(I’ve just finished up my shift and I’m about to leave when a client who we all know for being rather odd comes rushing in. This client, aside from not being quite right, also smells like he’s personally smoked every cigarette that has ever existed.)

Me: “Hello, Mr. [client]. I’m just leaving, but [other receptionist] can help you, she’ll be right up.”

Client: *stares at me silently for several long, awkward moments*

(he suddenly seems to come back to himself and loudly gasps)

Client: “Oh no! I left my pot on! My hot dogs will burn!”

(without another word, he runs out. It’s not the first time he’s almost burned his apartment down, and probably not the last.)

(When I was younger, I had extremely bad teeth. Bad as in a lot of cavities, but I also had teeth up the wazoo and my mouth was incredibly overcrowded. When I was 12, my parents took me to some orthodontists to see about getting me braces. Here are how the four first consultations went.)

Orthodontist #1: So, I looked at your x-rays. You have some very unusual teeth.

My Mom: Yes.

Orthodontist #1: What I would recommend is to remove two teeth on the top to fix the overcrowding, and one on the bottom to move over the midline. As you can see, nearly every tooth is crooked.

(My mom said she’d consider the office, but both she and I didn’t want to get any teeth pulled. So we went to the office of Orthodontist #2.)

Orthodontist #2: Good afternoon, [My Last Name, Pronounced Incorrectly]. I got the x-rays from your dentist and I think we can work on a plan of action now.

My Mom: Okay, great!

(Orthodontist #2 pulls out a copy of my x-rays and points at my throat.)

Orthodontist #2: As you can see here, [My Name]’s jaw is too far back in her skull. It’s crushing her airways and this may result in serious complications down the road.

Me: What? Is it really that dangerous?

Orthodontist #2: It can be. To push the jaw forward, we recommend this appliance being mounted on the outside of the teeth.

(Orthodontist #2 shows me a very large, bulky set of sliding cylinders. They fit into each other and he shows me how they can forcibly push the jaw forward. I basically say “no thank you” and we move on to Orthodontist #3. He’s very popular in the area.)

Assistant: Dr. [Orthodontist #3] will be here soon!

(twenty minutes later…)

Orthodontist #3: Hello. Let me take a look at your teeth.

(He pries my mouth open while I’m sitting in a regular chair.)

Orthodontist #3: Ah yes, I see the problem. Your teeth are overcrowded.

Me: I know.

Orthodontist #3: The treatment for this…you would have to wear a palate expander for about three years. Then we would put you in braces for another few years. Lots of rubber bands, too. Yes.

My Mom: That’s a long time.

Orthodontist #3: Ah yes, but it is necessary unless you want to pull teeth. That would be very bad!

(Orthodontist #3 leaves. All in all, his consultation took about ten minutes…not counting the time we spent waiting for him. We decide to try one more orthodontist, Orthodontist #4. While Orthodontist #4 is busy with another patient, we’re talking to his assistant.)

Me: The first orthodontist we went to said he’d have to pull three teeth.

Assistant: Don’t worry! [Orthodontist #4] only pulls teeth if he absolutely has to. Cases like that are very rare.

Me: Okay, and is my jaw too far back in my skull? One orthodontist said it was crushing my airways.

Assistant: I can see here that it is a little out of place. But that isn’t dangerous. Part of it will be fixed during normal treatment for your overbite.

(My mom and I are reassured. Orthodontist #4 comes in, looks at my x-rays, and takes a quick look at my teeth.)

Orthodontist #4: This is an extraction case.

(I almost screamed. But don’t worry, this story has a happy ending. We ended up using Orthodontist #1’s plan with Orthodontist #4. I did end up getting three teeth pulled, and my jaw is now in a more normal location.)

I’m at my local pharmacy picking up prescriptions and red bull, breakfast of champions. The clerk is an older woman who is always super friendly and competent, but not very assertive. She greets me and I hear something off in her voice; I look over and there’s this dude standing next to her register. He is standing about where you would if you were checking out, only leaning on the counter, so that actual customers have to walk around him and wedge themselves awkwardly between him and the credit card input in order to pay.
I clock him immediately; I know his type all too well. I make eye contact with the clerk and she is keyed up. He keeps talking at her, it’s obvious he’s settled in for the evening and has no intention of going anywhere. It is even more obvious that she is extremely uncomfortable.
As I walk past the photo counter, I see the manager, standing and making small talk with another employee, in full sight of the register where his clerk is being harassed by what appears to be someone who’s not a paying customer. Doing nothing, of course.
Like I said, I know this type. (Old. Entitled. Intoxicated.) I also know how to antagonize them. Mostly, you just make a point of not being friendly to them when they think you should be.
We make eye contact as I’m coming up to pay. (I am female and small.)
He gets a big grin on his face and goes, “Well, hey there!” I give him a look which I hope conveys the sentiment: I don’t know you don’t you dare come one step closer. He shifts his weight off of the counter to do just that, and I veer widely around him.
He says, “Whoopsie-daisy, sweetheart, that’s okay, you’re not in the way!” and reaches out to put his arm around my shoulder. I duck and veer so that it slides awkwardly across my back instead and bark, “NO. Do not TOUCH ME.”
Everyone in sight turns to stare at us. He starts backing off with his arms out, going “hey, hey, I’m not doing anything,” and I repeat “DO NOT TOUCH ME AGAIN” just as the manager finally comes up. Mr. Touchy-Feely just high-tails it out the door.
I have used up all of my confrontation spoons for the night, so instead of turning to the manager and giving him a piece of my mind I just give him a Look. One that says, this is what I have to deal with when I come to your store?
Dear Reader, I must confess: I may have sneered.
I am a forty-year-old white woman of comfortable means, and I truly believe that it is my duty to use the Karen powers with which I have unwillingly been bestowed to further the causes of truth and justice, or at least being able to get through your shift without having to kiss a harasser’s hindquarters.
(The clerk gave me the biggest whispered “THANK YOU! I thought he would be here all night!” as I checked out.)

(Between seven and eleven, I developed many, many allergies, all appearing so suddenly and severely that I was repeatedly in the ER for anaphylaxis. The hospital staff learned my name. Because of this, my parents took me to the allergist early. At sixteen, we decide to switch doctors, to one who had treated me when I was very young. At that age, I was only allergic to shellfish. This doctor requires allergy testing on the first new appointment. At my previous doctor, we occasionally split the yearly testing into two days because I would react so badly any more testing would have sent me into anaphylaxis.)
Me: Are you going to test everything today? I can’t handle dogs, cats, dust, and grass at the same time.
Doctor: Oh, your allergies aren’t that bad. The only one that’s really bad is shellfish.
(I’m too stunned to speak, but I figure since the testing will be on my back and not my arms, like previous years, maybe the testing won’t be so bad. After every shot, my back begins to burn unbearably with hives. When the doctor comes back after the allotted amount of time, she stops and stares for a moment.)
Doctor: Wow. You have a lot of allergies.
(Luckily, I wasn’t at risk of going to the hospital because by that age, I’d learned how to manage things, but why did she think a sixteen-year-old doesn’t know her allergies?)

I’m working at a build-your-own-pizza place and am known by most of my coworkers to be level-headed, patient, and good with customers. One day, I’m on hold with the company that refills our first aid box (a legal necessity that was ignored until I started working there), and I’m upset about something. I can’t remember if I was upset about a work situation or something in my personal life, but I’m explaining my aggravation a bit loudly to my coworkers. Suddenly I hear the “click” of someone picking up the phone, so I close my eyes and take a deep breath. As soon as she starts talking, I’m back to my normal, polite, professional tone with a smile. Obviously my current mood has nothing to do with her, so I’m not going let it affect my business. I look up from the list I’m reading off of and see several incredulous faces and a few people laughing. I have to pull myself together quickly so I don’t burst out laughing on the phone, but as soon as I say thank you and hang up, I nearly fall over laughing. I ask what they’re all looking at, and they say they can’t believe that I could change my tone like that, and start asking if it was fake. I had to explain, still laughing, that part of good customer service is being able to speak to others civilly, no matter the circumstance, and that even though lots of people do have fake customer-service voices, mine is almost always genuine. They still couldn’t quite believe me, and at least a few walked away muttering about my apparently incredible skill.