This happened several years ago when I was fourteen. Let’s say my name is Robert. I was on holiday on a tourist island in Greece with my parents, and we went to meet some relatives which were in a village nearby.

It was August, and we were a few days from my father’s birthday. He decided to book a place and have a party, so we went to see the owner. My parents, our relatives, and the owners were hanging outside this large club/bar on the seaside typical of the Greek islands.

I went inside and took a seat in the largest booth facing the TV and start watching and changing channels with the remote.

I could hear the group entering the bar and moving toward me, and out of the blue, the owner yelled at me.

Owner: “Hey, Robert, [Greek profanity similar to ‘wanker’], stand up and get the f*** out! Free that booth! We need it!”

I didn’t move, just turned my head in shock. At that exact moment, the owner grabbed me and yelled again.

Owner: “Robert, [Greek profanity], I told you to stand up and get the f*** out of the booth!”

Everybody was in shock. My father was outraged and yelled at the owner.

Father: “What the f*** is wrong with you?! Take off your hands from my son!”

He almost attacked the owner.

The owner froze and started to look at me. His face changed color, and then the realisation hit him. He started to apologise profusely and yelled around several times:

Owner: “Robert, where the f*** are you?”

Finally, a guy resembling me came out of the restroom. He was the waiter and cleaner of the place, and his name was Robert.

We could cut the cringe with a knife. Nobody was saying anything, and I decided to get out of the place.

My father moved the party to another venue.

I have severe anemia that requires me to get infusions regularly. I pass out regularly from any activities from cooking to walking. Otherwise, I look like a normal, pale, healthy adult.

Recently, I was shopping at a store where the employees wear blue shirts. I did happen to be wearing a blue shirt at the time, but it was more turquoise and less navy, and it was a cami top with spaghetti straps because it was 100 degrees outside.

My anemia was bad right then, but this was a necessary trip because kids have to eat. I was trying to take it slow. There were no scooters when I entered — I hate taking them, but it beats ending up on the floor — so I was trying to be extra careful.

I came upon a younger woman with a small child. She was trying to reach up to grab something on a high shelf and, being taller, I was easily able to grab the item. I did so for her and continued on my way.

About three aisles over, I felt the fishbowl coming on. My head started to swim and everything felt like I was underwater. There was nowhere to sit besides the floor, and it was sit or fall, so I dropped onto the floor cross-legged and put my head on my lap, waiting for the worst to pass.

I heard someone clearing their throat nearby and kind of waved my hand in their direction to signal I was okay, waiting for the world to refocus. The throat-clearing sound happened again… and again. I finally lifted my head to see this petite lady with white hair staring at me. I croaked out:

Me: “I’m fine; just give me a moment.”

But I was mistaken in thinking her intention was to check on my welfare.

Lady: “It is extremely unprofessional to sit on the job! I need some help.”

She was holding a cane and started smacking the ground with each word.

I looked up at her, unsure if my head was still fuzzy or if she had really said what she’d just said. At this point, some other customers and an employee had started to approach me to check on me.

Me: *Politely* “Ma’am, I’m shopping; I’m not an—”

She pointed her cane at me and cut me off mid-sentence.

Lady: “I’m sick of the younger generation always making excuses!”

My eyes rolled so far back in my head that I am surprised I didn’t pass out.

Employee: “Do you need medical assistance?”

Me: “I have a medical condition and there weren’t any electric scooters, but I’ll manage. I just need a moment.”

He got on a walkie, and I heard him say something about the scooter, but the lady started in again, so I missed what was being said exactly.

Lady: *To the employee* “Get her boss! I want to talk to him about her behavior issues!”

I think she was the only oblivious person in the aisle, and we had an audience of like ten. Two other people leaned down to ask if I wanted to get up or stay put, whether I needed water, etc.

Employee: *To the lady* “A manager is on his way, but this woman doesn’t work here.”

She started ranting again, something about people lying for each other. At this point, I was embarrassed by the crowd and just ready to leave.

The manager came out and she started ranting at this guy.

Lady: “This employee was personal shopping for another customer, and when I approached her, she just sat down on the floor like an entitled, spoiled brat! You didn’t have any scooters when I came in, and I need a personal shopper!”

I didn’t have any glorious moment of telling her off — it isn’t really my way — but I did get to enjoy her face when an electric cart was driven up by an employee and she had to watch me ride off on it.

The manager was still explaining to her that I had a medical condition as she began yelling about my youth and entitlement and being a bad employee.

She probably still thinks I work there.

I went into a very large feed store for the very first time and was a little overwhelmed by the size of the place. A clerk directed me to the medications, and I was looking through them when two women in their early thirties spotted me and walked over.

Woman #1: “Excuse me, but I’m looking for something for my horse. He has [some sort of problem that I don’t remember] with [some piece of horse anatomy that’s unknown to me].”

Me: “Sorry, but I don’t work here.”

Woman #1: “But you’re standing there in front of the medicines!”

Me: “I’m shopping. I don’t work here, sorry.”

The women left for a few minutes and then returned.

Woman #1: “We’ve decided that since we thought you worked here, you need to help us anyway.” 

[Woman #2] nodded.

Me: “I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything about horses. If you need help, you will need to ask somebody who works here.”

Woman #1: “But I can’t find anybody, and you’re here. What’s that in your hand?”

Me: “It’s something to stop feather plucking in chickens.”

Woman #1: “Does it help horses?”

Me: “Whaaaaat?!”

[Woman #1] gave a loud sigh.

Woman #1: “We need help with our horse. Will any of these help?”

She pointed to the shelf.

Me: “I don’t know anything about treating horses. Maybe you could call your vet. They might be able to help you.”

Woman #1: “But vets cost money, and they’d probably want us to bring him in.”

[Woman #2] nodded again.

Woman #1: “Just tell me what you think will help.”

Me: “But I don’t work here, and I don’t know anything about treating horses.”

I decided to walk away and come back later. Maybe they would find something for their horse’s problem and I would be able to shop in peace. A little while later, I returned to the same aisle and it was empty. Now to get a few things for the chickens. But nope. They spotted me and headed back for another round.

Woman #1: “Look, we need something for our horse. If you didn’t know anything about medicines, you wouldn’t be in this aisle. We don’t want to call the vet because that’s expensive, and we’re not taking him in. If you don’t know, why don’t you call somebody who does?”

Woman #2: “Yeah, we can’t afford that. We’re not going to the vet. We just need some medicine for him.”

Me: “You want me to call a vet for you?! It sounds like you need to call your vet. Maybe they could advise you over the phone — because I don’t know anything about treating horses! I am here looking for stuff for my chickens, and I know nothing about treating horses!“

A clerk must have heard me raise my voice because he came over. The women immediately went over to him, complaining because their horse needed help, I wouldn’t help them, and they did not want to pay for a vet.

I headed straight for the registers. I just hope that poor horse got the help he needed.

I work in ophthalmology with diabetics, glaucoma, cataracts, injuries — all sorts of fun patients. I genuinely love what I do and I’m really good at it. We wear scrubs.

One day after work, I went to the grocery store and some lady was talking loudly. I’m an unsociable idiot most days in the wild, so I just kept doing my thing. Then, the lady almost ran me over with her cart asking about stomach medication from the pharmacy.

Me: “Sorry, I wasn’t ignoring you. I don’t work here.”

Lady: “You liar! You have to help me!”

Me: “I know eyes, but I don’t know about anything else.”

I went to go finish what I was doing, and the lady started screaming at me.

Lady: “You’re a horrible person! You’re being super unhelpful!”

Luckily, some mom was watching and spoke up.

Mom: “She clearly doesn’t work here! You’re at [Grocery Store] and she’s in scrubs.”

The poor lady still didn’t get it, but I basically booked it around the corner and snuck away when she turned to argue with the mom.

My mom is paralyzed from the waist down, so my dad and I take her out grocery shopping every now and then. She has a motorized wheelchair, but it’s too bulky to take with us to the store, so we bring her non-motorized (push) wheelchair with us.

Dad pushes her around while I pull stuff off the shelves she wants us to get and put them in our cart. Dad has a voice that he’s used in the past to scare people. Just ask old potential boyfriends of mine.

While we’re doing this, another customer begins yelling.

Customer: “Hey, miss?”

She then starts whistling and pointedly clearing her throat. I put the last item in the cart and turn to the customer.

Me: “Can I help you?”

She thrusts a list at me and demands:

Customer: “Get me the stuff on my list.”

I look nothing like the employees; they wear blue from head to toe, basically, and I am wearing a yellow sundress with daisies on it.

Me: “No, I’m helping my mother now. I think there’s an employee at the front desk who can help you.”

She doesn’t like this and reaches out to grab my arm.

Customer: “You will help me now or I will get you fired.”

I shove her away, shouting “NO!” Then, I feel blood running down my arm where her nails have broken the skin on my bicep. Dad looks over and kind of freaks when he sees the blood.

Dad: “Leave my daughter alone!”

My dad’s voice is loud enough to get an employee to rush over.

Employee: “Is there a problem?”

Dad: “This woman just assaulted my daughter. Do you have a first aid kit or something to help her out? I’m going to call the cops while you get this.”

Upon hearing the word “cops”, the lady just sunk to the floor crying and trying to say it was just a misunderstanding. When the cops arrived, I had been bandaged up. The manager had come up, and upon listening to my and my dad’s story, as well as the employee describing the aftermath, the cops went to the back with the manager to check the video. Meanwhile, the lady was crying, saying, “I’ll lose my kids.” — no “sorry” or anything like that. The cops arrested her for assault on a minor and took her away crying.

At the trial later, the two things I most remember are that she was on probation and did indeed lose custody of her kids (I think the father got them), and she tried to say, “It was an honest mistake; I thought she was an employee.” Whereupon the judge said, “Even if she was an employee, what gives you the right to grab someone like this?” while showing her the pictures that were taken of my bloody arm.

She broke into more tears as the judge read her sentence, including the loss of her children due to violating her probation, plus some community service, I think.

Much later, as part of her effort to get her children back, she had to write me a letter of apology, which is still in my parent’s attic in a box.