(On my salary, I can’t afford the high-end purses my job sells. We had a promotion last year where I was the top salesperson and I won a large gift certificate to the store. Thrilled, I picked up one of the previous season’s purses, and it’s been my pride. Imagine my surprise to come back after shift one day, open my locker, and find most of the contents of my purse dumped in a plastic garbage bag and my purse missing! I call mall security and am waiting for them when the assistant store manager comes over to me.)

Assistant Store Manager: “Just tell security to leave when they get here. We don’t need to create a mess.”

Me: “We had a theft in our back room! Of course I want security here.”

Assistant Store Manager: “Look, I will level with you. We had a customer who really wanted last years’ colors. I knew you had it back there, and I had the master locker key. I thought you wouldn’t be this upset; it’s just a stupid purse. I had to make the customer happy.”

Me: “You sold my purse?”

Assistant Store Manager: “Technically, it’s the store’s purse. We gave you the gift certificate after all. You can’t be upset about something you didn’t buy. Just buy another one!”

Me: “When security gets here, I’m having them call the actual police!”

Assistant Store Manager: “Why are you so upset?! If you don’t tell security to go away, I’m going to write you up for your behavior.”

(She goes into the office, slamming the door behind her, and we hear her talking on the phone. Security arrives and I have them call police. Meanwhile, Assistant Store Manager refuses to leave her office. I also find out that several personal items that had been in the side zippered pocket of the purse are now gone. The police arrive and talk the assistant store manager out of the office. She is sobbing and uncooperative. The police treat it seriously and take the assistant store manager away. I get home and get a phone call from the district manager.)

District Manager: “I heard there was some issue at your store today.”

Me: “Yes, the police report is going to be sent to the corporate office.”

District Manager: “You realize your behavior means we will have to let you go? You’re lucky you weren’t arrested!”

Me: “Wait, why would I be arrested? What did [Assistant Store Manager] say happened?”

District Manager: “She said you had put a purse in the back room and were waiting until it went on sale, which is against the rules. When she sold it to a customer, you started yelling and throwing things and she called the police.”

Me: “That’s not correct at all!”

(I explained what really happened, and both Assistant Store Manager and I were put on leave until my district manager got the police report. When that and the security footage backed me up, I was told I wasn’t fired and they would take the write up off of my file. BUT the store didn’t reimburse me for my stolen purse, nor did they fire the assistant store manager! They expected us to still work together. I ended up quitting. Assistant Store Manager got community service for her theft.)

(It’s my first time riding a horse, and I’m more excited than nervous. The instructor makes me fill out a sheet.)

Instructor: *glancing at my sheet* “So, this is your first time?”

Me: “Absolutely! You take beginners?”

Instructor: “We take beginners.”

Me: “Great!”

(We go into the paddock and she helps me get on to a horse. It’s bigger than I thought, and I’m very nervous. The horse looks nervous, too. It keeps glancing sideways at me as though unsure.)

Instructor: “Well, there you go! Pull on the reins to steer. Dig your heels to stop.”

(At this point, she moves away to help someone else.)

Me: “But…? Uh…”

(I do my best, but the horse takes off, heading straight for the low wall as if trying to jump it. I pull and dig my heels, but it does not stop. I scream, and some people look over. They leap in front of the horse to stop it.)

Instructor: “What’re you doing?! You were about to go through that wall!”

Me: “I told you, I’ve never, ever ridden! I tried with this horse, but it didn’t listen!”

Instructor: *rolls eyes and sighs* “That’s the tamest horse we have. Fine, you’d better get down, then.”

(I’m more than happy to, but when I try to throw my leg over, it somehow gets stuck.)

Instructor: *impatiently* “You HAVE to get off. What goes up must come down. So. Get. Down!”

(I managed it after a few more tries. I handed over the reins and helmet and then walked away to my car and sped out of there! I’ll never be back. Later, I heard on the news that a lady got thrown off of one of her “tame” horses and broke her leg.)

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(I’m a trans guy in high school. This means that I was raised as a girl but I’m really a boy. I’ve only started coming out to people this past year, and I usually try to make it as casual as possible without mentioning words like “trans,” as those tend to make people uncomfortable. At this point, I’ve been introducing myself as my new name and leaving it at that. We’ve changed bus drivers a few times this year for various reasons, but the latest one should be here to stay for a while. He knows me by a shortened form of my new name, which is somewhat gender neutral, so I’m always afraid that he thinks I’m a girl. I try to use my full new name around him or call myself a guy to make sure he knows, but I’m always a bit insecure. I also have waist-length hair. I’ve never had it cut, though, so I’m fairly attached to it. I compensate by hiding it under hoodies or shirts and keeping it in a ponytail. This takes place on a bus ride home after the driver and I have been talking for a while.)

Bus Driver: “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Me: “Sure.”

Bus Driver: “I don’t want you to get mad or anything, but have you ever cut your hair?”

Me: “Nope.”

Bus Driver: “Really? Cool! I like it.”

Me: “Really? I usually get, ‘are you Indian or something where guys can’t cut their hair?'” *I don’t look Indian in the slightest*

Bus Driver: “Seriously? I really like it. I used to have hair down to here.” *gestures* “I looked like some biker dude. I really like your hair, though. I don’t know why you keep it covered all the time.”

(I don’t know if he knows how great that made me feel. That may be the boost I needed to wear it down once in a while! Bus Driver, if you’re reading this, thank you so much!)

(We are watching my friend’s dog while she is on vacation. Our house sits on two acres of property and our mailbox is in front of our house. The lead for the dog and the mailbox has about 200 feet of yard in between plus two separate wooden fences. Furthermore she is only out when we are out as she has a habit of digging in the yard. This takes place about two or three days after we start watching her.)

Me: *calls mailman* “Hello, my name is [My Name] and I live at [Address], and I got a message in my mailbox asking me to set up a time to pick up my mail? I am not sure why I need to pick it up as we didn’t request it to be held.”

Postmaster: “Yes, we have received notification that you have a dog and it tried to bite our mailman so he will not be delivering your mail due to safety concerns. Unfortunately we have to consider our employees well being and therefore we must fix the issue for your mail to be delivered again.”

Me: “ Ok, I understand that that may be an issue with some people but I can guarantee that [Dog] did not try to bite our mailman as she isn’t allowed outside alone, plus she only taken out on the opposite side of the yard within our fence. There must be some mistake with the address.”

Postmaster: “Well, I am very sorry about that. I will look into it and we will get your mail going again if that is the case. Have a nice day, ma’am.”

Me: “You, too.”

(A few more days go by and I still do not receive mail. Then one day I get a message that I have a package at the post office that could not be delivered as my house was “unreachable due to dog.” I physically go up to the post office to collect my parcel and to talk to them because I am getting irritated at this time.)

Me: ”Hi, I called the other day. I live at [Address] and my mail is still being held.”

Postmaster: “Yes, I am the one you talked to, and our mail carrier is adamant that your dog is posing a threat to his safety. We take pride in our work here and will not force our carriers into unsafe conditions, ma’am. Unfortunately we will not be able to deliver anything to your house until the situation is resolved.”

Me: “But there is no situation! The dog has no way to get to him. I don’t understand how an elderly dog, almost an acre away, with two fences in between them, AND under constant supervision outside can pose a threat to your mailman.”

Postmaster: “We can’t send our people into unsafe environments.”

Me: ”Fine. How do you suppose we ‘fix’ this?”

Postmaster: “Well, would it be possible to bring the dog into the house at the time of delivery every day?”

Me: “…and how would that solve anything? She is already inside, usually and if she isn’t I am right with her. Besides, the mail comes at a different time each day.”

Postmaster: ”Well, the only other option would be to purchase a new mailbox and place it at the end of the road so the carrier is able to avoid the property altogether.”

(I am very upset that I have to spend my own money to fix a pretend problem but I am willing to do it in order to get my mail without having to drive all the way to the post office. I place the box in the exact spot suggested and wait. A few days later I receive another note in my new mailbox stating that I would have to once again begin picking up my mail at the post office due to “undeliverable due to dog.” I take pictures of my property showing exactly how far away our backyard is from our new mailbox, take them up to the post office, and show the postmaster.)

Me: *handing him pictures* “Can you please tell me why your employee is still refusing to deliver my mail even though the mailbox is literally two fences, two acres of land, and a house away from where we occasionally supervise our dog going to the bathroom?”

Post Master: “Yes, your dog is continually trying to bite and intimidate our mailman and we will not force him into a dangerous situation. You must fix the problem before we will deliver your mail.”

Me: ”But I FIXED the problem.”

Postmaster: “Not according to our mailman.”

(Realizing that I am getting nowhere I decide just to pick up my mail for the next week-and-a-half that we will be watching the dog. On the day that her owner picks her up I call and inform the postmaster that she is gone and request that our mail be delivered again. The next day I receive to my surprise a note that says that once again my mail is being held due to the dog. I understandably am in shock. I take the note to the post office to complain.)

Me: “Ok, this has gone on long enough. I called you yesterday and told you that the dog is gone. Plus, if he is so terrified of our dog, why can he muster the courage to place these notes in our mailbox everyday? Why can’t he just put the mail in with the note?”

Postmaster: “We will not force our carrier into a dangerous situation. Dogs are a hazard to us and it’s his right to refuse to deliver the mail if there is a dangerous dog posing a threat to him.”

Me: “I understand that. But there is no dog. She’s gone. We aren’t watching her anymore.”

Postmaster: ”I understand that, but we won’t make him deliver mail with a dangerous dog on the property.”

Me: “There IS NO DOG on the property!!

Postmaster: “Okay, ma’am, I’ll have a talk with him, but I won’t make him deliver to you if you can’t get your dog under control.”

Me: “You mean the dog that we don’t have anymore?”

Postmaster: “Yes.”

(I left but I didn’t feel too hopeful about my mail being delivered. I tried to wait for the mailman each day to call him out on his laziness and blatant lies but he came at a different time each day and I couldn’t seem to catch him. I finally had to contact the home office for my district; however, it’s been a month and it is still under investigation. Until then I am forced to drive to the post office before work each morning to pick up my mail that has “dog” written on it and to remind them that there is no dog. Through wind and snow, my a**.)

(The phone rings so I pick it up. The lady on the line has an Indian accent.)

Me: “[My Dutch Name] speaking.”

Lady: *silence*

Me: “Hallo?”

Lady: “Oh, hello! Do you speak English?”

Me: “Yes, I speak English.”

Lady: “Very good. I am from Microsoft support and I am calling to tell you that you have many errors in your computer. Do you have Microsoft?”

(I immediately realised that this was a scammer.)

Me: “Yes.”

Lady: “All I need is your Microsoft license ID and then I can fix the problem, and…”

Me: “No. Not interested.”

Lady: “But why not, madam?”

Me: “Because you’re a scam.”

Lady: “No, madam, we are not a scam. You are a bigot!”

Me: “Excuse me? How am I a bigot?”

Lady: “You, madam, are a bigot, because we are an international call.”

Me: “I don’t care where you call from! I know it’s a scam because Microsoft Support would never call and ask for a license ID!”

Lady: “Oh…” *silence*

Me: *hanging up the phone*

(How can she sleep at night using bigotry to guilt people into their scam is beyond me!)