behind the register is an older, white dude.)

Employee: *examining bag* “Can you eat these?”

Me: *assuming he’s referring to the spicy warning on the bag* “Oh, I don’t think they’re too spicy. I’m not even a spicy fiend and I think these are good. You should try them sometime.”

Employee: “No, I mean, I thought this was supposed to be for the Hispanics.”

Me: *taken aback* “Uh… Well, I mean, I don’t think it’s ‘for’ anyone specifically.”

(He gives me a dubious look.)

Me: *after a pause* “I can eat them, too.”

(He didn’t say anything else, but he looked very skeptical. It was so weird. I told a friend of mine about it later, who IS Hispanic, and she thought it was hilarious. Now, whenever we go out somewhere together and she’s coveting whatever food I’ve ordered, no matter what it is, she’ll act like she’s taking it away while saying sadly, “I’m sorry, [My Name], but this isn’t FOR you. It’s for Hispanics.”)

(On the 401, the travel centers can get very busy from time to time. But this day not many people are out and about because of the weather, and the atmosphere is quite calm. While I am manning the sandwich station, there are two other cashiers: our supervisor and a trainee that has been getting used to doing cash on his own. We have a line of maybe four or five people. Everything is going well until a man near the end of the line becomes impatient.)

Customer: “Oh, my God. Why aren’t you taking customers’ orders?! What the h*** do you think you’re doing?!”

(He is referring to the trainee, who has just finished a customer’s coffee order and is getting a filter to make a new pot of coffee.)

Me: “Sir, he’ll be with another customer in a moment. He needs to make a pot of coffee.”

Customer: “He’s supposed to take our orders first before he starts restocking. This is insane!”

Supervisor: “Sir, as she just explained, he needs to make coffee first before he takes another customer. If he doesn’t, he won’t be able to give anyone coffee.”

(I’ve noticed the trainee starting to shake slightly. I don’t have any orders, so I tell him to go back on his cash while I make him more coffee. The customer is still loudly exclaiming how this is all unacceptable. While I ignore him and try to help the trainee, our supervisor keeps going.)

Supervisor: “Sir, you need to stop. You will be able to order shortly. He needs to restock his coffee in order to take customers. If that is too confusing for you and you continue to berate him, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Customer: “I’M ALLOWED TO BE HERE!”

(This creates the start of the trainee’s anxiety attack, so I tell him to give me his swipe card and to go talk to the baker. This is usually how we calm down: by complaining to the baker.)

Me: “Sir, there is no need to yell. We can all hear you. And once my supervisor or I am done with our current customers, we can take your order.”

(He continues to grumble, but stays silent otherwise. I finish up the customer the trainee started, and call over the man to take his order.)

Customer: *grinning widely* “Yes, I’d just like a coffee, please, Miss—“ *looks at my name tag* “—[My Name].”

(He acts as though he hasn’t just screamed at our frontline staff, and makes me severely uncomfortable with how nice he is acting. He even leaves a five-dollar tip! Once he leaves and our line is gone, I tell my supervisor about the tip, and one of our managers overhears.)

Manager: “Go give it to [Trainee]. I heard the guy screaming from the office. I wish he got a punch to the face, honestly.”

(I do odd computing jobs for a living. Rather often, this involves fixing ATMs in convenience stores. As such, I don’t wear a uniform and I don’t look like an employee, but there ARE limits to how oblivious you can be. I am working on an ATM. The machine is obviously out of service, as it is wide open and showing all its wire-y parts. A woman stands in line behind me, oblivious. After about five minutes I raise my head and notice her.)

Me: “Ma’am, I am fixing this ATM. I am going to be here a while.”

Lady: “How long?”

Me: “A looong while.”

(She nods and I go back to my work. Ten minutes pass and she is still there, starting to get impatient. Now, I don’t do customer service, but that is no excuse to lose my cool.)

Lady: “Are you going to take long?”

Me: “Upwards of an hour.”

(She stands there, then proceeds to continue waiting. I go back to the machinery. Another ten minutes pass.)

Lady: “You have taken a long time.”

(I am getting slightly irritated.)

Me: “Yes, I have.”

(She gets annoyed. I go back to fixing the ATM. Five more minutes pass. The lady is already fuming, clearly upset that I am taking my sweet time fixing the ATM.)

Lady: “Why are you taking so long? I am in a hurry!”

Me: *with barely-contained irritation* “Lady, this ATM is out of service. It doesn’t work. I am fixing it.” *points at the very visible “OUT OF SERVICE” sign*

Lady: “Well, how long are you going to take? I am in a hurry to get out my paycheck.”

Me: “I have been here an hour already. I am going to take at least another.”

Lady: “Well? Why didn’t you tell me it was out of service?”

(She finally left, and I was left with a slight impulse to strangle someone.)