I work at a retail outlet. It’s been a few weeks since the recent health crisis started, and our store now has a new temporary policy: customers must wait in a line to be admitted to the store by security, and no more than 200 customers are allowed in our store at any point. Employees who are scheduled to work do not have to wait in line, and do not count toward the limit.

This happens a few days after the policy is put in place. It’s 10:55 am, and I’m about to walk into the building for my 11:00 am shift. A fairly new coworker is regulating the line. As I enter the door, he stops me.

Door Attendant: “Excuse me, you have to wait in line.”

Me: “I work here.”

Door Attendant: “Doesn’t matter. You have to wait like everyone else.”

Me: “I’ll be late if I have to wait!”

Door Attendant: “Not my problem. Go to the back of the line.”

Me: “No. I have to get in.”

Door Attendant: *Physically blocking me* “You can’t just go in! You have to wait! Get in line!”

Knowing I won’t be able to get past him, I just go to the end of the line, which is VERY long and stretches around the side of the store. At about 11:05, my cell rings.

Boss: “Hey, what’s happening? You’re running late. Is something wrong? Car trouble? Traffic?”

Me: “No, I’m here, but I’m in line to get in the store.”

Boss: “What? Why are you in line? You don’t have to wait in line!”

Me: “Well, according to [Door Attendant], I have to.”

Boss: “Wait, did you say, ‘[Door Attendant]’?”

Me: “Yup.”

Boss: *Sighs* “For Pete’s sake… Just come in. Don’t listen to what he says. I’ll let you clock in late and stay late to make up the time you lost.”

I get out of line and head back to the entrance. My coworker is waiting there.

Door Attendant: “Hey! HEY! I said you can’t come in here without waiting in line!”

Me: “I work here, and I’m already late for my shift.”

Door Attendant: “NO! You do not have permission to go past this point!”

Me: “Yes, I do! I have [Boss]’s permission!”

Door Attendant: *Screaming* “I don’t care if you have [Boss]’s permission; you do not have my permission! NOW GET BACK IN LINE!”

Just then, my boss comes to the door with one of my other coworkers behind him.

Boss: “First and foremost, [Door Attendant], you don’t ever yell at anyone in this store. Second, she doesn’t need your permission, or anyone’s permission, for that matter. She works here, and because of you, she is now late for her shift! Go to my office and wait for me there. [My Name], come on in. [Coworker], you take over for [Door Attendant].”

The attendant was written up and sent home on his last chance; apparently, it wasn’t the first time he’d made employees wait in line when they didn’t have to, nor was it the first time he’d screamed at someone. He wasted little time throwing that last chance out the following day when he tried to pull the same stunt on the district manager, and he was fired.

I’m visiting a friend on campus, and we decide to go down to a cafeteria nearby for dinner. I expect to pay for myself, as I’m a visitor. I’m in a wheelchair, though I’m still very capable of taking care of myself. When we go through the entry line, instead of asking for payment, the cashier at the door just waves us in. My friend and I go in, giving each other confused looks.

Friend: “Huh. That’s a first.”

Me: “Maybe he thought I had a student ID out?”

Friend: “Maybe. Oh, well, free food!”

We get our food and start eating. My friend gets up to get more food, and the cashier comes over, apparently having swapped to the floor.

Cashier: “I can take your plate for you!”

He says this a little slowly, but I don’t think anything of it.

Me: “Oh, thank you!”

Cashier: “Where is your worker? She shouldn’t leave you alone here!”

Me: “My… worker?”

Cashier: “Yeah, your assistance worker!”

Me: “I don’t have one. That’s my friend.”

Cashier: “Okay, where did your friend go?”

He obviously exaggerates the word “friend,” as if mocking me.

Me: “She’s doing something somewhere else, as she’s allowed to do, as she is not in any way a caretaker for me or anybody else.”

My friend comes over and sets her plate down.

Friend: “Can I help you?”

Cashier: “Oh, good, you’re back. Your client is starting to get upset.”

Friend: *Pause* “She’s a friend. Who’s very capable of taking care of herself.”

Cashier: “They like to think that, huh?”

Friend: “I’d like to think you can grab your supervisor. Now.”

The cashier laughs and walks off. My friend then goes up to someone else wiping down a table, who does get a manager. The manager comes over.

Manager: “Can I help you?”

Me: “Yeah, one of your employees has been implying that because I’m disabled, I need a carer.”

Manager: “Well, I’m sure there’s an explanation—”

Me: “He refused to listen to me as a functional adult which, even if I did need a carer, is not appropriate. I do not need to be talked down to or told I can’t take care of myself.”

Manager: “I… I see. I’ll have a talk with him.”

I went back to visit my friend a couple of weeks later, and she had found out that the cashier had been fired. He apparently assumed that anyone with any visible disability needed or had a carer.

On a major roadway, I drive over something in the middle of the lane that looks like a piece of ribbon at first, but I feel a bump when I go over it. A couple of kilometers later, other drivers start yelling out their windows that I’m leaking gas, so I pull into the next gas station.

I call my roadside assistance company and they tow me to one of their recommended mechanics. They’re closed when we arrive, so my sister drives me home and I phone first thing the next morning.

Me: “Hi there. Something punctured my gas tank so my truck was leaking gas everywhere last night. My truck is on your lot; I was wondering if you could take a look and tell me how much you think it will cost to fix.”

They agree but I don’t hear anything, so I phone again the next day.

Me: “Hi. I called yesterday about the red truck?”

Representative: “Oh, yeah! That one! Yeah, it’s the fuel tank. It’s punctured.”

Me: “Yeah, I know. How much will it cost to fix?”

Representative: “Well, I’ll have to look into it and get back to you.”

I wait for a few hours and call again that afternoon.

Me: “Hi. I’m looking for a quote on my truck.”

Representative: “Well, I told you. You need a new fuel tank.”

Me: “Okay, but do you know how much it will cost?”

Representative: “Let me take a look here and see how much that part would cost… plus labour… You’re looking at about $600 for a new tank with a one-year warranty.”

I take a few hours to talk to people close to me who know more about this stuff than I do and call them to tell them to go ahead with the new tank. Two or three days later, they leave a message on my phone late in the afternoon.

Message: “We’re calling to tell you that the tank we ordered arrived but it is the wrong tank for your truck and we can’t find one that fits, so our next step is to use a special material to patch the hole in your fuel tank.”

It’s too late to phone them when I hear this message, so I plan to phone them the next day after talking to the same people as before. This is a rough week, because I lose my phone that evening. After two days of searching with no luck and being advised by my boss and dad that the patch job will be too temporary to be worth it, I ask my mom to phone the mechanic to tell them to forget about it. To our horror, they inform her they’ve patched it up and are waiting for me to come get it.

Mom: “Well, how much are you going to charge?”

Representative: “We agreed on $600.”

Mom: “The $600 was for a new tank. Why did you go ahead with the work? We never consented.”

Representative: “It doesn’t matter; we’ve done the work so now you need to pay.”

Mom: “But you didn’t have a work order! She agreed to a new tank.”

Representative: “How about we do $500?”

Mom: “That’s too much money for a patch job! We never would have agreed to that and you didn’t have a work order!”

Representative: “Listen, the truck costs us money every day it’s up on the hoist. We can rip the patch off and you come get the truck, but it’s still gonna cost you a few hundred dollars.”

Mom: “Why didn’t you just put it back on the lot? We’re not paying $500 for a patch.”

Eventually, we managed to negotiate that they would fix a vandalized keyhole which I had been working around for months, and I would pay them $500 total. When I signed the paperwork, we learned that the patch job only had a six-month warranty instead of the original twelve months. 

Seven months later, the patch started falling off and I tried to submit a complaint about the mechanic to my roadside assistance company, as I was reminded of the terrible service and as frustrated as ever. They reached out to the mechanic, who claimed that they had never even heard of me or my little red truck.

We decided to pick our battles and just sold the truck for parts and bought a different one.

French is not my first language; however, I am certain that the events in this story are not the result of a language barrier because I am confident in the distinction between “cils” (eyelashes) and “sourcils” (eyebrows). Additionally, this is not the first time I’ve visited a salon in France. I know it takes a special certification to do eyelash tinting, even in my country, so I always call ahead to make sure they have someone who can do it that day.

Me: “Hi. I just wanted to ask if you have someone who can do eyelash tinting today.”

Employee: “Yes, we do.”

Me: “Until what time?”

Employee: “Until seven pm.”

I go into the salon with my friend that afternoon.

Me: “Hi. I’d like to get an eyelash tint and a bikini wax, please.”

Employee: “Eyebrow tint?”

Me: “No, just eyelashes, please.”

I point at my lashes.

Employee: *Concerned* “Oh, was it you who called a little while ago?”

Me: “Yes, that was me.”

Employee: “I thought you said eyebrows. I’m not sure we have someone who can do lashes, but I will find out for you.”

My friend and I sit down until the first employee comes back with someone else after about ten minutes.

Employee: “It turns out we can do a tint for you today.”

Esthetician: “Did you just want your eyebrows done?”

Me: “No, not eyebrows. Just eyelashes, please.”

Esthetician: “Oh, okay. What colour would you like?”

Me: “Blue-black, if you have it.”

They both look confused, so I tell them that black is fine, too. A few minutes later, they take my friend in for a facial, and they finally call me back another forty-five minutes after that. As I am lying down on the table:

Esthetician: “Would you like your eyebrows tinted, as well?”

Me: “No, just eyelashes, please.”

Esthetician: “What colour would you like?”

Me: “Blue-black, if possible.”

Esthetician: “I don’t think I have that. Do you want me to add some brown to it?”

Me: “No, just black is fine, thank you.”

She starts applying a clear gel to my eyebrows and tells me it’s to protect them. It’s a little abnormal, but I can see it’s not dye so I let her continue. She asks me to close my eyes and begins applying something to my eyebrows again.

Me: “Is that still to protect them?”

Esthetician: “No, this is the colour.”

Me: “No, I wanted an eyelash tint! Just eyelashes!”

Esthetician: *Wiping the dye off* “Oh, good thing you said something. I asked you when you came in if you wanted eyebrows and you said yes.”

Me: “No, I said no. Just eyelashes.”

She leaves the room “to look for something” and comes back with more dye, telling me it turns out she does have blue. She finally applies the dye to my eyelashes.

Esthetician: “Is the wax for a half-leg?”

Me: “No, it’s a bikini wax.”

Esthetician: “Then why didn’t you take your pants off?”

Me: “I thought we were just going to start with the tint.”

Esthetician: “If we do them at the same time, we can be done sooner.”

This is extremely weird because when the dye is on your eyelashes, you can’t move your eyelids for risk of getting it in your eyes and burning them. Nevertheless, while my eyes are closed, my lashes are covered in dye, and I’m lying down on the table, she has me remove my pants and put on the disposable paper underwear. Then, she does a bikini wax while I am trying hard to keep my eyes completely closed. When everything is finished and the dye is removed, she comments on the colour of my lashes.

Esthetician: “Wow, that actually looks really good! I never thought to put blue in the dye before.”

It was definitely one of the weirdest salon visits of my life. My friend said in the other room, they did a facial and pedicure on her at the same time while she was completely lying down.

I get a spam call that is obviously automated. I like messing with telemarketers, so I decide to sit on the line until I can get a human on the phone.

Computer: “We are calling from Medicare regarding your coverage…”

Me: “Blah blah blah, I’m under sixty-five…”

Computer: “…your surgery may be denied…”

Me: “You’re a computer, not a human…”

All of a sudden, a human voice pops into the call and talks over the computer.

Human Voice: “You have been removed from our call list, ma’am! Have a nice day!”

They hung up on me. I didn’t get any more spam calls for the rest of the day!