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’m in my late twenties and am currently the assistant manager of my entire store. I have a bit of a baby face at the best of times and got this job when I was twenty-five, so I’m pretty used to people scoffing when they hear I’m the manager.

I took six months off last year to deal with my divorce from my controlling, horrible ex-husband. (I would not recommend getting married at eighteen, kids!) As soon as I was free of him, I checked what was and wasn’t allowed in our dress code and finally started expressing myself the way I had desperately always wanted to.

It is the day I get back from my leave of absence. A regular problem customer is barking orders at one of my team and demands to speak to the manager, and she pages me down.

Customer: *Still yelling at my poor cashier* “…and I don’t want to talk to that mousy little thing who looks like she should still be in high school! Get me a real manager!”

Me: “That would be me, mate.”

The customer turned around and found me standing behind him. Gone was the shy person with the cross necklace, thick glasses, and light brown hair. My hair was now in an electric green pixie cut, I had tattoos covering both forearms and a nose ring, and I was wearing contact lenses.

We don’t wear uniforms in my store, so he was used to seeing me in the “modest” dresses my husband allowed me to wear. I’ve gotten REALLY into suits, so I was wearing dress pants, a black button-up shirt with some cool little chain details on the pocket, and combat boots that also had chains on the sides.

I really did expect more pushback, but the customer meekly apologized to my giggling cashier and scurried off into the night. I’ve never felt more confident or powerful.

A customer is standing by our pastry case and behind the glass. They ask me a question. I think I hear, “Two cinnamon rolls”, so I ask for clarification.

Me: “How many cinnamon rolls would you like?”

Customer: *Loud and slow* “I. SAID. HOW. ARE. THE. CINNAMON. ROLLS.”

Me: “Oh, they’re really good.”

She ends up getting one, and as I’m ringing her out, I ask her to swipe her rewards card.

Customer: “Where do I swipe?”

Me: *Pointing to the PIN pad* “Right there.”

The customer tries to tap their card.

Customer: “Why is it not working?”

I reply with about half the attitude and volume she gave me.

Me: “Swipe. Your card. Here.”

I point to the PIN pad again, but this time I use my other hand, so it doesn’t cross over the screen.

Customer: *Finally swipes her card* “Oh, I thought you pointed to the screen.”

She was rude, but it felt good to give her some of her attitude back.

It’s an incredibly busy Friday night. We are on a waitlist, so tables are seated within a minute of people getting up. I get a table of six, including a baby who I’m guessing is about eighteen months old.

I get their drink orders, but they’re not ready to order. I check on them a few times over about twenty minutes, answering questions, but they keep telling me they are not ready to order, but no big deal.

Just as I have one table that’s ready to be sat and another that is just finishing dessert but has their check, they flag me down and say they are ready to order. I take the first person’s order as my next table is being sat, and the mother of the baby orders for herself.

Me: “And anything for the little one?”

Mother: “Yes, just a moment.” *Turns to the baby* “[Child], would you like a hamburger or chicken?”

The child looks at the mother like they don’t know what’s going on, and the mother repeats the question a few times. After about a minute of waiting, I glance at the next person, who started ordering. We both seem to think that I can get the rest of the order while the mother figures it out. The mother gives dirty looks to me and the person who began ordering.

Mother: *To the person ordering* “You’re being rude. It’s [Child]’s turn to order.”

She then goes through the process of trying to get a choice out of her baby, who obviously doesn’t understand the question. After a minute, I see my next table looking around. I wave at them and gesture that I’ll be with them in a minute. They smile and nod as I get another table. After another minute or so, I interrupt the mother’s repetitive question.

Me: “So, you seem to need a bit more time to decide. I have to go check on a couple of tables while you think it over.”

Mother: “No, you’re being rude to [Child]. She needs you to be patient, so she can learn. Besides, we have already been here forever, we are hungry, and we’re ready to order. No one wants to wait while the food for everyone who came in after us gets made.”

The person who tried to order before takes the opportunity to jump in and start ordering as I signal to another server to take the second table. The mother gives him a dirty look but seems to realize stopping him again would contradict herself, so she allows the rest of the table to order.

She keeps talking over everyone as they order, trying to get the baby to decide. The baby begins making indecipherable baby talk at the mother. I glance back at my other tables and see that the other servers have gotten the first table’s order in already. The second has their drinks and is placing their order with another server. After everyone else orders, I wait a few seconds before interrupting the mother.

Me: “Have you made a decision for the little one?”

Mother: “No. She is still thinking!”

Me: “Would it be all right if I went to ring in the rest of the food? Everyone else’s meals will take a lot longer than the kid’s, so she should still get her food with everyone else.”

Mother: “No, she just needs another minute. [Child], would you like a hamburger or chicken?”

The rest of the table begins claiming that they heard the baby order one item or another, but the mother won’t accept the baby’s mumbles as an answer. I start handing off checks to other servers to drop for me. Between the rest of the party’s frustration and the mother seeming to realize that I’m still running my section as I wait, she finally relents.

Mother: “Everyone, be quiet! [Child] is talking.”

The table quiets down, and the baby continues to make random babbling noises.

Mother: “See, everyone? She can order for herself. She said she wanted a hamburger, and since you said the kid’s meals are faster, will you ring in her first? It’s taken everyone way too long to order, and she is too hungry to wait for everyone else’s food.”

Me: “Sure, that’s no problem. I’ll be out with it as soon as I can.”

The rest of the table rolled their eyes and shook their heads, and I left as quickly as I could. I had rung up an order a few seconds before I began taking theirs, so I checked the time. It took eighteen minutes to get the order when it could have taken less than three if the mother had not insisted that the baby order herself. In that time, I had to give up two tables, and had a third leave a terrible tip and note about being waited on by other servers while I just talked to one table.

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.