(I have gone to the GP with recurring dizziness. The doctor is new and we have never met prior to today. I am male.)

Doctor: *feeling the underneath of my jaw* “How long have you experienced dizziness?”

Me: “About three weeks. I think it might be an inner ear infection, but I don’t have any other symptoms.”

Doctor: “I see, and does it…”

(His eyes narrow onto my chest tattoo.)

Doctor: “You have tattoos?”

Me: “Just this one.”

Doctor: “Hmm, it’s possible this could be HIV and/or AIDS.”

Me: “WHAT?!”

Doctor: “It’s a pretty serious condition which can spread from infected needles.”

Me: “I know what it is. It just surprises me that you think dizziness and a tattoo would make you jump to HIV. This is a twenty-odd-year-old tattoo by the way.”

Doctor: “Hmm… Your medical history shows you have had STI tests before, and with your lifestyle—“

Me: “My ‘lifestyle’ has nothing to do with this, if I get your meaning.” *assumes he has seen my husband listed as my next of kin in my records* “And I have only had one STI test in my life, which was done as part of a sexual health class when I was at college. Now, HIV usually begins to show signs within ten years of contracting it. My tattoo is over twenty years old, and my STI test was what, ten years ago? I do not have HIV.”

(The doctor begrudgingly agreed with my defense and checked my ears. He found nothing and arranged a set of tests for me. I went to my appointment with my husband as I was a little shaken by the experience, and the first thing they asked us was if we had ever been sexually active with each other and how long I had suspected having HIV. The doctor decided to put me down for the test regardless of what I said. Once we explained the situation, the nurses apologised, but in the end, I agreed to take the test to learn more about it. My husband took it, too, to be a good sport. While stressful, it was a jovial experience. A week later, we both went to our GP to find out our results — mostly mine. We had the same doctor as I’d had the first time. It turns out I had a potassium deficiency which was causing my blood pressure to fluctuate while I was standing. Our HIV tests came back negative, but this didn’t stop the doctor belittling us and our “lifestyle” for a good ten minutes while going over the results. We complained about him and he was gone by my next visit. I later heard he was also judgemental with the minority population, and had submitted more requests for HIV testing than the rest of the practice combined.)

I have been at this job for over a year now, but about two months into it the company introduced ‘Treat Receipts.’ These entitle the customer, provided they have been in the store earlier the same day, to a tall yoghurt Frappuccino for £2. This is restricted to one per receipt.

Two young women, clearly tourists, are in the queue. One of them presents a Treat Receipt, asks for two venti yoghurt Frappuccinos, and things kick off.

Tourist 1: But it says for £2.
Me: That’s only for a tall size, and it’s one per receipt. There is nothing I can do.
Tourist 1: But I want for £2.
Tourist 2: Just charge for tall.
Me: No, it’s not worth my job.

Note: the company is very strict about promotions like this, and keep an eye on anyone they think is giving in to pressure like this.

Tourist 1: I want. For £2.
Me: No.
Tourist 1: Forget the drinks, just food.

They bought several cakes and paninis… which amounted to more than two venti Frappuccinos.

I usually start work early in the morning doing the delivery shift. As we are there until the store opens, I usually have to open up and act as front door security while putting out stock at the front of the shop. The first customer of the day walks in. She’s a white middle aged lady…
Customer: “Excuse me, can you show me where the baseball caps are?”
Me: “Of course.”
I point out the caps which are close by. A few minutes later, she returns to me.
Customer: “Sorry to bother you again, I just want to know if you have any that are not made by nike or adidas?” *Before I can answer she quickly rattles off” “I can’t buy there products as they support the KKK.”
Me: *Taken aback and trying not to chuckle* “Certainly ma’am. They should be mixed with the other caps in that area.”
She leaves 10 minutes later with what I swear was a nike cap.

(I work in a sandwich shop.)

Me: “Hello! What can I get for you today”?

Customer: “Give me beef.”

Me: “Certainly, we have steak and cheese, big beef melt, or just plain roast beef.”

Customer: “Just give me beef.”

Me: “What bread would you like?”

(The customer points at a picture of the bread on the sandwich unit.)

Me: “And is that a six-inch or a footlong?”

Customer: “BEEF!”

(Getting nowhere, I proceed to make the sandwich with just plain bread and plain beef.)

Customer: “That’s not what I want. I want the beef.”

Me: “This is beef.”

Customer: “No, this one.”

(The customer points to the turkey.)

Me: “This one here?” *points to the turkey* “This is turkey.”

Customer: “That’s what I asked for. Give me that.”

(I am at the pharmacy with my one-year-old in her pushchair, waiting for my prescription to be filled. It’s five minutes before closing and the staff have been very helpful so far. A mother with a young girl storms in, slams down a prescription, and shouts at the employee, “And don’t take f****** forever!” Her daughter begins running around the store, picking up items and dropping them, screeching, and being annoying. Then, she spots the pushchair.)

Girl: *to me* “I want to pick up the baby!”

Me: “No, sorry, she’s not well at the moment. You don’t want to catch her cold.”

Girl: “I want the baby, now!”

Me: “No, no picking up or playing with baby today.”

(The girl goes to grab my daughter and I move the pushchair out of reach.)

Me: *to mother* “Could you come get your daughter, please? She’s going to hurt herself.”

(The mother looks at me, smirks, and looks away. The little girl then proceeds to fling herself at my daughter, but as I once again move the pram, she ends up face-planting into a basket of body wash. Cue screaming, crying, and a full-blown tantrum.)

Mother: *comes straight into my face, without picking up or checking on her daughter* “How f****** dare you?! You did that on purpose! I could f****** sue! I’ll smash your head in. You’re gonna be penniless when I’m done with you, b****!”

Me: *in my quiet, furious Mum Voice* “You might actually want to check on your daughter, though by the amount of noise she’s making I don’t think she’s dying. I’d like to see you try and sue. I asked you twice to control your daughter; if you’d actually been watching her this wouldn’t have happened. Now, get out of my face before I move you myself. Besides, I’m sure the CCTV of you threatening me would look lovely on Facebook.”

(The mother silently grabs her daughter and sits down, staring at me like I’m made out of spiders. She grabs her prescription and forces her daughter out the door as the girl shouts for a lollipop.)

Cashier: “Mrs. [My Name], here’s your prescription and the Yankee candle you ordered.”

Me: “I didn’t order anything, sorry.”

Cashier: “I guess this one’s on me, then. Thank you; that woman has been a nightmare for years, and no one’s stood up to her before.”

Me: *laughs* “If it hadn’t been for my daughter, I probably wouldn’t have, either. You know what they say about mother bears and their cubs!”