I took Tae Kwon Do for several years until I left for college, and at the time of this story, I was either a belt away from my black belt or had just gotten my first Dan. I was studying Olympic-style Tae Kwon Do, which is more sport than defensive art. Its sparring rules are designed to encourage interesting fights to watch more than to teach practical defense. Because of this, a number of things that are practical in a real fight, like grappling and punching, are either illegal or unable to score points when sparring.

Recently, we had a new person taking classes: an old friend of the person who ran the dojo who already had a black belt and training in a few different martial arts. He was always trying to get people to agree to bend the sparring rules to allow things he was taught but aren’t legal in our sparring, like grappling or punching to the head. By itself, this wouldn’t be too big a problem, except he wasn’t very good at taking no for an answer and would try to use these techniques even when his sparring partner didn’t agree to change the rules. He only did it with advanced belts and did it infrequently enough that, while annoying, it never quite reached the level of his being properly punished. Being friends with the owner likely helped him, as well.

On the day of this story, more for fun than anything else, we were doing two-on-one sparring matches, with two lower belts against one higher belt. I was going up against our master’s friend and had been paired up with a young girl who had only been sparring for a little while and still had the hesitancy that is often seen in new sparrers. While in a real fight, two on one is a massive advantage given the rules and limits of sparring, and with my partner’s lack of experience or aggression, I didn’t think she would be able to contribute much to the match. That meant the fight would mostly come down to me versus my opponent, who was far more experienced, which meant we would almost certainly lose the match.

I was worried that my new partner would be intermediated if our foe started using illegal moves she wasn’t ready to deal with, so before the match started, I politely reminded him that we wanted to stick to legal moves only without any of the stuff he liked to add.

My opponent seemed to take this as a challenge; the very moment the fight started, he dive-tackled me and grappled me to the floor. Not only was this illegal, but it was also rather foolish, as it put him on the ground and tied up with me while my partner was still free. Rather than trying to break his grapple, I instead did my best to tangle his legs and arms up with me so he couldn’t get up and told my partner to start kicking him while was defenseless. He had just turned an almost guaranteed win if he had just followed the rules into a rather inglorious defeat at the hands (feet?) of someone barely experienced enough to be allowed to spar at all.

Luckily for him, my partner seemed to realize how unfair the situation was, and as I said, she wasn’t remotely aggressive, so her “kicks” were barely more than taps, more demonstrating the damage she could do than really trying to inflict harm. Despite this, I could see our opponent growing increasingly infuriated with every strike.

Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, I wasn’t able to keep my opponent tangled on the floor forever. Eventually, he managed to untangle himself and get up, at which point he went at my partner full force. He was clearly angry and not holding back nearly as much as an experienced black belt should against a newbie sparrer. I was honestly worried he would hurt my partner, so I rushed to get up and knock him away from her with a push kick so I could get between the two of them. Luckily, time ran out seconds after I’d knocked him away and the match ended before anyone was hurt.

My partner wasn’t badly hurt; he had landed a few very solid blows on her padding that winded her, but they didn’t cause any lasting harm. She was, however, terrified and upset at having been chased down and so viciously focused on, and I still wonder if he would have harmed her if it wasn’t for my intervention and time running out. As far as I was concerned, he had gone too far this time.

Despite being nothing more than a high school student, I went against my instincts and spoke to my master about his friend and my concerns after class was over that night. He agreed with me that his friend had pushed too far this time and told me he planned to have a “talk” with his friend. I don’t know what that talk entailed, but I noticed that the friend stopped coming to class not long after that.

I have ADD and am relatively smart. This combination can be difficult, because the symptoms for ADD and the symptoms for a smart child who finds school boring and not challenging enough are very similar, and they exacerbate each other.

As a young child in elementary school, I particularly hated tests because they never challenged me, but they did require me to sit still working on them for an entire class. With other assignments, I usually finished them early and got to read a book, and with lectures, if I was bored, I could disengage and start daydreaming; I was very good at living inside my own head. But tests needed just enough attention that I couldn’t start daydreaming, but they were not interesting enough to hyperfocus on, resulting in being the most boring task in school to me. 

To make tests a bit more tolerable, I tried turning them into a game. I had all kinds of rules as to how questions should be answered and the order I did them in, and I even kept “score” of how well I was sticking to the rules. It’s been too long for me to remember all the rules, but the result was that I skipped around the test answering questions in seemingly random order while tracking points on the side of the paper in a way that I’m sure looked a little crazy to an outside observer, but it made things at least a little more interesting to me.

We ended up having a substitute teacher one day when we had a test. A little after the test, she came up to me while I was reading a book; I’d finished the assignment ahead of time and had free time. She originally started talking about my book and the fact that it was a few reading levels above my grade before transitioning to talking about the test.

Substitute: “I noticed you were moving around a lot during the tests.”

I felt a little embarrassed at being “caught” at what I realized was a pretty silly game, but I tried to act as if it was normal.

Me: “Yeah, I do that sometimes.”

Substitute: “Why did you do it?”

Me: “It’s kind of like a game to make the test more interesting. I know it’s silly—”

Substitute: “Oh, no, there is nothing wrong about it. I was just curious. You reminded me a bit of my daughter.”

Me: “Oh?”

Substitute: “She’s smart and likes reading like you, too. But she used to drive us crazy; whenever she had a test, she would sit and try to read her book without even looking at the test for the first half of class before she would start it, and she wouldn’t tell us why she did it!”

Me: “Oh, yeah, I could see doing that.”

Now the substitute sounded surprised that I didn’t think that was odd.

Substitute: “What? That makes sense to you?”

Me: “I assume the test was too easy, so she wanted to make it more challenging by needing to rush to complete it in time. It would be kind of fun, but my dad would be mad at me if I tried it.”

Substitute: “Wow. I wish I had you around a few years ago to explain that to us! We had to take her to a fancy psychiatrist just to figure out what she was doing.”

It was a random little conversation, but it’s stuck in my head for decades because it was the first time that it really occurred to me that my brain and my ways of doing things were just a bit different from how “normal” folks did it. The fact that something as “obvious” as the substitute’s daughter’s motivations wouldn’t make sense to a “normal” person made me realize that I, and presumably the substitute’s daughter, might just see the world a bit differently than most did.

Luckily for me, I didn’t necessarily mind being different, so it wasn’t a bad memory. Over the years, I’ve actually grown increasingly happy that I’m a bit odd. I see so many people doing downright foolish things in the effort to seem normal that I’m kind of glad I’m not normal and peer pressure doesn’t tempt me to join in with the foolishness just to fit in. Still, this was the first time it really clicked in my head that my mind really doesn’t work quite the way others’ do.

While I was in college, I came home for summer vacation and got a summer job working at a warehouse. During the lunch break, I was speaking to someone who had worked there for much longer than I had.

Coworker: “This job is what pays the bills, but during the weekend, I work as a bouncer. That job’s as much for fun as to make money, though. I could take you there sometime if you want.”

Me: “Oh, no, thanks. I don’t drink, and I spent enough time around a bar as a kid to last me my whole life, thanks.”

Coworker: “Okay, suit yourself. But if you ever change your mind and want to come down to the [Bar] on a weekend, come look me up.

Me: “Wait, you work at [Bar]? Really?”

Coworker: “Yeah, you know it?”

Me: “That is the only bar in this state I do know, and way too well. My dad used to own it when I was a kid. How’s it doing nowadays?”

Coworker: “What? You’re [Owner]’s son?”

Me: “No, no, my dad sold it to him a few years ago, and he was renting it from us for years before that. Actually, the sale is working out really well for us; he’s paying us 13% interest and barely pays enough each month to cover the interest so it’s just like free money each month.”

Coworker: “There is no way your dad owned the [Bar].”

Me: “Umm, I’m pretty sure he did. My sister even had one of her birthday parties in the restaurant half one year.”

Coworker: “If your dad is rich enough to own a bar, why are you working here?”

Me: “He isn’t as rich as you seem to think. When he owned it the bar barely made a profit and all that went into fixing it up. If it weren’t for those rental properties in the back parking lot, I’m pretty sure it would have lost money; turns out the real money is in being a slum lord! It really didn’t pay him enough to be worth the effort he put in until he started renting it to [Current Owner] and just kept the rental properties.”

Coworker: “No way you would be working here if your dad owns a bar.”

Me: “My parents expect me to pay my own way through college; they think I’ll appreciate it more if I earn it myself. They put a bit into our college fund every Christmas, but my sister and I still have to cover the rest.”

Coworker: “Fine, what’s your dad’s name?”

Me: “It’s [Dad], why?”

He grins at me a little smugly

Coworker: “I’ll just ask [Current Owner] if your dad really used to own the [Bar].”

Me: “Umm, okay, you can do that.”

A week later, my father comes back from running some errands.

Dad: “So, what’s this about you bragging that you use to own the [Bar]?”

That coworker avoided me for a week or two after that, apparently embarrassed once it was confirmed that my dad did own the bar just as I had said.

The funny thing is that I wasn’t trying to brag; it hardly seemed worth bragging about to me. I was so sick of that bar after being forced to hang out in the restaurant half for hours on end as a kid while my father dealt with the latest crises. I was more than happy to be rid of the place when my father started renting it out.

It is 2018. I am working concessions at a movie theater. I’m stationed at the popcorn, which is the first thing you encounter at this theater. A man walks into the concession stand area but he stays back as he’s talking on the phone. I smile and give him a nod to show that I see him and am ready to help him whenever he’s ready. He doesn’t acknowledge me and continues talking for about five minutes before a woman walks up that wants popcorn. She waits a moment to see if he’s going to order but he keeps talking on the phone.

Me: “Sir, I just want to make sure whether or not you’re ready before I help this next customer?”

He doesn’t respond, just kind of turns to the side and continues his conversation. The woman and I shrug, and I go about helping her. She is very pleasant and nice to chat with. She has barely finished walking away when this man steps up and smacks the counter before starting to rant at me.

Customer: “Are you kidding me?! I’ve been standing there for more than five minutes and you help her before me?”

This man is a white male and the woman is black. It’s important because the way he said “her” was as if he was referring to some disgusting being.

Me: “Sir, I apologize if there was some confusion, but you didn’t seem ready to order. When you first approached my area, I smiled at you and nodded to acknowledge you since you were on the phone. I stood here for at least five minutes while you stood back and continued your phone conversation. Not once did you try to order or even indicate you were ready!”

Customer: “Well, I was here first!”

Me: “I understand, sir. That’s why when the other customer came up, I asked you if you were ready. You chose not to respond and turned away from me, so I had no choice but to help the waiting customer. I’m sorry you feel that was unfair but I’m not going to make another customer wait just because you chose to ignore me. Now, would you like to order some popcorn?”

He huffs and puffs for a few seconds before ordering a large popcorn. About ten minutes later, he returns, one of my managers following behind looking exhausted. As they approach the popcorn station, this man proclaims:

Customer: “That’s her! That’s the girl that was discriminating against me!”

Me: “Excuse me?!”

Customer: “She saw my shirt and discriminated against me!”

He is wearing a jacket that is zipped more than halfway up and I have no idea what shirt he is wearing. I turn to my manager.

Me: “I haven’t seen his shirt. His jacket was zipped like that the whole time; you can check the cameras.”

Manager: *To the customer* “Why do you think she was discriminating against you based on your shirt?”

He yanks the zipper down to reveal a homemade shirt emblazoned with:

Shirt: “TRUMP 2020! F*** THE LIBTARDS!”

Me: *Remaining stone-faced* “Sir, this is the first time I’ve been able to see your shirt. I really don’t care what you wear; have a great day.”

I told my manager I was taking my lunch break and walked in the back as the customer continued to rant about how “YOU F****** LIBERALS JUST WANT TO CENSOR EVERYONE! F*** YOU, LIBERAL B****!”

He was escorted out, without a refund, by security!

I work in fraud protection for a department store’s credit card. When our system detects suspicious activity, we have to call people and verify they did the activity in question.

A woman has called in about a blocked card. However, she has failed to pass our verification questions so I’m not allowed to unblock the card.

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m afraid that isn’t correct. It looks like we won’t be able to verify everything over the phone. However, if you were to come into one of our stores with a picture ID, I’m sure we could get this corrected.”

Customer: “I don’t have time for that. Why can’t you fix it now?”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but in order to protect your account from potential theft, we are required to verify anyone that calls in to us. Unfortunately, since you were unable to answer our standard questions, the only method of verification left is to ask you to please come into one of our stores.”

Customer: “But why can’t I use my card?”

I’ve already explained this to her three times before, but I do it again.

Me: “Our system detected unusual activity on your credit card recently. To ensure that it wasn’t lost or stolen, we wanted to verify the charges with you.”

Customer: “What charges?”

Me: “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid that, for privacy reasons, I’m not allowed to disclose anything on the account until we have completed our verification process.”

Customer: “This is insane. You’re just blocking my card to harass me.”

Me: “I am sorry, ma’am. I’m just following our standard procedure.”

Customer: “Don’t give me that. You’re doing this because I’m black, aren’t you? Don’t think a black woman can be trusted with credit?”

Me: “Ma’am, I assure you that your race has nothing to do with our standard procedure.”

Customer: “Sure it does. You blocked the card because I was black and you don’t like that!”

Me: “Ma’am, your card was blocked by an automated system designed to detect suspicious activity. The program they use has no way to know your race and does not in any way consider it.”

Customer: “Don’t give me that. You probably blocked it yourself. You would have already unlocked it for me by now if it weren’t for my being black.”

Me: “Ma’am, I assure you that your race does not matter to me. We’re talking over the phone; I didn’t even know what your race was until you chose to share that information.”

Customer: “That’s a lie; you can look it up on your computer there.”

Me: “I assure you, ma’am, that our systems do not record or make available your race, precisely to prevent any possibility of racial profiling.”

Customer: “Don’t lie to me, girl. They asked me my race when I created the account!”

Me: “We do give you the option to provide your race, but that information is only used by our marketing team, and only in an anonymous manner designed to assist them to determine how our products and services appeal to various demographics so we can better tailor our products. However, that information is kept completely separate from all of your account data and cannot be directly associated with a specific account, even by our marketing team, in order to protect your privacy and avoid any possibility of profiling.”

Customer: “You just made all that up so I wouldn’t know you’re trying to stop me. Besides, even if it was true, you could tell my race from my voice.”

Me: “I’m afraid I couldn’t, ma’am. I try not to make presumptions about someone from such superficial details as voice tone or vernacular as such presumptions are often wrong.”

She responds with a snort of derision.

Me: “As an example of how easy it is to misjudge someone’s voice, I noticed you keep calling me ‘girl’ despite my actually being male. I’m also guessing you presume I’m Caucasian despite my being African American. It’s easy to judge these things wrong.”

Customer: “You’re black?! you don’t sound black.”

Me: “I’m sorry I don’t live up to your preconceived expectations as to what I should sound like. However, I assure you that your race was not, and could not, be a factor in our system blocking your account. I am sorry for the inconvenience, but I’m afraid at this point the only way to get your account sorted out would be if you could come by our store with a photo ID.”

Now the customer sounds confused and less certain of herself.

Customer: “Um, yeah, I’ll umm think about it.”

She hung up before I could respond.

For full disclosure, while it’s true I’m male, I’m actually Caucasian, but I figured a little white lie would end the call faster. I think the fact that she couldn’t tell I was lying demonstrates my point that you can’t guess someone’s race just from their voice; I certainly had no idea her race until she told me.

The thing that most gets me about this story is the question of whether she was sincere or not. It’s not unheard of for someone who stole a card to call in yelling and screaming, hoping to upset us so much we make a mistake; as such, it’s definitely possible she was just trying to get me distracted enough that she could trick me into unlocking her account. At this point, I give it an honest fifty-fifty chance she was the actual cardholder. I’m not sure which option I prefer to believe.