(When I close at work, I have to leave by a specific time, since I take the bus home. All the managers and most of my coworkers know this. It’s close to my time to leave, even though there’s still some work left for everyone else. A newer coworker sees me heading to the break room.)

Coworker: “Wait, are we done?”

Me: “No, but I have to leave by 9:30.”

Coworker: “Oh, why?”

Me: “I have to take the bus home and I catch the last one.”

Coworker: “Wait. You don’t drive?”

Me: “No? I don’t own a car or have a license.”

Coworker: “Why not? You can get a cheap car at [Shady Dealership].”

Me: “I’ve got medical issues, so it’s unsafe for me to drive. My boyfriend usually drives me where I need to go.”

Coworker: “I don’t believe you. You’re just lazy!”

(I just went and clocked out. I could hear my coworker calling me lazy as the manager let me out.)

(When it’s slow at work, some of us like to read the news.)

Coworker: “Hey, [My Name], you know the show Arthur?”

Me: “Yeah! I loved that show!”

Coworker: “They have an article about it on [Local News Website]. It said the show was kicked off PBS because there’s a gay character.”

Me: “What?! I didn’t know there was a gay character! Who was it, Buster? Binky?”

Coworker: “No, it was the teacher.”

Me: “Mr. Ratburn? I don’t remember him being gay.”

Coworker: “Yeah, it said he had a gay wedding, so the show was kicked off PBS.”

Me: “That’s shocking. You’d think in this day and age they’d be okay with a gay wedding. I guess maybe a lot of parents complained? Mr. Ratburn deserves to be happy; he deserves love, too!”

Manager: *in her office and can’t hear our conversation well* “Did you say Arthur was kicked off the show for being gay?”

Me: “No, she said the show was kicked off PBS because there was a gay wedding.”

Manager: “WHAT?! That’s not right!”

Assistant: “I’m going to look it up. What was this on, [Local News Website]?”

Coworker: “Yeah.”

Me: “I’m going to look it up, too.”

Manager: “I can’t believe they did that! You’d think they’d want to teach kids that being gay is okay!”

Assistant: “Oh. My. God. [Coworker], that’s not what happened!”

Coworker: “What do you mean?”

Assistant: “It says, ‘Arthur kicked off 22nd season on PBS with gay wedding.’”

Me: “Oh, my… [Coworker!]”

Coworker: “What?”

Me: “You read it wrong! The season was kicked off with a gay wedding! The show wasn’t kicked off the network!”

Coworker: “Oh, I guess I read it wrong.”

Me: “Hashtag ‘fake news.’”

Coworker: “I didn’t even know Arthur was still around.”

Me: “Me, neither.”

Manager: “Okay, what happened?”

Me: “[Coworker] was spreading fake news. Arthur is apparently still around and making new episodes. They started the new season with a gay wedding. The show wasn’t booted from PBS.”

(That made the slow period of the day go by a bit quicker, and we continued making jokes about the situation for the rest of the day.)

(We have a list of phone numbers at work so that we can contact each other to find coverage if we need to call off. The list is locked in the manager’s office so we do need permission to get to it, but it’s posted on the wall so basically anyone in the office can see it. I am at home one morning when a number I don’t recognize texts me.)

Unknown Number: “Hi, [My Name]. It’s [Coworker].”

Me: “Hi, what’s up?”

Coworker: “Are you working today?”

Me: “No, I’m off. Why?”

Coworker: “Oh. Okay.”

(I think the exchange is odd, but it doesn’t raise any red flags so I go about my day. A few hours later, another text.)

Coworker: “Hey, [My Name]. It’s [Coworker].”

Me: “What’s up?”

Coworker: “Are you working tomorrow?”

Me: “Yeah, I’m opening. Why?”

(No response. Again, odd, but not odd enough to worry me. A few more hours pass.)

Coworker: “We haven’t worked together in a while.”

Me: *wondering what is going on* “I guess not.”

Coworker: “I like seeing you at work.”

Me: “Okay…”

(The next day, I’m at work when my coworker comes up to my register. It’s clear he is here on his day off and has nothing to buy, but still he stands at my register and tries to make small talk with me. I’m getting increasingly more uncomfortable but I try to be polite while still attending to my customers. He wanders away a few times when management comes around, but since he isn’t outright doing anything, there’s nothing they can do. At the end of my shift, I see him standing by my car. I bring it up to management and again, they say there’s nothing they can do because now he’s in the parking lot and off the property. I walk to my car, where he is now leaning against the driver’s door.)

Me: “Um. Hi, [Coworker]. What’s going on?”

Coworker: “Oh, I’m just waiting for you.”

Me: “Because…?”

Coworker: “Well, I, um… I was going to, um…” *leans in fast*

Me: *putting my hand on his chest and pushing away* “Woah! There’s been some kind of misunderstanding.”

Coworker: “What?”

Me: “I’m not interested in you like that.”

Coworker: “Why not?”

Me: “I’m just… not.”

Coworker: *starting to whine* “But why?”

Me: *getting annoyed* “Because I’m with someone else. Because I don’t date coworkers.”

Coworker: “But you… you… you’re always flirting with me!”

Me: “No…?”

Coworker: “Yes! All day today! You smile and laugh and talk to me between customers and–”

Me: “You mean I’m polite?! No, [Coworker]. Look. I’m sorry if you thought there was more to this but there’s not.”

Coworker: *now standing defiantly in front of my car door* “Why not?”

Me: “Well, it used to be because I just don’t see you that way. Now it’s because you’re acting like a f****** a**hole and you’re blocking my car.”

Coworker: *begging* “One date. Just one date. You’ll change your mind.”

Me: “Move.”

Coworker: “Just one!”

Me: “Move!”

Coworker: “No!”

Me: “I am either going to kick you in the nuts or call the police if you don’t move.”

Coworker: *sidesteps away from my car, hands over his crotch* “You’re a f****** b****!”

(I dove into my car and drove a few blocks away before calling the store. I told the store manager in no uncertain terms that I would quit if I was scheduled with that particular coworker ever again. She asked why and I gave her the whole story: the texts, standing at the register, everything at the car. The next day I came in, the store manager told me that he had been terminated for misuse of the call list and for harassing me.)

(I am working a childcare job. The family has twin girls, each with a unique set of special needs. Their parents have assistance almost around the clock, so I have several coworkers. Most of them are great, but there is one girl I positively dread having overlapping shifts with. She constantly gets into juvenile power struggles with the children over the stupidest things, simply because she can’t stand to be contradicted. For instance, she’ll nitpick the little girls’ games of make-believe for being too absurd and demand that they play differently. The children are not compliant, nor should they have to be, and the rest of us have to diplomatically referee between an elementary schooler and a college student. Basically, when I have to work with her, I’m monitoring three stubborn children instead of two, and the worst one can’t be put in timeout. Despite the fact that I break out in stress-hives at the sound of her voice, I am never anything but professional and polite to her. I also work with another family and have arranged playdates between these two sets of children for a number of years with great success. I have brought kids from both families to meet at a small festival hosted by a church nearby. The boy in this story is from the other jobs, so my coworker is not, has never been, nor ever will be in any position of authority over this boy. I am quite petite and the boy is harmlessly amusing himself by clasping his arms around my waist and attempting to lift me off the ground, with moderate success.)

Coworker: *harshly, to [Boy]* “Don’t do that! She just ate lunch; you’re going to make her sick!”

Me: *to [Boy], but reasonably loud enough for my coworker to hear* “That’s okay, sweetie. I’ve got a strong stomach. You’re fine.”

([Boy] continues lifting.)

Coworker: *snapping at [Boy] again* “I told you to cut that out!”

(I respond directly to [Coworker] this time, with a pleasant tone, generously thinking she may not have heard me before and was genuinely concerned for my well-being.)

Me: “I won’t get sick. I told him it was okay.”

Coworker: *to me* “But I told him to stop.”

(She says this so smugly, as though it’s the unquestionable end of the subject. [Boy] is now looking to me for guidance, obviously concerned that he might be in trouble. I am an extremely patient, even-tempered person, but I am not being paid to deal with her attitude today and for once, I am not going to take it. I put a hand reassuringly on the boy’s shoulder and then very slowly turn to face her. I look her dead in the eyes with the sternest, most withering stare I can muster. When you work with children, you can get pretty good at that stare.)

Me: *deliberately and forcefully* “But. I. Said. It. Was. Okay.”

(She backed off immediately and barely spoke to me the rest of the afternoon. She was still an obnoxious human being, terrible at her job, and a pain to work with, but after that confrontation, she never again attempted to exert any authority over me. She was eventually fired after another of her stupid power struggles lead to the child with brittle bones slipping on a wet bathroom floor and breaking her leg. The worst part of all of this, though? She’s now a special education teacher.)

(When I am about 15, my mother’s law firm hosts a trip for the partners to go skiing out west. As my mother is unmarried, she has no family to bring except me, her only daughter, so I am invited. This results in the group of us, lawyers, and their families, waiting together to board the same plane between 5:00 and 6:00 am. I bring out a sketchbook to doodle in to keep myself awake, when one of the two named partners — a man in his 50s, and not my mom’s main boss — comes over to see what I am drawing, and, to all appearances, be a nuisance. This man is a known bully, a pain in the a**, and a creep, but there isn’t much my mom can say or do about it at the time. As for me, I am so tired I can barely think, let alone tactfully dodge his attention.)

Partner: “So, you can draw, huh? What else can you draw?”

Me: “Um… I don’t know. Pretty much anything if I can see it, though I like to draw from my head.”

Partner: “Oh, yeah? So, can you draw that plane right there?”

Me: “Yeah. I mean, I could.”

Partner: “Prove it. I want to see you actually draw that plane.”

(I start drawing the plane. I don’t get far, but apparently, he is one of those people who simply cannot wrap their brains around artistic talent at all, so even the most basic stuff astounds him. Rather than prompt him to compliment me, though, this seems to only spur him on to be more obnoxious.)

Partner: “You’re even drawing those little seams and rivets. How did you know to do that?”

Me: “Well, they’re there. I can see them. As I said, I can draw it if I can see it.”

Partner: “Well, what about—”

(We are interrupted by the announcement to begin boarding, and I think that, thankfully, this is the end of it. But somehow, I end up seated next to him on the plane — he in the window seat and my mom in the aisle seat, with me stuck in the middle, the sole object of his focus, for hours. My mom has tried to discourage him a few times, to no avail, and keeps giving me sympathetic looks as he quizzes me.)

Partner: “So, could you draw [random thing]?”

Me: “Probably.”

Partner: “And you can draw things from your head, too? Just, right out of your head?”

Me: “I try.”

Partner: *smugly* “I bet I know something you can’t draw! The United States with all fifty states where they’re supposed to be.”

(I just sigh and begin drawing out the USA with a pen on one of the little airplane cocktail napkins. It’s not photographic, but it’s not half bad, though I get tripped up around Delaware. Regardless, the partner starts huffing and sputtering before I’m finished. He actually seems angry that I could do it — that it was at all possible.)

Partner: *snatching the napkin and trying to show it around* “Do you see this? Do you see what she did?” *turns back to me* “How could you possibly know how to draw that?!”

Me: “I’ve seen a map.”

Partner: *speechless*

(To this day, my mother tells this story with pride, that with that one line I managed to “shut him up so fast!” When he finally spoke again, it was to grumble something I don’t remember, and then he moved seats to a different row to find a new victim. I didn’t speak to him again for the rest of the trip, or ever again afterward. Years later, no one missed him when he left the firm, taking his half of the partners and business with him in an ugly split. Unrelated, but just to drive home what a jerk he was, his final act was to strip the office of every piece of art, decor, and communal furniture that wasn’t nailed down.)