I’m working in the produce section, stocking some new bananas, and a customer comes over to me.

Customer: “Did you know that humans eat more bananas than monkeys?”

Me: “No, sir, I didn’t know that.”

Customer: “It’s totally true. Think about it. When was the last time you ate a monkey?”

Me: “That’s… I…”

Customer: “This is why I shouldn’t shop without the wife…” *Wanders off*

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.

This is a story my mom told me about my grandfather that happened in the late 1950s. Keep in mind that it was a different time back then.

My grandfather worked as a milkman his whole life. His company’s brand of milk was considered one of the better brands available, and for a very long time, it was only available via milkman. It was not in any grocery store — much to the grocery store’s dismay. The local grocery store kept asking — and then begging — the dairy company to please let them sell the milk in their store.

Finally, an agreement was made. The milk would be sold in the store, but with a small markup compared to the cost of delivery, so people would have an incentive to keep using the milkmen.

Where the dairy company went wrong was that the agreement on price was not in writing. So, while the price of milk started with a markup, that markup soon went away. The dairy company complained, but nothing changed. The grocery store kept the price at a lower amount.

The milkmen in particular were not happy with this; this was threatening their livelihoods. So, they all talked amongst themselves and made a plan. Throughout the next day, they gathered up their wives and kids and all headed over to the grocery store. Every adult grabbed a cart and started filling it with anything and everything nonperishable they could think of, from as many different aisles and shelves as possible. As each one finished piling their cart as high as humanly possible, they’d wheel it to the front, leave it there, and simply walk out. Soon, half of the store’s items were now go-backs, piled in a ton of carts, with the shelves looking bare and ragged. 

The next day, the milkmen checked the price of their milk in the store. No change. Their little demonstration hadn’t worked. So, they felt they had no choice. They stepped it up a notch. 

They now started taking all the perishables and anything that was supposed to be kept cool, cold, or hot and started “redistributing” these items for the grocery store. The ice cream belongs behind all the cereal boxes, right? And this fish should be put behind the cans of peas. The leaking steak goes on the top shelf behind the chips. And so on.

By the end of the day, the grocery store was looking at a ton of wastage while praying that they’d found all the starting-to-rot meat and fermenting dairy before things started to smell too much. 

The next day, the milkmen went back to check the price of milk again. The markup had, for some reason, been added back to the price. Nothing more was ever said about it from workers of either company. But that markup stayed on the milk from then on.