(I’ve just moved and I decide to have dinner at a cafe-style restaurant near my new apartment. I sit down with my meal only for a girl around 12 years old to start playing a song in the same vein as Rebecca Black’s “Friday” on her tablet, seemingly at full volume. At first, I’m not sure if it’s really that loud or if I’m just tired and grumpy from the move, so I switch seats to the opposite end of the restaurant. It takes about two minutes for me to realize that no, it’s not just me, and people all over the place are glaring. After another couple of minutes and realizing that I can’t get through an entire meal with that, I go up to the girl, her mother, and her mother’s friends.)

Me: “Excuse me. Could you please turn your music down? I moved seats to avoid it and it’s still really loud.”

Girl: “Sure!” *starts turning the volume down*

Mom: *standing up* “No, no, my daughter can listen to her songs as loud as she wants.”

Girl: “Mom, it’s fine–”

Mom: “No, it’s not fine.” *to me* “Who do you think you are, telling my daughter what to do?”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m not asking her to turn it off, just down a bit so I can eat in peace.”

Girl: “Mom, it’s not a big deal. I can still hear it.”

(The mom kind of harumphed and sat back down, and her friends shook their heads and tutted their tongues at me, but at least it was quieter than the music. I went back to my table and noticed a few other people looking relieved. About two minutes later, I saw the mom reach over to her daughter and try to turn the volume back up, but the girl pulled it out of her reach before she could do it.)

(Unfortunately, we’ve had a pool fouling and have to close down the kiddie pool. Luckily, we have another pool completely separate from the kiddie pool that will remain open. I am telling patrons that we have to close this pool, but they are welcome to go into the other pool after they shower. Most are already leaving due to the mess, except one father and his kids.)

Me: “I’m very sorry, but we’ve unfortunately had a fouling and need to close this pool.”

Father: “What?”

Me: “The other pool is open, so you can go there after you shower. We just need to close this one so we can clean it.”

Father: “You’re serious?”

(I can’t help but glance at the mess that’s in the pool, wondering if he seriously wants to keep swimming in it.)

Me: “Unfortunately, yes, it just happened, but you can still use our other pool after you shower.”

Father: “We only got here half an hour ago! I can’t believe you’re closing the pool on us!”

Me: “Oh, no, the whole pool isn’t shut down, just the kiddie pool. We’re still open and you can use the other pool while we clean this one.”

Father: “I paid to only use this pool. We only came for this pool, and after thirty minutes you’re kicking us out of it.”

(I quickly realize that he won’t be happy with whatever answer I give him, and my coworkers are waiting to scoop and put in chemicals. So, I give him another option.)

Me: “Well, I’m sorry, sir, but these events are unpredictable. I’m really sorry this happened, but if you don’t want to use the other pool, I’m sure the front desk will give you a refund. Or they could even give you some free passes.”

Father: “Really? Just like that?”

Me: “Uh-huh!”

Father: “So, will they get my ex-wife to give me more time with the kids?”

(I didn’t know what to say to this, but I didn’t have to say anything. The man stormed off, ordering his kids to follow and muttering about how we were closing the pool for no reason. I felt bad that the guy was having a bad day, but there was another pool they could have used and others did.)

(I work in a supermarket in Finland that also sells some clothes. Our children’s clothing section is not divided by gender, only organised by age, brand, use, and colour, mostly in that order. I’m stocking the section for toddlers when an angry-looking woman approaches me holding a onesie meant for babies. She doesn’t speak Finnish very well, and it is not considered polite to speak English if the other person tries to speak Finnish, so I have trouble understanding her. That would not be a problem, but the customer is also clearly annoyed, and her tone is short and somewhat rude from the beginning.)

Customer: “YOU!”

Me: “Yes, how can I help you?”

Customer: *snappily* “THIS!” *waves the onesie in front of me* “This cloth… Who fits it?”

Me: “Do you mean what age is it meant for? Let me see.” *takes the onesie and reads the label* “It says here that it is 68 cm, which usually means that it for children who are between about four and six months. But children are all different, so if you are not sure, it is always better to buy a bit too large than too small since babies grow so fast.”

Customer: “NO! NO! WHO! Who it fits?!”

Me: *thinking she might not have understood me* “Usually children between four and six months, madam.”

Customer: “NO!” *snatches the clothing back from my hands and proceeds to wave it in front of me again* “WHO IT FITS?!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”

Customer: *in English* “BOY OR GIRL?”

Me: *also changing languages* “Oh, I’m sorry, madam. I did not understand. The cuts on baby clothing generally fit all the babies, regardless of sex. The size is the only thing that matters in how the clothing fits.”

Customer: “NO! BOY OR GIRL?!”

Me: “Both? You can decide yourself, madam. They are unisex.”

(This was clearly the wrong thing to say. The customer sort of screeched and shouted, “NO UNISEX,” threw the onesie into my stocking cart, and stomped away. What was the sexless, offending onesie like? It was light beige with little yellow ducklings. I still have no idea for which sex baby ducks are reserved.)

(I am helping a woman pick out earrings for her daughter’s birthday.)

Customer: “I heard that big hoops are back in again, and I want to make sure they show up in my daughter’s hair.”

Me: “Well, these are pretty thin but large in size, so they should be noticeable but won’t weigh her ears down.”

Customer: “I just don’t know if it will work. My daughter has such thick and beautiful hair so it’s hard to see anything through it.”

Me: “Well, if they don’t work she can always return or exchange them.”

Customer: “No, that won’t work. Here; let me show you just how thick her hair is.”

(She begins scrolling through her phone for a picture of her daughter and while she does that, I take my hair out of my ponytail. At this point, I should mention that I have a complete undercut the whole way across my head and the only hair I have is at the top. I normally keep it up so it’s out of my face but I figure I can use it as a demonstration because it’s very thick and curly and when it’s down, you can’t tell I have a shaved head.)

Customer: “Wait, where did you get that hair?”

Me: “Well, it’s been here the whole time. I just keep it up, but I figured this way you can kind of get an idea about whether the earrings will show up.”

(I hold the earrings up and the customer begins to glare daggers at me.)

Customer: “Hmm, I just don’t know. My daughter’s hair is just so thick and pretty that I’ll have to bring her in to try them.”

Me: “Okay. Whatever is easier for you.”

(While I put the earrings away, she kept staring at me. I think she got angry over the fact that I had hair just as thick as her daughter’s and she couldn’t brag anymore. One of the weirder customers I have had.)

(We’re in the year 2000 or close. As a teenager, I’m slim and “nicely built” — or so I’ve heard — yet I am VERY modest, especially in the chest area, and my family know its and respects it. I don’t mind girls who wear low-cut clothes — I think it’s really great if they enjoy it and I HATE slut-shaming — yet I’d rather be slapped or punched than show the slightest part of my “parts.” Up until now, most girls and women have worn one-piece swimming suits on the local beaches, and I’ve loved it. However, bikinis are coming back into fashion and my mom wants to buy me one of those. I accept, thinking she’ll find me a modestly cut two-piece or something that’ll cover everything I want to cover. She makes me try a dozen bikinis on. All of them are too low-cut for my tastes, and the shop assistant — male — is staring.)

Me: “Mom, I don’t feel good in any of those.”

Shop Assistant: “Are you sure? Because you look great in all of those!”

Me: “I don’t feel good. I’d like to try something more modest, please.”

(The shop assistant comes back with a swimsuit that is even more low-cut than the previous one. I’m running out of patience.)

Me: “I’d like to try a one-piece on!”

Mom: “But you look so much better in a bikini!”

Me: “Mom, everyone looks good in one-pieces! They hide all the flaws!”

Shop Assistant: “Which flaws? Your mom’s right; you have a bikini body!”

Me: “It’s my body and I want to try a one-piece. I just prefer stuff I can swim in without ever losing the straps.”

Mom: “Try this one on first.”

(I try it. It’s still too low-cut for my tastes.)

Me: “I’d prefer a one-piece.”

Shop Assistant: “One-pieces are for grandmothers. Is that what you want to do: look like a granny? That would be a waste!”

Me: “I’d like something that’s not that low-cut, please.”

Shop Assistant: “Why? You have beautiful breasts.”

(He was staring at my cleavage, and I was just a girl. I felt dirty. To all shop assistants who read this: if a customer ever tells you she wants something more modest, just give her something more modest. Don’t make her try sexy things on “for her own good” if she doesn’t want to, especially if she’s a teenager. Prude-shaming is just as wrong as slut-shaming.)