This happened about twenty years ago.

My mother and I go out to buy some food, and we successfully find everything on our list. We head to the checkout and chat with the cashier as she rings us up.

Cashier: “Oh, wow, hahaha. Okay, a ga— Gall-gallen-ga—”

She turns deadly white, eyes opened wide and staring into space as she struggles to speak.

Mom & Me: “Are you okay?!”

Cashier: *Faintly* “Yeah, I just-just-just—”

Mom: “You ‘just’ need to sit down!”

The cashier seems upset but is still speaking faintly.

Cashier: “My manager…”

Mom: “We’ll explain to him. [My Name], take her to the chairs near the entrance. I’ll find someone to call a manager.” 

Working in retail myself, I know it’s a big no-no for customers to come behind the register, and ESPECIALLY for them to actually touch the cashier, but she hasn’t regained her color and she’s starting to recover her senses enough to be visibly upset.

I speak gently as I put one hand on her shoulder and the other on her back.

Me: “Here, come with me. Don’t worry. There are chairs right here. Come sit down. I’ll sit with you. It’s okay. Do you need water? We were buying water bottles; I can get you one.”

She continues to protest about her manager and insists that she’s fine, but she clearly isn’t.

After a couple of minutes, my mother returns with a manager. He takes one look at her and shakes his head.

Manager: “Did you drive or take a cab today?”

Cashier: “I got a ride. She’s picking me up.”

Manager: “Good. You stay here until she arrives. Ladies, you can come back to the register. I’ll finish ringing you up.”

Me: “I’ll sit with her until we’re ready to go.”

The manager nodded and started ringing up the rest of the groceries for my mom. I sat with the cashier and tried to calm her. She was slowly regaining some color and seemed to be focusing again, and she told me her shift was over in just a few minutes anyway. Because of this, we chose to sit with her until her ride came to get her, and when her friend came in, we warned her about the cashier’s sudden distress. Thankfully, her friend was able to get her up and walking steadily, and they headed out the door together.

Whatever it was that happened, I hope she recovered quickly.

I have a small/medium shop in a very hilly part of the world. Just the nature of the piece of property I’m on means that the parking area and road are quite a bit lower than the store itself with a concrete staircase between where people arrive at the property and the front door. To be accessible for disabled people, I also have a smooth ramp, but due to the elevation change, the ramp is pretty long and zig-zags rather than just going straight up.

I have one particular regular who is… difficult. She has never done anything over the line enough to be banned, but she is always right on that line. It’s also relevant to this story that she happens to use a wheelchair.

One night, we have an intense but short storm. The next morning, I arrive at work to find that a tree has fallen across the accessible ramp; however, it doesn’t block the stairs or the door. I ask one of my employees to manage the store, and I go to get a chainsaw to clear the tree.

By the time I get back with the tools to clear the tree, I am met by the aforementioned customer in the parking lot.

Customer: “I can’t get to your store! This is unacceptable and discriminatory!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m clearing the tree as quickly as I can; I literally have a chainsaw in my hand to get it clear.”

Customer: “That doesn’t matter! Your store is open, and you aren’t allowed to be open and not accessible! Why did you open if you can’t actually serve your customers?!”

Me: “Well, ma’am, the stairs are still usable to those that can utilize them. I have employees here to work, and I will have the tree cleared about an hour after I’m allowed to start working on it. I didn’t see a reason to leave the store closed to all customers when I was able to serve some of them while I worked on solving the problem.”

Customer: “That is simply unacceptable.”

She continued to rant at me for a moment before leaving. I figured it was just the customer being her typical grouchy self, so I cleared the tree and got back to work as usual.

I got a notice from the local government that I was being investigated for discriminatory practices. Even though everyone I actually talked to agreed my shop was accessible and in accordance with regulations, due to the joys of bureaucracy, I ended up dealing with calls, inspections, and paperwork for four months all because a tree blocked the ramp for an hour.

I work in a chain pet store, but I am NOT a vet or any other medical professional. A woman comes in with her dog.

Customer: “I pulled a tick off my dog and now there’s a circle around it. How do I treat it?”

Me: “What did your vet say?”

Customer: “I’m not wasting my money on a vet. Just tell me how to fix it.”

Me: “I’m not a medical professional, ma’am. You should go to your vet or an emergency veterinary office if your vet is unavailable.”

Customer: “You must have something here!”

Me: “I cannot advise anything on this matter. I’m sorry. Once you speak to your vet, then we—”

Customer: “You’re useless! What are you paid for?!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Customer: “Fine! I guess my dog will just die!“

The woman storms out, swearing to never return. My manager emerges from the office at the front of the store.

Manager: “[My Name]… what happened?”

Me: “Her dog got bit by a tick and has a bullseye, but she won’t go to a vet.”

Manager: “What did you tell her?”

Me: “Go to a vet.”

Manager: “Good job.”

The woman has been back several times but only to complain about how useless we all are and how we were willing to let her dog die. She was eventually escorted off the property by the police.

I’m eight months pregnant, and I’m at the store with my toddler, buying food to meal prep for my freezer for when the new baby comes. My husband travels for work, so I have no choice but to do this on my own. I’ve had some complications with this pregnancy that consist of a few fainting spells, so I’m always cautious.

I opt for self-checkout because the line is shorter. I’m next in line and start to feel dizzy. My toddler has also had about enough of being stuck in a cart. I know I need to get out of there quickly since I don’t feel good.

I’m walking up to the register, and a man around fifty years old behind me speaks to me.

Older Man: “Let me go first since I only have a few things.”

He does only have about ten items, but I know I need to get home.

Me: “Sorry, sir, I have to get home as soon as possible.”

Older Man: *Openly screaming* “It’s awful how people your age don’t respect their elders!”

Me: *Turning around and yelling back* “Sir, anyone can see I’m heavily pregnant with a toddler on the verge of a meltdown. Now, tell me again how you’re more important than me and can’t understand the concept of a line?”

He walked away to another line huffing, and I made it home and was able to relax without a fainting spell.

To save you all pages of history, I will cut to it and say that I am attending an appointment for tubal ligation, AKA getting my “tubes tied.” I do not want, never have, and never will want kids, and if there is a 0.00001% chance in the future that me and some potential future partner do want some offspring then I would rather adopt more than anything else. 

The doctor comes into the room for my appointment, holding my paperwork. He is an older gentleman.

Doctor: “Hello, there Mrs. [My Name].”

Me: “It’s just Miss. Not married.”

Doctor: “Well, that answers my first question. I wanted to make sure everything on your form was correct. So you’re unmarried?”

Me: “Yes, that’s right.”

Doctor: “And this date of birth is correct? You’re only twenty-six?”

Me: “I am.”

Doctor: “And no other medical complications we need to know about.”

Me: “No, otherwise I would have mentioned them.”

Doctor: “It’s just… tubal ligation is a permanent procedure. It would be irreversible sterilization.”

Me: “It better be, otherwise, what would be the point?!”

Doctor: “It’s just, medically I am uncomfortable completing this procedure. What if someday you meet the right man, and he will want children? Do you understand where I am coming from?”

Me: “What I am understanding is that, medically, you’re saying that my body belongs to a man I haven’t met yet.”

Doctor: “No… you’re twisting my words.”

Me: “If only it were as easy to tie tubes as it would be to twist words. Goodbye, doctor.”

I went to another doctor within a week. This doctor was a woman and gave zero pushback to my decision.