The procurement manager at our small company abruptly had to accelerate his retirement by a few years due to health concerns. At the same time, his assistant, who had been training to be his replacement, had to move across the country to help out family, seeking out a new job out west at the same time.

We were left scrambling a bit to find a new procurement manager. Some of our other employees knew enough to keep things running in the short-term, but everyone who knew the system was either already in a vital role and didn’t really have the bandwidth to take on more responsibilities, or was happy where they were and declined a shift into the new role. So, we posted the job on some outside job boards.

I was thus rather surprised when one of the receptionists from our front office applied for the position. Looking at her CV, her only jobs had been working as a receptionist and a tutor, with nothing in procurement or supply chain management. But, after consulting with my boss, we decided to give her an interview anyway. Everyone has to start somewhere, and maybe she would end up being a good fit for the role that we could promote internally.

The very moment that I walked into the room for our interview, before I even had a chance to approach my chair, [Receptionist] launched into a rapid-fire description of an idea she had for a marketing campaign for our product. A, that is not what the procurement manager position covers, and B, that is not something I, as part of Human Resources, would cover. I tried to get a word in edgewise as I sat down, to try and clarify what position she was interviewing for, but she just talked right over me, meandering her way through this marketing campaign idea, through an idea for renovations we should make to our office, to pitching the idea of issuing everyone company credit cards. None of these things were related at all to the procurement manager position.

Finally, she wound down enough that I was able to explain that the position was for a procurement manager, with the responsibilities of evaluating the quality and pricing of the various parts we needed, timing our restocks, and trying to source new suppliers if needed. Three times during this explanation, [Receptionist] broke in with, “Oh, but I think I should…” and then circled back to her marketing idea or talked about how employee morale was something she would focus on.

Finally, after fifteen minutes of getting absolutely nowhere, I gave her the typical ending pleasantries. I thanked her for her time and told her that I didn’t feel she would be a good fit for this role but that she should keep her eye out for other postings. Meanwhile, I was making a mental note to talk to our customer service manager to find out if [Receptionist] was steamrolling people who tried to call us the way she had been steamrolling me. (She wasn’t, as it turns out, at least not before this.)

To my slight surprise, she gave me a big smile and a cheery “Okay!” and bounced out of my office.

It turns out, she had apparently completely tuned me out when I told her she wasn’t a good fit for the role, and she started telling everyone about how she was a shoo-in for the job. Thus, when our actual new procurement manager was hired, she threw a massive fit, storming into my boss’s office to scream about how I had “promised” her the job, how this hire was nepotism (the new procurement manager’s name rhymed with the name of our Chief Finance Officer, which was apparently enough for [Receptionist] to determine that they were related), and how she was going to stage a walk-out if we didn’t give her the role.

She had two back-to-back no-shows when we didn’t give in to her demands, and she ended up being let go after she came in and proceeded to scream at the first customer who called in about how she was being mistreated.

Although this is a slightly long story for a fairly small event, I’m sharing it because I have never been quite so proud of myself. And I’m hoping my story may help someone else, too.

I am a woman. Now, I know every fellow woman has experienced this: the strange (or little-known) man approaches out of nowhere, a subtle smirk on his face. Still grinning, he delivers the desperately needed advice you so clearly require — divine wisdom about to be imparted to you by the gods, something that may quite possibly be the catalyst for a new, brighter future ahead.

“You should smile more!”

And yet, I can never help but shudder. I have never spoken to a woman who actually enjoyed hearing this all-too-common sage advice. But? It turns out there IS something you can do about it.

I went to a charity spaghetti dinner to support my husband, who is a member of the group that was hosting it. While standing in line to acquire some delicious starchy goodness, I felt a light tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I saw an acquaintance I’d just been briefly introduced to. Unfortunately, I didn’t recognize the smirk at first.

Acquaintance: *In a demanding tone* “You need to smile more!”

Me: “…”

Acquaintance: *Somehow more demanding* “You need to smile more!”

Me: *Pauses* “No.”

Then, I accidentally broke my stone-faced expression and smiled slightly.

Acquaintance: “Good job! Do that more often, now!”

And he sprinted off into the ether.

My shoulders slumped a bit, I’ll admit. I felt defeated. I’d lost, I’d done it again, I’d let the other person take the power.

Then, I went outside for a smoke and to gather my thoughts. I’d seen [Acquaintance] walk outside ahead of me earlier. He was out of sight now, but suddenly, I realized that I knew what I had to do. No more just giving up, and there wasn’t even a Human Resources to make a futile report to. It was all me here.

I needed to wait for my moment first. So, I waited. And waited. And eventually, I gave up for the moment and went inside to my spaghetti. Noodles are more important, honestly.

However, while I was at the table, I saw [Acquaintance] walk past. This was it. Sweet and smooth as honeyed syrup, I made my move.

Me: *Gesturing outside* “Hi, [Acquaintance]! Could I please talk with you for a moment?”

Acquaintance: “What?”

I repeated myself three times with different phrasing as others tried to help.

Acquaintance: “Oh. Uh, sure?”

Me: “Great, thanks!”

We walked out of the dining hall into an empty hallway. Poor [Acquaintance] looked at me, confused at my request, and clearly mad that I’d made it in front of others. (I tried not to, I swear!)

Acquaintance: “So, what’s up?”

Me: “You know how you told me to smile more earlier? It actually made me feel very uncomfortable, and I’m asking you to please not do that again.”

He visibly grimaced at first, but then…

Acquaintance: “Sure, I apologize! I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable, though. I thought you just seemed unhappy, and—”

Me: “I really appreciate that! Thank you. The reason I said that is it’s something that happens to a lot of women, including me, that is uncomfortable for us. That’s because even when you’re not intending it, it can come across as demanding. Also, it can make us feel like you’re trying to control our emotions. So, what I recommend is that if you see a woman who seems really unhappy who you want to cheer up, try telling her a funny joke!”

He frowned but spoke with a friendly tone.

Acquaintance: “I understand. Thank you for telling me. I apologize again.”

Me: “Thank you. I really appreciate it!”

He walked off as quickly as possible.

This is my true proof that the best method is the kill them with kindness. While his body language made it clear he was mad, I was also being so very polite. So understanding. No blame was placed on him, yet a firm and direct request was made. I even gave him an alternative option. And guess what? He actually apologized.

Now, did [Acquaintance] seem at all happy about the exchange? No. Did he occasionally glower at and avoid me the entire rest of the night? Yes.

But do you know what that also means? He never once told me to smile again. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll be too nervous to do it to the next woman. Maybe, he’ll even actually take my advice to heart. I can only hope.

I grew up in a small city a little north of Pittsburgh. A new hotel is being built in downtown. My grandmother is a notorious gossip and will talk about anything and anyone, even if nothing is in fact true — a reason why I rarely speak to her as I don’t want anything being spread about me.

Grandma: “I heard that the reason they’re building a new hotel is because we’re going to host the Olympics!”

Mom: “Are you being serious right now? Do you honestly think that one hotel is being built to host the Olympics? And why the h*** would [Town] host the Olympics? Pittsburgh hasn’t even hosted a Super Bowl yet, but you think this s***ty town is going to host the Olympics?! Mom, come on!”

Grandma: “Well, I heard it’s the Winter Olympics, and they’re hosting it at [Nearby Ski Resort].”

Mom: “Either you’re just straight-up lying or you need to actually do research before you spread this around; you just sound incredibly ignorant, and people won’t take you seriously.”

It’s been many years since that conversation, and I’m still amazed she thought some little town, whose main claim to fame is only Bret Michaels, would be hosting the Olympics, or that a town with a population of less than 15,000 would be paying the millions it takes to host.

I am a transgender woman. I have just started my very first job post-transition, as myself, where no one knows my dead name. I am openly out in a very safe and affirming work environment.

As I live in a very safe home environment, have a fantastic support system, and my coworkers only know me as me, I am very lax with my voice training. Adding in the electronics messing with my voice, and it makes it easy to misgender me over the phone, even with my very feminine name. Let’s say it’s Carol.

I have dealt with misgendering before, from very personal interactions to complete strangers. I have taken to correcting callers, which goes over mostly positively. But this call I took less than a week after getting on the phones was a whole different level. I’ll shorten it up a bit, but you’ll get the idea.

Me: “Thank you for contacting [Company]. My name is Carol. Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

Caller: “Hi, I have a problem with [Product], and nothing I’ve done is fixing it.”

I take down the details the company asks us to gather for our cases.

Me: “Okay, sir, let me see what I can do for you. Can you please hold for a few minutes?”

Caller: “Absolutely, sir.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry — the phones do tend to mess with my voice. It’s ‘ma’am’.”

Caller: “Oh, no problem.”

I do some standard troubleshooting and get back on the phone to have the customer handle his end.

Me: “Can you please try testing [Product] now?”

Caller: “Of course, sir.”

Me: “Sorry, as I stated before, it’s ‘ma’am’.”

Caller: “Oh, no problem.”

We go through several bouts of troubleshooting, but my cubicle neighbor can see that I’m starting to get upset. The guy is saying “sir” an unnecessary amount of times for normal conversation.

Finally, I’ve had enough; I put him on a long hold and stand up. My supervisor is next to my neighbor, who has clearly looped him in.

Me: “I can’t anymore. I have tried correcting him, but he keeps saying ‘sir’ no matter what.”

Supervisor: “Okay. You can send him to me. I’ll handle him. Go outside and take a breather.”

Me: “Okay, I’ll let him know…”

Supervisor: “No, you send him straight to me and do not get back on the phone. Go take care of yourself.”

I went to my car and lost it. I cried so much I could hardly breathe

My supervisor came out to check on me and reassured me that nothing was wrong with what I did; I’m paranoid about correcting people sometimes. He told me to take however long of a break I needed, get cleaned up, and get a drink, and not to get back on the phone until I was absolutely sure I was ready to.

To this day, I will never forget how this moment cemented me knowing I was safe at this company.

It’s Christmas morning, and my husband and I are sitting in the living room sipping our coffee when there is a knock on the door. It’s a woman in very conservative attire. I am in my pajama shorts and a tank top with no bra. She takes this in and blushes, looking away.

Me: “Hello?”

Woman: “Merry Christmas, sister in Christ!” *Tries to hand me a pamphlet* “Will we be seeing you at the service today?”

Me: “Oh. No, thank you, we aren’t interested in church. Have a wonderful day, though, and Merry Christmas.”

I close the door, but before I can sit back down, she knocks again. 

Woman: *Through the door* “The Lord wants you at church!”

Me: “And I want you off my property!”

Woman: *Knocking louder* “Miss, please, the Lord loves you and—”

Me: “I will answer that door as naked as your God made me!”

Husband: “Oh! Knock! Do it!”

The woman finally left, but not without putting a pamphlet in the door frame, a second under the wiper on my car, and a third in the mailbox. They were for a church miles away, one known locally for (allegedly) pressuring women into being unquestionably subservient to their husbands, and for (allegedly) looking the other way when a wife had an opinion and later showed up with a bruise or two.