I have always been a very self-confident type of person, but I’m also easygoing and always do my best to be decent to people. I was just brought up that way. I also expect it from others and have absolutely zero patience for people who think it’s okay to act out or be blatantly rude.

One afternoon, I was at a large store trying to do some shopping. I hadn’t thought much about it, but I happened to be wearing the store’s colors: a dark blue button-up shirt, neat jeans, and nice work shoes. I am a trucker and was wearing a shirt from my company.

At some point, I heard a loud, pointed throat-clearing behind me.

Woman: “Ahem! Excuuuuse me!”

A woman in business attire is standing behind me. She gazed at me sternly, her eyes steely, her demeanor as if she were about to berate a servant who had erred.

I stared, silent for a moment, gathering back a swell of irritation at just seeing the attitude this lady had, and then I just simply blurted:

Me: “What?”

She jerked back, incredulous, as though I had just slapped her. But she was also quick to recover.

Woman: “Employees should not speak to customers in such a fashion!”

My brows just went up. That was all. But I said in a very level tone:

Me: “I don’t work here.”

Then I turned away from her, just intent on going back to my shopping.

Woman: “You do not turn away from me!”

She went so far as to grab the back of my suspenders.

I very calmly turned back around and looked down at her a second. (I’m six-foot and she was like five-foot-and-a-half or something.) Then, I leaned down very close to her face — this was long before the health crisis — and began in a very low voice:

Me: “I said…”

Then, I raised my voice to its loudest by the word, finishing with:

Me: “…I DO NOT WORK HERE!”

By the time I was out with, “HERE!”, I was so loud that I could have been heard all the way through this superstore. I even think I blew her hair back a little.

The look on her face was wonderful.

Woman: *Stammering* “I… I… I’m sorry. I thought you were—”

Me: “Thought I was an employee, yes.”

I was still dead in her face.

Me: “Which you thought gave you the right to speak to me and treat me as though I was beneath you.”

I leaned in even closer. She stood, spellbound, a viper and mouse — she the mouse, me the viper.

Me: “Well, I got news for you, lady. Buying stuff from a store and spending a little money does not grant you license to abuse or belittle people.”

I straightened and then turned on my heel and walked away from her while she stood there gawping like a fish out of water, absolutely speechless.

It was delightful.

I am in fifth grade at a small private school where there is only one class for each grade. I am running late for school, and my classroom is on the other side of the building from the front door. I am rushing to try to get to class. It’s important to note that it is a well-known fact around school that I am mostly deaf.

I finally reach my classroom, but no sooner do I sit than my teacher informs me that the eighth-grade teacher wants me down in her room. I am not sure what this could be about, given I have never met the woman, but I walk down anyway. She stands at her door when I arrive, a scowl on her face.

Teacher: “I can barely look at you. The disrespect!”

I’m confused since I am a rather mild kid.

Me: “Uh, pardon? What did I do?”

Teacher: “You know what you did.”

Me: “No, I seriously don’t. I don’t think we’ve ever talked before?”

Teacher: “Well, I tried to talk to you this morning, and you so rudely blew me off!”

Me: “Huh? When did I do that? Ma’am, I only arrived five minutes ago.”

Teacher: “I know. I immediately requested to speak with you. I tried to say good morning, and you didn’t say it back!”

I am starting to piece together what happened. I figure maybe, since we’ve never interacted, she didn’t realize that I wasn’t ignoring her, especially since I read lips so I am handling this conversation well.

Me: “Ma’am, I’m hard of hearing. I didn’t know you tried to say good morning.”

Teacher: “Oh, I know about your hearing problems, but that gives you no excuse to be so rude to me!”

Me: “I’m… sorry? I really can’t hear. What do you expect me to do?”

Teacher: “Just don’t pull that near me! Listen when I’m nearby!”

Me: “That isn’t how hearing loss works.”

Fortunately, the bell rang then, signaling the actual start of the day, so she had to get back to her class, and I ran down to mine. Unfortunately, my ears did not magically heal whenever she was in the area, but as far as I’m aware, she never tried to speak to me again.

After spending a night in a hotel while traveling, I get up at about 8:00 am to check out and get back on the road. My room is on the second floor, with a window overlooking the main entrance of the hotel. I shower, dress, pack my bag, and open the curtain to check the weather… and see several police cars and an ambulance clustered around the main entrance, all with lights flashing. Check-out time isn’t until 11:00 am, so I sit back down on the bed and get my computer out, planning to wait a while to see if all the commotion dies down so I can check out without having to walk through the middle of everything.

After ten minutes, the room starts feeling a bit stuffy, so I go to open the window and let in some fresh air. The ambulance and police cars are still there, and now there’s a family gathered around, some of whom look like they might be crying. Not wanting to invade anyone’s privacy, I start to close my window, but then I overhear a seemingly random hotel guest approaching the family.

Random Guest: “Hey, I saw the flashing lights. What happened?”

Family Member: *Looking annoyed* “We don’t know yet.”

Random Guest: “Was it a heart attack or something? Or did someone fall and hit their head?”

Family Member: *Still annoyed and getting angry* “We don’t know. Please leave us alone.”

Random Guest: “I’m just asking. With all these cops and everything, I get curious about what’s going on.”

Family Member: *Now just plain angry* “Please leave us alone.”

Random Guest: “Hey, man, I’m just trying to check out. My car is over there, so what am I supposed to do? Just ignore all the flashing lights and everything?”

One of the police officers finally realized what was going on and pulled the random guest away from the family. I closed my window, so I don’t know what happened after that. The ambulance left twenty minutes later, and I was able to check out.

I obviously don’t know why the ambulance was there because it wasn’t my business, but I hope everything turned out okay. To the random guest… you need to go back to kindergarten and learn about social boundaries.

My former manager is a real peach. Pardon my Southern. Fortunately, she is not my manager any longer, nor is she actually allowed to ask me to do anything — not even if the building was on fire and she needed help lifting a smoldering piece of scaffolding from her leg to escape.

Truthfully, I would still help her if she acted like a grown-up and ASKED for my help. However, it is out of her wheelhouse. Like, I said, real peach.

On the bright side, after I was no longer under her, I was promoted rather rapidly into a managerial position! We are now equals, which frustrates her even more.

Her new method to get me to do something is to now passive-aggressively hint until I “volunteer” to do it myself, but I have to do it in such a way that isn’t indicative of her “giving” me a task.

This happens in a conference call.

Former Manager: “[My Name], do you know if [Contractor] has been tracking bugs in [Program]?”

I am not responsible for this contractor; she is. I have received no training on the program she’s asking about.

Me: “I don’t know. I haven’t really looked or kept track of others’ tasks outside of [Subordinate #1], [Subordinate #2], and [Subordinate #3].”

Former Manager: “Did you look?”

Me: “I can look, but there is no good way to search for it.”

Former Manager: “You are an administrator. You should be able to look.”

Me: “I don’t get notifications for people not under me, and the search feature only works for tasks. I don’t know what he is working on.”

Former Manager: “You should be able to.”

At this point, I realize she wants to use me to basically “scold” [Contractor] in her stead for something she never told him to do. She already knows he hasn’t been putting in his bug reports. Basically, think of her as that “fun aunt” who likes to think she is cool, relatable, and down-to-earth so she hypes her nieces and nephews up on sugar and then sends them home to their parents covered in mud, knowing Mom or Dad is not going to be happy they ruined their new sneakers.

Me: “Can you show me how?”

Former Manager: “You should be able to do it!”

Me: “Okay, while I am not sure how. Would you like me to email him and ask?”

Notice the phrasing. I am asking her if she wants me to do something.

Former Manager: “No! I want you to look to see if he has entered any tasks.”

Me: “Well, I can certainly look, but as I said, to my knowledge, there is no way to search for who is assigned which tasks. If you know how, I would love for you to enlighten me.”

At this point, I have actually figured out how to search for tasks by clicking on individual profiles, which also shows me he has not logged on in two weeks. None of this needs actual administrator privilege to access. But as she clearly KNOWS how to search and just wants me to be the bad guy for her (on something that is pretty minor), I decide to continue yanking her chain.

Former Manager: “So, he hasn’t reported or been assigned one bug?”

Me: “I mean, if you check the bug list, he has a couple open, so he knows how to use it.”

Former Manager: “Has he put anything else in?”

Me: “I cannot see if he has or hasn’t.”

Former Manager: “You should be able to.”

Me: “How?”

There is a noticeable silence and I can hear the wheels turning in her head as she tries to figure out how to get out of this trap. She can either admit she checked and knows how to check or she can continue this cycle. I throw her a bone.

Me: “Why don’t I email him for you and ask? That seems best, right? Then, if he has any questions, we can figure it out together.”

Former Manager: *Grumbling* “Well, you should know how.”

Me: “I don’t know what to tell you. I received no training on this software and haven’t had a chance to create a training document for it. I recommend just talking to him.”

Former Manager: *Quick to change topic* “So, you are going to email him, yes?”

Me: “Sure.”

I made sure to mention in the email that she was asking him.

A year or two after I graduated college, I was lucky enough to have gotten a pretty well-paying job but found myself not sure what to do with my new income. After spending pretty much my entire life scraping and saving to try to afford to make it through college, it had become such a habit that it now felt somehow decadent and wrong to actually spend the money I was earning!

To help get over that feeling of wasteful extravagance I got when I spent money on non-necessities, I had ironically opted to try tithing despite being an atheist. I figured if I gave 10% of my money to charity, I wouldn’t feel guilty about spending the rest on myself. In practice, I instead still kept pretty close to my starving college student lifestyle with the remaining income going toward first paying off the few student loans I’d had to take my last semester of college and then building up a sizable nest egg for emergencies. It turns out that cheapness is a hard habit to break!

One day, a teen came knocking on my door. I answered it and he immediately went on a spiel about how he was selling magazines for some company, and if I would purchase a subscription, some amount of it would go toward covering his college expenses.

Me: “I’m sorry, but I don’t really need or want any of these magazines.”

Teen: “But it would help me to pay for college. You could purchase something just to help.”

Me: “Yeah, I get that, and I want to help, but I donate all my charitable donations through [Charity Assessment Organization] because I know they will help ensure it’s used as efficiently as possible. Buying magazines isn’t exactly an efficient way of helping anyone, sorry.”

Teen: “Helping someone through college is definitely a good source of charity.”

Me: “But that’s not where most of the money goes. I bet you would get more out of me just handing you a dollar or two for your college fund now than if I got a subscription, and that would still be twenty dollars less for me since I’m not going to want to read any of these magazines anyway.”

Teen: “I’d be happy to accept direct donations to my college fund, as well!”

Me: “Then I wouldn’t have any way of making sure you used the money well for college. I’m sorry. I’d like to help, but I’m afraid I have to stick with known and proven charities for my donations so I know I’m getting the most out of them.”

Teen: “But if you—”

Me: *Interrupting a little* “I’m sorry, but the answer is no.”

Here, the teen got a furious look and snatched the book that listed all the magazines they sold out of my hand.

Teen: “Fine. Be selfish, you a**hole. I don’t need your help, anyway.”

He then somehow managed to slam the door on me while leaving my house. Apparently, giving a bunch of your money to save babies from dying of easily preventable diseases is selfish if you don’t also waste more of it buying things you don’t need or giving cash to a demanding teen and hoping he uses it well. I’m sorry for being such a selfish b*****d.