(I have just returned part-time to the store where I used to be an assistant manager. The assistant manager who replaced me transferred from a different store. I left after a car accident had left me a paraplegic. I can do everything apart from cashier and stocking. Because of my injury being incomplete, I suffer from muscle spasms and nerve pain. On a bad day, I can’t even get out of bed, let alone sit in my wheelchair. I’ve been told to call in sick as soon as I can and there won’t be a problem. The new assistant manager knows this. This happens the first time I have to call in:)

Me: *slightly slurred speech due to medication* “Hi, its [My Name]. I’m sorry but I can’t come in today.”

Assistant Manager: “What? Just because you’re hungover, that’s no excuse to not come in. You better be here, otherwise you’re fired.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I’m not hungover. I’m in extreme pain and I’m having such severe muscle spasms that my legs are locked up stiff as boards. If you have a problem, talk to [Store Manager].”

(I hang up on her and call my store manager and explain. I’m told not to worry, just rest and get better. The assistant manager is given a verbal warning. The next shift I work is with the same assistant manager.)

Assistant Manager: “[My Name], I need you on register three.”

Me: “Oh, sorry, but I can’t work a register. It’s too high up.”

Assistant Manager: “God. Fine. I need you to stock [department].”

Me: “I can’t. It’s not safe.”

Assistant Manager: “What? Why the f*** not?”

Me: “Because most of the shelves are too high up for me to reach, and it would require too much bending.”

(There are plenty of other duties I can do; I’m specially trained in the photo lab and electronics department, as a door greeter, at the customer service desk, etc.)

Assistant Manager: “Well, what f****** use are you, then? I don’t understand why they’d even hire a [disabled slur] in the first place! First, you call in still drunk and give some bulls*** excuse, and then you say you can’t do anything. You’re f****** useless!”

(She says this in front of other coworkers who I have worked with before. By now I’m in tears.)

Coworker: “You can’t talk to her like that. [My Name], go to the staff room and calm down. You can work in the lab and I’ll do the register.”

Assistant Manager: “What? No. I’ve told her where she’s working. If she ‘can’t’ do it, she can go home and not bother coming back. And as for you—” *points to coworker* “—you can count this as your first warning, for talking back.”

Me: “You know what? You’re a b****. If I have to work with you, I quit. But I will be talking to [Store Manager], and you can expect to hear from my lawyer for discrimination.”

(I ignore the assistant manager and head back to the staff room, grab my bag, and head home. The store manager rings me ten minutes after I get home.)

Store Manager: “Hey, I’m sorry to do this but [Assistant Manager] said she fired you after she caught you stealing from the staff room.”

Me: “What? That’s bulls***. Don’t take my word for it, but you need to talk to [Coworkers #1, #2, or #3].”

Store Manager: “I don’t believe her. Don’t worry. I’ll sort it out and call you tomorrow.”

(The assistant manager was fired for not only discrimination, but it turns out she was stealing merchandise and money from tills, as well. I also found out from a mutual friend the reason she didn’t like me was because her son had applied for a job at the same time I came back and she blamed me for him not getting it.)

(I’m working the front register at a large pharmacy when a woman comes up from the pharmacist’s desk with her items. She looks like a zombie with bleary, watering eyes and a red nose. I try to speak gently.)

Me: “Hello there.”

Customer: *clearly super congested* “Ngehh.”

(She dumps painkillers, nasal decongestants, cough medicine, and an inhaler on the counter, and then sniffles and gives me a glum look.)

Me: “Not feeling well today? I’m sorry.”

Customer: “Mrrr..”

Me: “Hopefully some of these will help you feel better!”

Customer: *coughs and whimpers*

(She pays, and then picks up and cuddles the bag of medicine.)

Customer: *sniffle* “Egh.” *sniffle* “Ehh… thangks. Have a dice day.”

Coworker: *to me* “Wow. So, her manners were the only thing not broken? What a nice change.”

(I’m a Caucasian woman, but as my stepfather is Indian, I speak fluent Punjabi. I regularly catch taxis for work, which are charged to a work account. I book a taxi four hours before I want to travel. The taxi is thirty-five minutes late. When I get in, the driver is on the phone through bluetooth — which runs through the radio — talking in Punjabi. He offers no explanation on why he is late. I give my destination, which he doesn’t comment on; he just keeps on talking, but starts driving. As the trip progresses, he is still on his phone commenting, among other things, about me.)

Driver: *in Punjabi* “I’m taking a b**** to [Destination], then I’ll get lunch.”

(I decide to record the conversation on my phone and start taking down his license number and the taxi number.)

Driver: *in English* “What are you doing?”

Me: “Just writing some notes for my meeting. Are you going to spend the whole trip on the phone? It’s incredibly rude and unprofessional, and it is giving me a headache.”

Driver: *in Punjabi* “This stupid, white b**** wants me off the phone. I’ll take her the long way and make her pay. I’ll call you back once I drop the [insult] off.”

Driver: *in English* “I was talking to my brother. We have many taxis and are coordinating our drivers. I’m trying to make a living here.”

Me: “If you have many drivers, why were you thirty-five minutes late? And I fully understand you’re trying to make a living, but if I turned up over half an hour late without so much as an apology or explanation, completely ignored the client, and then spent fifteen minutes on the phone, I wouldn’t have my job.”

(He looks at me angrily, but says nothing and continues driving. When his phone rings again…)

Driver: *in English* “This is my wife. It could be an emergency.”

Me: *giving him the benefit of the doubt* “Fine, but please make it quick.”

Driver: *in Punjabi* “Hi, sorry, I’ve got some white [insult] who thinks she’s too good and doesn’t want me on the phone. A man needs to teach the b**** a lesson.”

Me: *in Punjabi* “Pull over, now! I’ve had enough. I’ll be making a complaint and making sure my boss does, too.”

Driver: *in Punjabi* “You understand?”

Me: *still in perfect Punjabi* “Yes, I do. Now pull over.”

(The driver pulls over and stops the metre.)

Driver: “Okay, that’s [amount way higher than the metre].”

Me: “Seriously? One, it’s on an account. Two, that’s not what the metre showed, and three, after what just happened, you expect me to pay?”

Driver: *now really angry, locks the door* “You discriminate against me. Pay the fare; otherwise, I’ll call the police.”

Me: “Call the police. You’re holding me against my will. Plus, it should all be recorded.” *I point to a mandatory camera that by law should record audio and video* “I think they would be interested in what has happened.”

(He unlocked the door. I quickly got out and he took off. I called my boss to explain what had happened. My boss sent a coworker to get me. I filed a complaint with the cops and the taxi company. It turns out he was already under investigation for similar incidents and for not having the camera hooked up. He tried to say I had offered him sex in return for a free ride, then called him racist slurs and threatened to kill him. Luckily, I had enough of the trip recorded on my phone. He was charged with numerous offenses, including holding me against my will.)

(I am a fellow customer in this story. It’s a busy night at a popular fast food outlet linked to a major railway station. I am next in line to be served, but the cashier has had to momentarily help out the staff making food. Everyone is waiting patiently. The whole kitchen process is visible to everyone on the street outside waiting to order or pick up. I have also worked in both retail and food service extensively in the past. A well-dressed woman, in her 50s or 60s, sidles up beside me. Thinking that she’ll work out that there’s a sizeable queue behind me any second, I say nothing to her and order my food. The woman takes a cookie from a jar on the counter and begins to eat it.)

Cashier: *noticing, smiles at the woman* “Hey there, just please keep in mind that the cookies aren’t free.”

Woman: *offended* “I’m going to pay for it!”

(She takes another bite and then opens the jar and puts the half-eaten cookie back in. I look around to the people behind me in shock; everyone just stares at her.)

Woman: *begins to order food*

Me: “Excuse me, ma’am; there’s a queue to order food.”

Woman: *scowls at me* “I’ve been here for ages! It’s my turn now! I’ve been here for ages.”

Me: *not in the mood to tolerate such a childish lie, knowing that the cashier won’t feel comfortable to contradict her* “You have not been here for ages. Please get to the back of the queue and wait your turn.”

(The woman continues to argue with me.)

Customers Behind Me: *taps me on shoulder* “Thank you for trying, but don’t worry. Just let her go.”

(The woman orders her food, making several corrections and alterations, making everyone wait longer. The cashier doesn’t even charge her for the half-eaten cookie, which has ended up in the bin along with the rest of the jar. I am standing patiently to the side waiting for my food. The woman unnecessarily stands less than a foot away from me.)

Woman: *sneers* “You’re a sticky-nose, aren’t you?”

Me: *looks at her, stony-faced*

Woman: “You don’t come into the city very often, do you?”

Me: *another stony glance before pointedly ignoring her*

Woman: “Nobody would notice you without your stupid hair and stuff through your lip…” *referring to my brightly-coloured hair and neat facial piercings*

Me: *hungry and losing patience, I respond firmly, but without anger* “I will not be spoken to like that by you. Please stop talking to me.”

Woman: *leans in even closer, trying to continue her critical assessment of my physical appearance*

Me: *talking over her, sternly* “I said, stop talking to me.”

Woman: *keeps going*

Me: *with sharp contempt* “I’ve tried to be reasonable with you. Stop. Talking. To. Me… And GROW UP.”

Woman: *stunned, she mutters repeatedly* “Get f***ed.”

(I collected my food, smiled at the cashier, and told him that I hoped that his night would improve. He smiled and thanked me. I walked past the woman, who was still glowering at me. Some people really are truly horrendous.)

My friend’s father apparently has marijuana in his backyard, and my friend claims that he can get some.

One day, he and another friend were walking very quickly around the school, and my dumb friend said that he is going to sell his dad’s weed to a girl at school — they were walking around to mask the smell of the drugs. I walked away, and later at lunch I saw him exchange something with the girl he’d been talking about.

Only then did I find out that my dumb friend had sold dirt for $30(AUD). He got caught by the police, as it was still illegal for students to be selling things on school grounds. What baffled me was that his parents weren’t mad, but almost impressed that he got 30 bucks for dirt!