(I have my Internet provided by a company that was recently bought out by a company that offers the worst customer service. I have just had our service set up at our new house. When I receive my first bill I see they have spelled my name wrong, throwing in an extra A, so I call to have it corrected.)

Representative: “Hello. Thank you for calling [Internet Provider]. How may I help you?”

Me: “Hello. I just received my first bill from you guys, but it looks like my name is spelled incorrectly and I would like to have it fixed. You guys threw in an extra A.”

Representative: “I’m sorry to hear that. Unfortunately, we cannot fix this over the phone. You will have to drive to one of our stores and show your ID as proof of the mistake, and then it will be fixed.”

Me: “Really? The closest store to me is an hour away. Is there no way to fix this over the phone?”

Representative: “Nope. You have to drive to a store.”

Me: “So, just so I’m clear… I have to take time out of my day to drive an hour out of my way, to fix my name that one of your people spelled incorrectly to begin with?”

Representative: “Yup.”

Me: “Thank you. Have a nice day.”

(To this day I still have the extra A hanging on my name. I do laugh when I have to call in for something and they drag out that incorrect A in the pronunciation.)

(I get my car serviced at the dealership, but I get my oil changed at the big box company shop near my work; it’s more convenient because I can drop my car off and walk to work instead of waiting there. I’m a female, but the regular guys don’t usually bother to bully me into getting additional services. The worker I talk to after this particular oil change must be new.)

Worker: “I’m calling to let you know your oil change is complete and you can come to pick up your car. I do want to mention that it looks like your power steering fluid needs to be changed.”

Me: “Oh, really? It’s still a pretty new car.”

Worker: “If you drive often, it can get dirty quicker than expected.”

(My car probably has about 12K miles on it.)

Me: “How much will it cost?”

Worker: “It needs to be completely flushed and replaced, so with labor, it will come to about $300.”

(I’m pretty surprised he’s pushing this on me. I decline a couple times but he insists it needs to be done immediately. I then call my dealership after telling him I’ll see him in a few minutes to pick my car up.)

Dealership: “Your car is too new to need your power steering fluid flushed. Let’s verify. How many miles are on your car? Do you experience difficulty turning your steering wheel?”

(He asks a few more questions. I give him all the info he asks for.)

Dealership: “Bring the car in when you have a chance, but I wouldn’t let them do that yet. We will take a look at the color of the fluid and see if it really does need changing.”

(I went back to the auto shop, declined once more for the $300 added service, and took my car to the dealership later that week. The dealership said the fluid was fine. I actually never had to change it up until the point that I traded that car in for a new car. I have multi-point inspections on my cars whenever I go in for regular maintenance checks with my dealerships, and nobody has ever insisted on services I don’t need. Oddly enough, I’ve always had really good experiences and honesty with car dealership service. I’m glad there are still honest and truthful people in the world. It’s just those darn big box companies that like to scam girls.)

(I am doing an exchange for a gentleman, and once the receipt prints I hand it over to him. I am male.)

Customer: “The f*** is this? You’re ripping me off! I should have gotten more back! I want your manager!”

(I call over my manager, who is a short, young woman, and explain the situation. She is a very blunt person and very good at math, so I know she can figure out what happened)

Manager: “May I see the receipt, please?”

Customer: “Who are you? I wanted a manager!”

Manager: “And you got one; let’s see that receipt and figure this out.”

(I grab it off the counter and hand it to her. After just a few seconds of looking at it, she figures it out and explains how everything worked out, that the amount he got back is correct. She even shows him with the calculator the simple math she used to solve the confusion.)

Customer: “How the f*** do you expect me to trust a woman with math stuff? This is a joke that you are management here!”

Manager: “If I can’t do math because I am a woman, then what is your excuse, exactly? Tell you what; you grab a second-grade math book and double-check my formulas, and give me a call if you need a tutor to get you through it. Until then, you have a wonderful day.”

(The customer leaves with a very red face.)

Me: “How do you put up with stuff like that?”

Manager: “The secret to success is to not give a f*** what people say you can and can’t do, and to relish the looks on their faces when you prove them wrong.”

This story is part of our International Women’s Day roundup!

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At a family gathering celebrating Independence Day, my uncles were tasked with the preparation of the hot dogs, burgers, and sausages. As the meats cooked, my uncles grew increasingly impatient and intoxicated and began attempting to speed up the cooking process.

Their solutions included adding more charcoal, more lighter fluid — while the food was cooking — moving the grill into more direct sunlight, and ultimately attaching a vacuum to the grill in an effort to increase the airflow.

Their efforts produced a lot of smoke that drifted through open windows into my grandparents’ house, where my ill grandmother was spending the party. Naturally, she came to the kitchen window to yell at my uncles and complain about the smoke. My dad found himself enlisted by his brothers to help cook the meats, a role he carried out with a constant bemused look and sarcastic commentary.

After the standard duration meats take to cook on a grill, the food was served. It was sufficiently burned with an adequate taste of lighter fluid. I had a salad that was prepared on the other side of the backyard, far away from the grill.

(I’m disabled and mainly stay home. I order a lot of delivery because it’s easier than trying to get my wheelchair out to the bus stop. I order fast food through a third-party delivery company with no problems, until the delivery guy comes to the door. When I open it and he sees me in my wheelchair, he makes a face.)

Delivery Guy: “I’m not allowed inside a residence. Can you come closer?”

(I look down. My front wheels are literally right up against the edge of the door.)

Me: “I’m as far forward as I can get without being outside. And it’s not coming in if you just hand it to me.”

(He’s two steps away from me.)

Delivery Guy: “I can’t break policy.”

(I have to back up and push myself through the doorframe. He practically dumps the bag of food on me and walks down the ramp. I give him an appropriate review through the company. Later, I get a call.)

Caller: “Hi, is this [My Name]?”

Me: “Who’s this?”

Caller: “I’m [Caller] from [Third-Party Delivery Company]. This is regarding your order from [Restaurant].”

Me: “Oh, yeah. The driver was really rude about giving me the food.”

Caller: “We reached out to him and he claimed you tried getting him to go into the house, which is against company policy.”

(I briefly explain what happened.)

Caller: “I see. We’ll talk to the driver again to confirm.”

(I later got my order refunded and an apology from the company.)