(I work downtown in the State Capitol. This means we get a weird mix of high-priced attorney types, lots of government employees, and homeless people. I’m leaving work to head to the parking lot. I’m wearing a funny T-shirt for the holidays with a picture of a cat destroying a Christmas tree. I see a disheveled woman heading my way pulling a suitcase. I think she may be homeless, but you never know and a smile doesn’t hurt. As I pass her, I smile and she says, “Happy Holidays.” Seeing as I passed her, I don’t reply and head for the street crossing.)

Lady: *very loud* “Excuse me!”

(Startled now, I turn to look back at her. We are now about ten feet or so apart.)

Lady: *still loud* “I said, ‘Happy Holidays’!”

Me: *shocked that this is even happening* “Happy Holidays.”

(She turned and headed down the walk, and I waited to make my missed chance to cross the street. All I could think was, “Geez, some Happy Holidays!”)

(My husband and I are doing Christmas shopping at a department store at which he used to work. He knows all of their sales speeches, credit card pitches, and protection plan details by heart, even though he hasn’t worked for the company in years — barring minor changes in the fine print, of course. We finish our shopping and head up to the register. The cashier doesn’t even greet us.)

Cashier: “You want to sign up for a credit card? You could get 5% back on—”

Husband: “Let me stop you there. I already have a store credit card, thanks.”

(The cashier throws a brochure at us and jabs at it with one of her incredibly long, neon green acrylic nails.)

Cashier: “No, there are two cards now. You don’t have them both.”

Husband: “What I had was the store’s original card, and a few months ago they mailed me an offer to switch it from the store brand to the Mastercard labeled card.”

Cashier: *rudely* “They don’t do that.”

Husband: “Yes, they do. I worked for [Company] for a while and I’ve had this card for years. I received the offer in the mail about six months ago and switched because it had a better interest rate. I don’t want to apply for a second card from here.”

Cashier: “They don’t switch people! It’s one or the other!”

Husband: “Okay, well, I have some membership points in my account that I’d like to apply to this purchase.”

(He holds out his phone with the correct QR code already displayed on the screen for her to scan.)

Cashier: “We don’t do that here.”

Husband: “Okay, then.”

(We stand there waiting, because she has got a hold of our receipts and seems unwilling to hand those over. We have to specifically ask for them before she’ll let them go. At this point, I’m pissed. I don’t think my eyebrows could climb any higher on my face without disappearing into my hairline. As we turn to leave…)

Cashier: “I ain’t never heard of no switching people to the Mastercard!”

(Early on during my time in college, I meet a young Chinese man on a student visa with whom I later become friends and coworkers. One day, I take notice of the T-shirt he is wearing.)

T-Shirt Back: “Will a front terrible
impudent shelf
it is shaken in you etc.
Also do masturbation
shedding tears this
bacillus guy wastes.”

Me: “[Coworker]… where did you get this shirt?”

Coworker: “I got it when I was still in Hong Kong. Do you know what it says?”

Me: *reads his shirt out loud* “I understand what all of those words mean individually, but together they make no sense. Can I take a picture of it?”

(He stands still with his back to me as I take a picture with my phone and show it to him.)

Coworker: *points to “bacillus”* “What’s this mean?”

Me: “That is a genus of bacteria.”

Coworker: *points at “masturbation”* “What does this mean?”

Me: “Uh… how about I just put that one into a translator?”

(I brought up Google Translate on one of the lab’s computers and showed him the translation. He reacted with a mixture of shock and embarrassment over having a lewd word on his shirt while I tried not to laugh too much at his expense. He did not ever wear that shirt again and we all joked about it for years after that. I’m not sure how the maker of that shirt chose those particular words, but it is not uncommon for people in Asian countries to use western words and characters they think look aesthetically pleasing.)

(I’m hearing impaired, and because of this I have both hearing aids and a service dog who I bring with me everywhere in case my hearing aids fail. He’s very friendly. One day as I’m buying treats for my dog at a grocery store, a woman comes over.)

Woman: “Hello. I thought you weren’t allowed to have dogs in here.”

Me: “Oh, no. He’s a service dog.”

Woman: *immediately outraged* “YOU STOLE A BLIND PERSON’S SERVICE DOG! HOW DARE YOU?!”

Me: “Oh, no, ma’am, I have a hearing impediment; I bring him with me in case my hearing aids fail—”

Woman: “BULLS***! YOU CAN HEAR FINE, AND ONLY BLIND PEOPLE NEED DOGS! GIVE HIM TO ME, YOU THIEF!”

(The woman tries to yank my dog’s leash from my hand, but the end of the leash loops around my shoulder, so it doesn’t really work too well.)

Woman: “GIVE ME THE DOG, YOU B****!”

(By this point she had drawn the attention of several employees, who were looking on in horror. Most employees are told not to touch other shoppers without consent, in case of lawsuits, so they just urged the women to let go of my dog, which she ignored. She then grabbed my dog by the tail. He started crying out in pain, and I did the first thing I could think of to protect my poor dog. I punched her twice: once in the stomach and again in the face. She let go right when the police arrived; she insisted I be arrested, but she herself was arrested for assault. I decided to press charges and I won the case, mainly because I had witnesses and store footage to back me up. She went to jail and had to pay me a large sum of money. Needless to say, my dog ate well after that!)

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(I am browsing with my baby in a children’s consignment store that will buy your old children’s items and sell them there. You sign in at the consignment desk, leave your items, and then the staff will call you with an offer once they get a chance to evaluate them. It is written in bold letters on the sheet that items cannot be left overnight or they will be donated, because the store is absolutely packed already. There is a woman standing at the consignment desk starting to raise her voice at the cashier, so I overhear her.)

Woman: “But it is not fair!”

Cashier: “That is our policy, ma’am. When you signed the sheet here, you agreed to the terms.”

Woman: “But it is not fair! Get me a manager!” 

(The cashier brings the manager.)

Manager: “How can I help you?”

Woman: “I brought big bags to you, lots of good, and they are gone!”

Manager: “Yes, because you left them overnight, so they were donated.”

Customer: “I never agreed to that!”

Manager: “Yes, when you signed here, you agreed to pick up your items that we didn’t accept, or they would be donated.”

Customer: “I did not read that! That is not fair!”

Manager: *slightly annoyed* “Do you always just sign things, or read them?”

Customer: “No! Where are my things? Where do they go?”

Manager: “A lady picks them up to give to a nonprofit–“

Customer: “Then do I get a receipt? Like… like when you give a car, or something? Why were they donated? I should get money; I brought them to sell!”

Manager: *pulls up the customer’s record* “We couldn’t take your items because we had too many. We tried to contact you yesterday to tell you. When you didn’t get back to us, your things were donated this morning.”

Customer: “But… it is not FAIR!”

(Unfortunately, my son decided he’d had enough at that moment so I didn’t get to stick around to see how it ended. I can’t imagine she got anything, though, except a lesson in reading before you sign. The staff are mostly veteran moms used to dealing with tantrums.)