(I am female. After leaving university, I have to cut my dreadlocks out to help me get a job. My hair is very short. My boyfriend and I enter a sandwich shop with our three-month-old son. They sit down while I go up to order, but there’s a bit of a queue. Two girls, also with very short hair, come in looking visibly upset and embarrassed. A few moments later, a group of very over-tanned girls come in, and join the queue. The other two short-haired girls try to avoid eye contact with them. One of the tanned girls approaches me.)

Tanned Girl #1: “Hey you, they fancy you.”

(She gestures over to the short-haired girls.)

Me: “Okay?”

Tanned Girl #2: “Do you fancy them?”

Me: “Well no, I’m straight.”

Tanned Girl #2: “You’re not straight at all!”

Me: “I’m not?”

(I call out to my boyfriend.)

Me: “Hey, when did you become a girl?”

Boyfriend: “What?”

Me: “Well, according to these girls, I’m gay. So you must be a woman, and our son must be an immaculate conception. Either that, or these girls have their heads up their a****.”

(The two shirt-haired girls begin to giggle.)

Tanned Girl #3: “Wait, so you’re straight?”

Me: “What was your first clue?”

Tanned Girl #1: “But you’ve got short hair.”

Me: “Yes I do, which we all know is natural penis repellent.”

(Everyone in the shop is laughing.)

Me: “Now, will you please leave me and these girls alone, and stop being homophobic?”

Tanned Girl #2: “We’re not homophobic!”

Me: “You tried to make fun of me because you thought I was gay. Judging by the looks on their faces when you came in, I’m going to guess you were making fun of these two earlier for the same reason. You tease people because they’re homosexuals, therefore you’re homophobic. Maybe if you pulled your heads out your a**** every once and a while, you could take a look in a dictionary.”

Tanned Girl #2: “Books are for geeks and losers.”

Me: “Wait, so you girls aren’t intellectual readers?”

(Everyone in the shop is now laughing so much, that they’ve stopped serving people in order to calm down. The group of girls run out of the shop with their cheeks the brightest shade of red I have ever seen. The two girls are so happy with what I said to them, that they bought both me and my boyfriend lunch.)

(After an accident, my best friend was critically wounded on the left side of his face, losing his eye and scarring him. While his scars are slowly healing, he wears an eyepatch and bandages on his face both to help healing and because the scars are VERY ugly. This happens when we grab a bite at a popular chain of restaurants.)

Me: “Hello, we would like a tab—”

Waiter: “No.”

Me: “What?”

Waiter: “You didn’t read the sign? ‘No face-covering clothing or headgear.’ I won’t serve you as long as your boyfriend keeps his mask.”

My Friend: “First, I ain’t his boyfriend. Second, that’s not a mask, but REAL bandages.”

Waiter: “No exceptions. You drop your Halloween getup or you walk out.”

My Friend: “Okay, dude, get me a manager before it gets ugly.”

(My friends has to insist for a while, but the waiter finally caves in and brings a manager with him. The manager looks bored as hell while the waiter is smiling smugly.)

Manager: “Sir, my employee just warned me about your behavior. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.”

My Friend: “For what? Because I don’t want to show my wounds to everybody?”

Manager: “Unless you have a medical document that proves you have a disability, you can’t keep those.”

My Friend: “I’m not disabled. I’m just WOUNDED!”

Manager: “No proof, no exceptions. Now leave.”

Me: “Let’s just—”

My Friend: *suddenly grinning* “Well, if you REALLY want proof…”

(My friend turns around for a while, then swiftly turns towards them, giving everybody in sight a VERY detailed view of his burns, cuts and, worse of it, his eye wound. The manager turns pale, then falls flat on her back while the waiter literally runs away screaming. In the end, the restaurant owner came down, witnessed my friend’s wounds… and threatened to call the police because we were causing a disturbance. We left, but not before getting their names and writing quite a letter to corporate, including several documents from my friend’s doctors about his state. We received a letter of apologies, several coupons and the promise that those people were “dealt with”.)

(My mom is allergic to peppers (not black pepper the spice, but actual peppers: jalapeno, bell etc). I am too, but my allergy is mild. As such, I’ve become good at tasting pepper, and serve as a taste tester for Mom.)

My Mom: “Pardon me, but are there peppers in this dish?”

Waitress: “No, ma’am.”

My Mom: “All right, I’d like to order it, then.”

Me: “I’ll have one, too.”

(However, the instant the plate lands on the table, I can faintly smell peppers, but since the others don’t have the same cautions, I think maybe I’m just smelling everyone else’s. But there are also distinctive green chunks chopped into it, and when I take a tiny bite, the taste of bell pepper hits my tongue like a slap to the mouth.)

Me: “Mom, don’t touch it! It’s LOADED!”

(We flag down the waitress and ask to send it back, asking to also have it removed from the bill since it’s completely inedible to both of us.)

Waitress: “But it’s not spicy!”

Me: “Ma’am, that’s not the trouble. We’re not allergic to spiciness.”

Waitress: “But they’re not hot at all. They’re actually sweet.”

Me: “We’re allergic to peppers, as in all peppers.”

Waitress: “Oh, for heavens’ sake! Just pick the pieces out, then!”

Me: “Look, lady: the juices are already cooked into the meat. We can’t eat any of this. Now, please take it back and remove it from our bill.”

(The waitress grabs our plate and stomps off in a huff. A few minutes later, a manager shows up.)

Manager: “Hi folks! I heard that you wanted your plates taken off your bill? Is there any way I can make your experience better for you tonight?”

(I explain my mother’s allergy and my own, and tell him the situation that the waitress had argued with us about. The man goes dead white  and simply gets more pale as the explanation wears on.)

Manager: “I’m… I’m very sorry, folks. This should NEVER have happened. If you like, I can have one of our chefs specially clean his workspace and prepare [another dish] for you”.

(We agreed. The manager saved the evening and fired the waitress on the spot.)

(I am working in my father’s cafe. A customer orders a substantial amount of food.)

Me: “Okay. That will be $36.19 please.”

Customer: “Oh, no. I’m the owner’s brother, so I get all of my food half price.”

Me: “Um, okay. That will still be $36.19, sir.”

Customer: “Excuse me! Do you know who I am!? Now ring my order up right, or I’ll get your purple-haired a** fired!”

Me: “Okay, give me moment.”

(I turn around to the grill line, where my father is cooking.)

Me: “Hey, daddy! This guy says he’s my uncle, and if I don’t give him a discount you’ll fire my purple-haired a**. What should I do?”

(I have never seen someone run out of a restaurant so fast in my life!)

(I am originally from Georgia, but am attending university in DC. Because of where I was raised, I have a noticeable southern accent. I work at a local sports bar to help pay my tuition, and am serving two young men.)

Me: “Hi, can I get y’all something to drink?”

(Customer #1 scoffs, and imitates me with an exaggerated accent.)

Customer #1: “Yawwwwlll?”

Customer #2: “If I wanted to star in Deliverance, I would’ve gone to Alabama!”

Customer #1: “Man, I’m sick of you hicks coming up here! You guys should all stay south of the Mason-Dixon line!”

Me: “Actually, sir, geographically, DC is south of the Mason-Dixon.”

Customer #1: “What do you know? You probably dropped out of high school and married your baby mama at 16!”

Me: “Actually, I graduated as valedictorian from my high school, and I currently study history at [prestigious university]. I’m getting my Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees at the same time, and have a 4.0 GPA. I’m also gay, and have a long term boyfriend. So, no, I didn’t marry my ‘baby mama’.”

(Both customers are speechless.)

Me: “Now that I’m done breaking your archaic stereotypes, can I get y’all anything to drink?”