I am driving to work, and another car breaks a whole range of laws at an intersection. Long story short, I end up with a huge dent on the side of my car and a snapped-off mirror. I’m about to get out of the car to swap insurance details, but the driver of the other car screeches away once they’ve composed themselves.

“Great,” I think. “Just what I needed.”

I get to the fast food place where I work and start taking orders. Later in the day, the planets align for me, as a very recognizable yellow SUV pulls into the parking lot. I even notice the slight dent on the vehicle from where it collided with mine.

A stereotypical soccer mom type steps out of the car, yammering on her phone (gee, it’s a wonder she didn’t have an accident!), and walks into the store.

Customer: *Still on her phone call* “I’ll have a [chicken sandwich meal].”

Me: “Do you have a rewards account with us?”

Customer: *Between her call and me* “No, what’s that?”

Me: “Oh, it allows you to get discounts on meals with us. All we need is your phone number and your email, and the first meal is on the house.”

Customer: “Sweet! Sign me up!”

I wrote down her details, and off she went with her free meal. I might have had to pay for her meal out of my pocket, but my insurance company is going to be charging her a lot more when I pass on her details along with her license plate number!

This was seven or eight years ago before I quit smoking. The place I worked at had an outdoor smoking area where most people gathered to socialize. At the time I, a woman in my late twenties, had my bag with a bunch of geeky pins, including several Marvel pins. A new guy came up to me, looked at my bag, and scoffed.

New Guy: “Are you even a real fan?”

Any girl into geeky stuff knows where this is going.

He started quizzing me on Marvel but in a weird, obscure way. Like, “In which issue of ‘X-Men’ was Kitty Pride first introduced?” kind of obscure — pedantic statistic kind of questions. When I didn’t know, he rolled his eyes.

New Guy: “I knew you were just another fake fan.”

My turn. I put on my best “clueless girly-girl” voice.

Me: *Faking confusion* “Aren’t you going to answer some questions, too? You know, to really root out any fake fans, since you seem so concerned about the concept.”

The guy was wearing a Deadpool shirt.

Me: “What’s Deadpool’s full name?”

New Guy: “Wade Wilson.”

Me: “No, his full name. What’s his middle name?”

He didn’t know. I asked if Deadpool had any kids. He didn’t know. A few more (actually) basic Deadpool questions later, he hadn’t gotten any right.

Really upping the girly-girl voice, I said:

Me: “Huh. You asked me all those weird questions, and I just asked for the name of the guy on your shirt and whether he had kids or not. I guess both of us are fake fans, then?”

And then, I just beamed at the guy. His face turned red, and he stormed out. He didn’t even finish his cigarette.

He never talked to me again. There’s no “…and then everyone clapped,” but I did get a high-five and a smirk from another smoker who had been watching.

Pulling an Uno Reverse while ramping up the girliness has become my go-to move against gatekeeping a**holes, and it is AMAZINGLY effective. I highly recommend it!

I have a large table to serve at the end of the night. They’re a little needy, but mostly okay… except for one guy. He’s the guy who’s so sure he’s the funniest in any room and so keeps being obnoxious. He is making jokes at my expense; they’re not hurtful or rude per se, but obviously, he doesn’t care how I feel about it and knows, as a server, I can’t really say anything.

Near the end of the meal, everything has been going well, but he’s kept up his schtick. They’re talking among their group, and “Funny Guy” says while pointing at me:

Customer: “Oh, I bet the jester hates us! Am I right?!”

Me: “No, sir. I love all my tables — some when they sit down and others when they leave, but I love them all.” 

Everyone at the table laughed. Then, a few seconds in, as they realized that I might be talking about them, it turned to nervous laughter. 

The schtick ended after that.

The very first real job I ever had (besides delivering papers) was at a fish-and-chips chain restaurant, and the franchise was owned by a husband and wife. I started out as a dishwasher and ended up working on the line as a cook within about five months due to the high turnover.

With my departure from the dish pit, we needed another set of hands. A friend of mine dropped off her resume and was hired on the spot — great! Due to further turnover, she too ended up in the kitchen, and an older man was hired for the dishes. For reference, I am also female.

To my friend and me, this was an amazing arrangement, and we felt really special. From the outside looking in, it was illegal in so many ways; we were fourteen years old and essentially ran the entire kitchen from 3:30 pm to 10:00 pm every night, including school nights. Our parents were both very old-fashioned and believed this hard work would be good for us, so they also were none the wiser about the legalities of it.

One day, we were scheduled for our regular shift, but midway through school, I was called to the office and dismissed early from school. My grandfather had fallen down some stairs, broken his hip and knee, and been rushed into surgery. He survived and was fine, though he now walks with a permanent limp, but in that moment, it was incredibly scary, and due to his medical state, the doctors were extremely concerned.

On the way to the hospital with my mom, I texted my friend that I’d be either late or absent, and I called the restaurant owner to advise the same. He said it was no problem, to take the night off, and he would cover for me. My friend said the same, and it ended up being a super slow evening anyway; Mondays always were.

The next day, I went to school and work as normal. It was Tuesday, which was All You Can Eat Fish & Chips Day — INSANITY every Tuesday. We would not get a break or any relief between the 4:00 pm early birds and the 7:30 pm late diners; it was constantly hectic between those hours. The only relaxation we had was when it slowed down around 8:00 pm. The dishwasher no-call-no-showed, so my friend and I were pulling double duty by keeping a constant flow of food and clean dishes.

At 8:30, the owner came up to me.

Owner: “[My Name], pop in the office, and let’s chat.”

Me: “Is everything okay?”

Owner: “You lied to me.”

Me: “Sorry? About what?”

Owner: “Your grandfather didn’t go to the hospital; that was a lie. You no-showed to work to go party.”

Me: “Um… what? No, that’s not true! You can even call my mom!”

Owner: “I looked at your [old, obsolete social media website that no longer exists], and you posted a photo of yourself with a bunch of teenagers last night.”

Me: “You mean my cousins? At the hospital?”

Owner: “It doesn’t look like a hospital.”

Me: “It literally is. Look!”

I showed him the photo on my phone and pointed out the hospital chairs and window behind us.

Owner: “No, you’re a liar, and I don’t employ liars who make up such vulgar fibs to get out of work.”

Me: “I have never missed a single day of work! Ever! I’m always here right after school and stay until after closing to finish my work! I’m sorry, but please call my parents and ask them!”

Owner: “I’m going to have to let you go.”

I started to cry softly and went back into the kitchen. In my inexperienced and childish mind, I had to finish my shift and duties… so I continued doing dishes!

After about twenty minutes, the owner walked over.

Owner: “I fired you! Get out!”

My parents took an hour to come to pick me up as they were busy when I called, so I sat behind the restaurant in an alley crying. My friend quit the next day after hearing what had happened; she thought I had gone home early to spend time with my grandfather.

The restaurant declined severely in quality and service, and it ended up being sold to a new owner a few years later after the previous one cited “staffing issues”. I wonder why!

I work at a large and well-appointed luxury hotel. We get a lot of weddings, and a lot of those are next-level extravagant, but that means the extra extravagant open bar is a bit much for some of the guests.

A drunk couple is passing through the lobby, from the ballroom where the wedding is taking place toward the elevators to the rooms. They are stumbling comically left and right, but the wife definitely seems a bit worse for wear than her husband.

I wave at them as they go around the corner toward the elevator and continue with my night audit duties. I look up a few minutes later to see the husband standing in front of me.

Husband: *Slurring* “Can I get a luggage cart?”

Me: “Of course! Would you like me to have that sent up to your room?”

Husband: “Nah, I’ll take that with me now.”

He’s still a bit unsteady on his feet, so I offer to get someone to push the luggage cart to his room for him.

Husband: “Actually, maybe just come and see for yourself.”

Since the lobby was empty, I followed him around the corner to the elevators. I was not prepared for what I saw.

His wife was passed out drunk halfway in and halfway out of the elevator on the lobby floor. The doors were legit opening and closing on this woman, and she was not budging… or even aware.

Since they were both on the heavier side, I was unable to move her right there, so I rushed back to fetch the luggage cart, and between us both, we got her onto it before either she or the elevator broke.

I called our strongest busboy to meet the husband and wife on their floor to assist in “escorting” the wife from the luggage cart onto the bed, and I had an interesting story to tell the morning manager!