(My boss calls me into a meeting room to tell me that they have a ‘problem’ with the medications I need to take in order to be able to work with my disabilities. He has particular issues with narcotic painkillers.)

Boss: “Right, I’ll keep this short. We’re going to need to see proof that your prescriptions are genuine and that you are not buying these off the streets.”

Me: “Ok, easy enough. I keep a copy of the repeat prescription with my doctor’s contact details with me in case of queries by police or anyone since they are controlled substances. I’ll happily show you that.”

Boss: “Um, no. You might have made that up.”

Me: “It’s got my doctor’s details right on it; you can give them a call, or I can call them and get them to do a letter or something?”

Boss: “How do I know they are an actual doctor?”

Me: “You can look up the surgery and call them direct from the number on their website to check they are there? They’ve been there for more years than I have. I can get a letter from them if you like with their registered doctor number?”

Boss: “Look, we’re going for a new client that is a religious school right? How do you think we’ll get that contract if they find out we’ve got a druggie on staff?”

Me: *starting to tear up* “I’m disabled and need medications to survive! I’m not a drug addict!”

Boss: “Well, if that was true then you wouldn’t be getting upset would you?”

Me: “What the f*** is your problem with me? I don’t see you hauling anyone else into meeting rooms for taking their inhalers or insulin injections or anything?”

Boss: “Nobody needs painkillers okay? Just don’t bring your drugs near the office.”

(My doctor was pretty incensed to hear that his decisions are being questioned by my manager and has written a fairly scathing letter to our HR department about how my medical history is not the business of my company and he doesn’t appreciate having his profession likened to a drug dealer nor his disabled patients being called ‘druggies’. We’re waiting to see what happens.)

(In Virginia, open containers of alcohol are not allowed in public area. However, if a restaurant has sidewalk/outdoor patio space, they can get a permit to serve alcohol there, as long as their seating area on the sidewalk is designated with some sort of physical indicator.)

Me: *in chained-off patio area, talking to woman across the patio* “Hey, Trish! Did you—”

(I realize it’s too noisy for her to hear me, so I walk around the patio, outside of the chain, and then talk to Trish. I’m still holding my bottle of beer.)

Waitress: “[My Name]! You can’t have your beer outside of our patio!”

(I look down, and see I’m still on the outside of the chain. I then step over the chain, but put my feet in the exact same place, but now the chain is behind my calves.)

Waitress: “That’s better.”

(I am a younger, female design engineer working for a helicopter manufacturing company, and it sometimes seems like my assessments aren’t taken seriously. An older senior project engineer storms in, in a tizzy, to get information on one of my projects after he has a meeting with someone higher up the corporate ladder.)

Project Engineer: “I need to know the weight of this part… this plastic mount for the wire ties!”

Me: “It’s negligible, and we are only using one in my kit.”

Project Engineer: “You don’t understand! [Higher-up] wants an EXACT weight, and I need it immediately so I can get this guy off my back!”

Me: “Ok, give me a couple of minutes to find it.”

Project Engineer: “Thanks, I’ll be back in a few.”

(He runs out the door. I finally find the info he wants after 10 minutes of searching.)

Project Engineer: “Did you find it?”

Me: “Yes. The weight is 40.37 grams per 100 of them.”

Project Engineer: “Ok, so how much is that in pounds?” *gets paper and pen to write it down*

Me: *after quick calculation* “Point zero eight nine per hundred. One of them weighs point zero zero zero eight nine pounds… or a little over fourteen one-hundredths of an ounce…”

Project Engineer: *starts writing and repeating to himself under his breath* “Point zero zero zero—” *stops short and looks up* “…hahaha!” *drops pen* “Okay, I’ll just tell him it’s negligible. Thanks!”

(I’m ordering something from a large shop in Bogner Regis. Talking to an employee over the phone, it went well until this. Note: I have a slight cold.)

Employee: “Okay, can I have your address, please?”

Me: *states address* “Arundel.”

(This is pronounced ‘arren-dull’.)

Employee: *after a couple of seconds of silence, sarcastically* “Very funny. Your real address, please.”

Me: “That is my address.”

Employee: “I need a real address for delivery.”

Me: *not understanding what I did* “What did I do wrong?”

Employee: “This is a serious business. We don’t have time for clowns.”

Me: “What?!”

Employee: “I need a real address or I’m terminating this phone call.”

Me: “It’s a real address! Look it up on Google; I don’t get what the problem is—” *I realize* “—Oh! Oh, look, please, I’m not pretending. Just look it up on Google.”

Employee: “I don’t have time for this.”

(I called again and I got another employee, one who knew how to read a map!)

(I work as a cake decorator in a grocery store bakery. Since I can’t see the displays without walking out onto the floor it can be difficult to keep everything full. At the time I have five minutes left in my shift and about fifteen minutes’ worth of cleaning left to do when the store manager calls me out onto the floor to look at the cake displays. My mind goes straight into panic mode, assuming something is terribly wrong and I’m going to have to stay late to fix it.)

Manager: “I want you to tell me what you see.”

Me: “Several of the jumbo cupcakes are low, there are only one of those cakes left, that spot’s also almost empty…” *I point out a couple more almost empty spots, but fortunately nothing is completely empty*

Manager: “Oh, yeah? I see lots of beautiful colors.”

Me: *in relief* “Oh, really?”

Manager: “Yeah, they’re all very eye-catching. Good critical eye on your part, though.”

(I appreciated the compliment, but it really wasn’t worth the near heart attack he gave me while giving it!)