I work at an ice-skating rink. A teenage boy, maybe fifteen or so, clomps over awkwardly in skates.

Teen: “These skates are broken or something. I can’t stop. I keep crashing into the walls.”

Me: “Did you try using the toe pick?”

Teen: “I’m not using that! I saw a video saying that’s for figure skaters. I’m not doing those gay twirls, bro.”

Me: “Well, toe picks are also how you stop if you haven’t learned the T-stop or hockey stop yet.”

Teen: “Yeah, well, maybe give me the ones that do the stopping automatically.”

Me: “Sure, we keep those right next to the skates that win gold medals on their own.”

I am working at a roller-skating rink. It’s a busy Friday night. A dad in his 40s had rented some skates for his daughter and him, but he’s back within five minutes with an issue:

Customer: “I need to talk to someone. It’s too slippery.”

Me: “Slippery how? Like the wheels are too fast?”

Customer: “No, like the floor’s too smooth. She almost fell.”

Me: “Well, it’s a skating rink… the goal is to glide.”

Customer: “But you could put down some mats or something.”

Me: “Sir, I can tighten the wheels if they’re too loose, but—”

Customer: “—You’re not listening. The floor’s the problem. It’s too slippery!”

Me: “Sir, that’s not a flaw. That’s literally the point.”

Customer: “It’s dangerous!”

Me: “Sir, that’s like complaining your boat’s too floaty.”

Customer: “I want a refund! This place is too dangerous!”

Since they had only been here for five minutes, we honored the refund, much to the displeasure of the poor daughter who had obviously been enjoying herself.

As we handed back the cash to the dad, he said:

Customer: “We’re going to the rink on the other side of the lot where they respect safety!” *Storms out.*

Coworker: *To me.* “Isn’t the rink on the other side an ice rink?”

Me: “Yup.”

Coworker: “If he had a problem with how slippery our floors are…”

I work at a roller skating rink. I see two fifteen-or-so-year-old girls come in with a birthday party. They aren’t paid for or on the technical “party list” so I tell them:

Me: “Can you please find your parent or guardian to come back here and pay.”

Them: “Okay.”

They walk off. About twenty minutes later I spot them skating. I head over to them.

Me: “I have to get you two off the rink. You haven’t paid.”

Them: “Sorry. We thought our mom took care of it. We’ll go get her.”

The mom comes up to me, absolutely p***ed.

Mom: “You just humiliated my daughters! How dare you kick them off the floor!”

Me: “Unfortunately, I can’t let them skate unless they are paid for.”

Mom: “They are with a party helping the kids skate!”

Me: “But they are not kids so they aren’t paid for with the party. They will have to pay separately. I informed them of this on the way in.”

Mom: “You should have informed me!! You saw me come in with my other daughters! Why didn’t you say something then, huh?!”

Me: “There are seven other birthday parties here and I’m not in charge of keeping track of whose mommy is whose. I am in charge of making sure everyone pays.”

She begrudgingly paid, still expecting me to instinctively know that she was these two teenagers’ mom.

This takes place in an ice rink, where I regularly skate for team practices and lessons. As my practices are in the afternoons, I often go to other places before practice, which means I don’t have time to go to the bathroom before getting to the ice rink.

I usually put my skates on before I go to the bathroom because I want to make sure that I am not late onto the ice for pre-skate and on-ice warmups; we have a limited amount of ice time and we must cram as much into our allotted times as possible.

As long as I have been skating, I have always found it unwieldy and awkward to walk on the ground with skates on, as they aren’t meant for that task and because of the extra three or so inches my ice skates give me and how careful I have to be not to damage my blades. I often find it easier to go into the disability-accessible stall, as there is a handrail I can hold onto to steady myself and extra space so I don’t bang my skates on anything.

One day, as I am doing my business in the accessible stall, a woman in a wheelchair comes into the bathroom and starts waving her hand under the stall door and banging on it. My initial reaction is that she is checking to see if it is occupied, so I politely call out that I am in there.

Woman: “Hey! Who is in there? I need to use this stall!”

Me: “Sorry, it’s occupied! I’ll be out in two minutes.”

Woman: “You need to get out! This stall is for disabled people only!”

Me: *Exiting the stall* “Hi, so sorry. It’s open now.”

Woman: *Getting angrier and angrier* “What are you doing?! I said this stall is for wheelchair use only! You have no right to use this stall!”

Me: *Backing away to wash my hands* “So sorry, ma’am. There are not a lot of disabled people here, usually.”

Woman: “How could you do this to me?! This is discrimination! I’ll have you kicked out! Normal people can’t use those stalls!”

[Teammate] enters the bathroom.

Teammate: “Hey, [My Name], it’s time to go. [Coach] wants us right now.”

Woman: *Practically steaming at the ears* “I will call the cops! This is a personal attack! You g**d*** ice skaters! Always so rude and disrespectful! I will see to it that this place gets shut down!”

Teammate: “Lady, I suggest you get on with your business. Clearly, you must have to s*** really badly if you’re making this much of a fuss. Do you have someone here to change that diaper of yours?”

In the end, the woman kept screeching about injustice and how she’d have the place shut down.

[Teammate] and I just went along with our day. I was a bit shaken up, but there was no harm done.

My dad used to own an ice rink where we lived. The ice rink had a bar in a big lobby that was really long — think about thirty feet or ten meters. I was allowed to since my dad owned the rink. I would get lemonade, and occasionally, I’d get some for my friends, too, without charging them.

One day, I am behind the bar just getting some lemonade like I normally do. While my back is turned to the bar, I hear somebody sort of clearing their throat, as if to get my attention. I don’t pay any mind to it, assuming they are trying to get the actual bartender’s attention. After I finish filling up my lemonade, I turn around and see this lady. She looks unhappy, and I immediately get nervous. I have social anxiety, and I tend to clam up around adults I don’t know.

Woman: “Excuse me, but I have been trying to order drinks and you have been ignoring me.”

Me: “Ma’am, I didn’t know you were talking to me. I don’t work here; I’m only behind the bar because—”

Woman: *Cutting me off* “I need two lemonades, a Sprite, a Budweiser, and a Coors Light.”

Me: “Ma’am, for the last time, I don’t work here. I’m fourteen. Please go see the actual bartender, [Bartender], and order your drinks.”

Woman: *Starting to get mad* “Then why are you behind the bar? Are you trying to steal drinks?”

Me: “No, ma’am. I’ve been trying to tell you, my dad—”

Woman: *Screeching* “Get me whoever is in charge right now! You are behaving absolutely unacceptably and not getting me my drinks!”

I am on the verge of tears. Fortunately, my dad happens to be in his little office near the bar, and I can go get him. I tell him what happened in a few brief words, and he actually knows who I am talking about. Apparently, he kicked out the same lady a few weeks ago for abusing [Bartender].

My dad stands up and walks over to this woman. He’s about 6’5” and weighs 210 pounds, so he is pretty intimidating. This lady can’t be more than 5’2” and maybe 130 pounds. So, when my dad walks over to this lady, I could see a little bit of apprehension on her face. She is still trying to maintain her bluster, but I can also tell she doesn’t want to be anywhere near my dad.

Dad: “Hello, is there a problem?”

Woman: “Yes! Are you the manager here? This bartender is absolutely awful and refusing to serve me drinks!”

Dad: “Ma’am, I am the owner of this building and that is my daughter. She is fourteen and is not a bartender.”

There happens to be a framed newspaper clipping with my dad on it for buying the ice rink right where we are standing, which the woman sees. The color immediately drains out of her face, but for whatever reason, she still tries to throw a fit.

Woman: “Well, she should have still served me drinks! I didn’t know she was fourteen! You should give me free skating passes for my trouble!”

How this woman didn’t know I wasn’t a bartender is a mystery to me. I am a little bit tall for my age, around 5’6”, but the oldest you could mistake me for is maybe sixteen. I have freaking braces, for crying out loud.

My dad is getting pretty angry right now, and he is tired of dealing with this lady.

Dad: “Actually, aren’t you the lady who got thrown out a few weeks ago for being rude to the actual bartender? Because you have been abusing the staff here, you need to leave now, and you are banned from the building, as well.”

Woman: “But I didn’t know! You can’t ban me! You have no right!”

Dad: “Actually, I do. Now, either get out before I have to remove you myself, or leave before I call the police to file a report for harassment.”

The woman realized he wasn’t actually kidding and thankfully left. My dad made sure I was okay, and I got some more lemonade.