(One of my closest friends works in a shoe shop with very large windows. Our other close friend has gotten me into the habit of making weird faces, or at least waving at her when she’s working; much to the amusement of her coworkers. My insanely sociable one-year-old also likes to wave at her unofficial auntie, and since she loves shoes and all the attention from the other female staff, it’s better than Christmas for her when we go inside. We have just gotten her her first pair of shoes a few weeks ago this incident, which is when her fan-club starts.)

Me: *to daughter* “Oh, Auntie [Friend]’s working today! Say hiya!”

([Friend] waves at us, then runs out of the shop.)

Friend: “Can I borrow your baby?”

Me: “Sure. Give her back when she’s 18!”

Friend: *going inside* “[New Worker]’s on her last day of training here, and we need to train her on fitting baby shoes.”

(We go in, and my daughter gets lots of attention as her feet are measured and the fit of her shoes are checked again. The trainee does a great job, and we go about our business. A few months later, I go in with my mother while my daughter is at home with her dad and my friend is off work.)

Worker: *as we’re leaving* “Where’s your little helper today?”

Me: “At home with her dad; thank God!”

(They laugh, but I can tell they’re disappointed not to see her, which is cute in itself. A few days later, my friend runs outside after waving again.)

Friend: “Can I take her inside? The girls want to see her!”

Me: *smiling* “Okay, you take her there and I’ll take the buggy.”

Friend: “I’m pretty sure if [Owner]’s watching the cameras, he’s wondering why I just stole a baby!”

(My daughter got lots of attention, got to play with shoes, and got to sit in the tiny chair in the kid’s section. I swear, she could set the place on fire and they’d all adore it!)

(Our company oversees several projects at once, and we rotate our staff from one to another whenever one ends. I am a manager running one of these projects. Another manager has transferred his employees over to me, with a warning that one in particular has been slacking off, and to keep an eye on her. Her first two days under me, she is noticeably less productive than anyone else, getting less than a third of what is expected completed by the end of the day. I sit down with her to go over our expectations and the problems we have been having with her work. I end up writing her up and placing her on review, which essentially means that as long as she can meet a minimum standard for only one of her next three shifts, we will keep her on staff. The entire conversation, she is combative and only reluctantly accepts being on review, only after being reminded that if she doesn’t go on review, she will be let go on the spot. The next three days, her performance doesn’t improve at all. Towards the end of her last shift on review, I tell her we can discuss her review once the meeting room is available, in about two minutes.)

Employee: “Ugh, can’t we just talk about it really quick here?!”

(There are several other employees in the room, and I’m not about to fire her in front of the rest of the staff, in case she causes a scene.)

Me: “No, I’ll go see if the meeting room is open.”

(I check the room, and when I get back, she is gone.)

Me: “Where did [Employee] go?”

Coworker: “She left; she said you told her it was all right if she went home early.”

(At this point I’m furious, so I decide to just call her and let her go in the morning before the next shift starts. On the phone the next day:)

Employee: “Ugh, what do you want?”

Me: “We need to discuss your review.”

Employee: “Can’t we talk about it at the office? I’m busy.”

Me: “No, actually. We—”

Employee: “I’m trying to sign a lease for a new apartment! I’ll call you back when I’m done!” *hangs up*

(Now, I’m fuming. At first, I felt bad about having to fire her, but now I’m looking forward to it. She calls back about 30 minutes later.)

Employee: “What is so important?!”

Me: “Since you haven’t improved your job performance, we are going to let you go.”

Employee: “What?! You can’t do that! You need to give me some warning before you fire me like this.”

Me: “What part of ‘you have three days to improve or we will take you off staff’ did you not understand?”

Employee: “But I just signed an apartment lease! Fine. I’ll just go back to [Previous Manager]’s project. What do you think of that?!”

Me: “You can’t. I’m not taking you off of the project; I’m firing you from [Company]. We went over this when you were written up.”

Employee: “But you don’t work for [Company]!”

Me: “Who do you think I work for?”

Employee: *pauses* “What about [third project]?”

Me: “Seriously? You don’t work for [Company] anymore; you can’t go to our other projects. We’ve already mailed your last check, and I’ve informed the other managers that you were let go, and instructed them to not let you onto company property.”

Employee: “UGH! I just signed a lease!”

(I spoke with the other manager, who told me that he had several missed calls from her since leaving early the night before. My guess is that she thought that if she could get transferred to another project before I could fire her, it would somehow save her job.)

(This takes place at a well-known fried chicken restaurant. I have never had an issue placing this order, as the vast majority are aware of how to do maths.)

Me: “May I please get 20 chicken nuggets?”

Cashier: *who is definitely not a teenager; stares at me like I’m stupid* “We only do 10 maximum.”

Me: *after visibly steeling myself to refrain from replying sarcastically* “Then I will have two lots of ten nuggets, please.”

Cashier: “Oh! Sure! That’ll be [Price].”

(The sheer amount of idiocy shown was overwhelming. I was stunned.)

(Ever since I was little, I have always shopped at this dollar club with my mom, but because I have very bad social anxiety, with ADHD and autism, I need to have my service dog with me or I can’t go by myself. I walk into the store with my therapy dog and start looking around for some things. I have a handful of items, and an employee comes up to me and speaks to me.)

Employee: “You need to pick up your dog; he isn’t allowed on the floor.”

Me: “Um… that doesn’t make sense. He’s a service dog?”

Employee: “It doesn’t matter; he can’t be on the ground! You need to pick him up. There’s even a sign outside.”

(At this point I’m starting to panic, because I really can’t stand arguing with strangers. I will do it to defend my rights, but not if I’m going to have a panic attack. Now other customers are beginning to stare. I decide to grab my service dog and pick him up. My dog is a Chihuahua-Dachshund mix and is about the size of a fox, around 14 pounds. I feel embarrassed about picking him up, and I am carrying other things aside from him that are somewhat heavy, and some that I would prefer not to get dog hair on, so I have to set the dog down. Out of frustration, I end up setting all my stuff down and walking out to the front of the store. I get mad when I read that the sign indeed says no pets allowed, but that it also says service animals are welcome, and says nothing about needing to carry a service dog around while in the store. Now irritated, I decide to walk right back in, grab the stuff I had left in a basket and continue shopping. I am approached by the employee again, and immediately, defensively, I say that there is a sign in the front of the store, which she demands to see.)

Me: “See? It says, ‘No pets allowed; service animals are welcome.’”

Employee: “It doesn’t mean you can leave your dog on the ground. It could bite someone. The manager made the rule; why not just put your dog in a cart?”

Me: “He is a service dog. He can’t bite; he’s not supposed to. Do you need proof of that? Actually, let me speak to your manager, because dogs aren’t allowed in carts for allergy and hygiene reasons!”

Employee: “Ugh, what a stubborn child; do what you want. The manager isn’t in right now.”

(I was extremely distressed at this point, about to cry, and I couldn’t help but think how un-freaking-believable this lady was being with me. I could hear some people who were staring, talking about how I was being a spoiled brat about my dog not being allowed inside the store, or how I was self-entitled. I was emotionally exhausted, I felt embarrassed, I wanted to cry, and I wanted to go home. I bought my stuff and walked out. On my way home, though, I called the store and spoke to the manager about what happened. He offered his apologies, but that still doesn’t make up for all the embarrassment I suffered at that store.)

Related:
Doing A Disservice To Service Animals, Part 2
Doing A Disservice To Service Animals

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(I have OCD, and I have a habit of folding whatever notes I have in my hands in half, then in half again. The manager who is serving me is taking so long that I have already done this by the time I pay.)

Manager: *taking the note and looking at it* “This is fake.”

Me: “Really?”

Manager: “Why else would you fold it like this?”

Me: “OCD?”

Manager: *scoffing* “Sure. Try a better excuse next time. Got any real money?”

(He handed the note back, which I promptly unfolded and returned to him. He stared at it suspiciously, before getting a verification pen and practically colouring the entire note in before finally accepting it was real. He refused to speak to me after that, and walked off before I could even say, “Thank you,” when he handed me my receipt.)