(It’s Halloween and many of the employees are dressing up for charity. I’m wearing a vampire costume with a long black wig. I’m currently scanning a customer’s items through while my coworker bags them. I’m growing my hair out, but it isn’t even touching my shoulders yet.)

Customer: “You look so much like Meat Loaf with that wig!”

Coworker: “I told you! You should definitely grow it out like Meat Loaf?”

Customer: “Oh, have you got long hair already?”

Me: “Well, I haven’t been growing it for very long, so it’s shorter than it is longer.”

Customer: “But why wear the wig?”

Me: “It’s not very long.”

(For the rest of the transaction, the customer looks bewildered and stares at me constantly. It starts getting creepy, so to appease her I decide to take the wig off briefly…)

Customer: “It’s not very long!”

Me: “Like I said…”

(I finish the transaction and we bid farewell to her. She thanks my coworker and deliberately ignores me as she leaves the store. Several hours later, near closing time, the on duty manager comes up to me.)

Manager: “I’ve just had a complaint about you.”

Me: “Me? What did I do?”

Manager: “She… didn’t like your hair.”

Me: *completely forgetting the customer* “The wig?”

Manager: “No.” *pulls my wig off*

Me: “…”

(She came back to the store just to complain about my hair…)

(I work as an advisor at a bank. It is Halloween and we are all dressing up. Due to an accident as a child, I had to have my right leg removed just below the knee. I use this to my full advantage and usually dress up as a pirate, with an actual peg leg instead of my usual prosthetic. I am waiting for my two pm appointment when I hear a lot of shouting outside my office. I hobble to the door and open it.)

Customer: “THIS IS ABSOLUTELY RIDICULOUS THAT YOU REFUSE TO ACCEPT MY DISABILITY!”

(She turns to me and looks at my peg leg. She stares at it in horror before running out of the building.)

Me: “Wow, I wish I could run that fast… What’s going on?”

Manager: *who is dressed as one of the Village People* “Your two o’clock.”

Me: “What’s the problem?”

Manager: “She said she had a disability and demanded a wheelchair.”

Me: “We don’t have wheelchairs.”

Manager: “That’s what I told her, and offered her a seat, instead. She took offense to it and started shouting. Then you came out and—” *looks at my leg* “—scared her away.”

(She made another appointment a week later and came in in a wheelchair, with smugness the likes of which I had never seen before. She couldn’t navigate herself into my office, despite it being wheelchair-friendly, and in frustration she stood up, picked the chair up, and threw it across the room, cracking several of the floor tiles. She refused to pay for the repair work because again, we refused to accept her disability, before running out of the building again. She finally did pay, but made one final appointment to close her accounts. Her reason: for the third time, we refused accept her disability. We still don’t know what her disability was meant to be, but after all of this we suspect it may have been mental.)

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Long ago, when I worked short day shifts in a local shop, I would leave my dog at home during the day and pop in to let him out mid-shift. He was always perfectly behaved, and never chewed anything or bothered the neighbors. I was therefore surprised one day to return home and find that he had shredded my post for the day. This happened two further days running, and I then received a warning from my local post office that my dog had “been threatening” towards the postman, and that I would need to secure him away from the letterbox or ensure he was not in the house alone if I wished for deliveries to continue. He is a gentle giant, who has never growled, barked, or shown any sign of aggression towards anyone; in fact he normally loves to say, “Hi,” to delivery folks.

Nonetheless, despite being puzzled by this, I restricted my dog’s access to the front door, got a post-cage just in case, and carried on the rest of the week until my days off. On my first day off following the warning, just for the sake of my own curiosity, I permitted the dog to react to the postman putting letters through the slot with full access to the door. Lo and behold, the postman arrived, and I heard him calling the dog, tapping on the door, and rattling the slot. I peeked out from the living room to see he was waving the letters around as though he was actively trying to get the dog to eat them.

The guy was actually trying to make the dog eat my mail and react to him.

Next day, I lay in wait with my camera and recorded the entire incident. I took the video up to the depot, asked to speak to the manager, and showed it to him. It turned out the same guy had been the one to complain that my dog had “been threatening” to him.

To this day I have no idea why someone would do this, and my dog never ate another letter. I also have no idea if they fired or retrained the postman in question, but I really hope so.

(I’ve always been a good reader, and I love reading and learning about new things. As such, when the time comes to learn about the birds and the bees, my mum gets me a book on the topic and tells me to ask her if I have any questions at all. I also like to know the reason behind everything, particularly the reason things are called particular names.)

Me: “Mum, I’ve just started this chapter about the new hair I’m going to get.”

Mum: “Yes, it might seem strange, but it’s totally normal.”

Me: “Okay. I’ve only read the first page, but I was wondering… Is it called ‘public hair’ because everyone can see it, like Dad’s beard?”

Mum: *laughing* “Um, I think you’ve misread a word there. Have another look.”

Me: “Oh, what does ‘pubic’ mean?”

(I work at a very small, very busy convenience store. It’s my first day at the register:)

Customer: “A £10 top-up for [Mobile Phone Network].”

Me: *prints out voucher, takes payment, and hands voucher to customer along with receipt* “There you go. Take care.”

(Two minutes later, the customer storms back into the store, barges to the front of the queue, and starts yelling.)

Customer: “Where’s my f****** top-up? All you gave me was the receipt!”

Me: “I can assure you, I gave you the voucher, too. I checked it as I handed it to you.”

Customer: “So, where is it now? You didn’t give it to me!”

Me: “I have no idea. Maybe you dropped it? All I can tell you is that I’m certain I handed you the voucher.”

(At this point both of us notice a small piece of paper by the shop door. The customer picks it up. It turns out to be a mobile phone voucher. I’m expecting an apology. Shows how new I am.)

Customer: “How do I know this is mine?”

Me: “Is it for £10 and [Mobile Phone Network]?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “…”

(The customer stomped out.)