(In the state of California in 2010, it is legal to sell water pipes, hookahs, bubblers, all ‘for tobacco use only.’ We also cannot sell anything if a customer even hints at using marijuana.)

Customer: *showing his ID* “Wow, you guys are strict, huh?”

Me: “We have to check the IDs of everyone who comes in here. It’s store policy.”

Customer: “You’re being careful, huh?”

Me: “I have to be, because the laws are so strict. It’s very delicate. If someone says just one wrong word, I have to ask them to leave the store.”

Customer: “So, how much is that bong there?”

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(I am standing behind the till, serving customers. I wear a wig; I had Alopecia when I was 16 and haven’t had any hair for three years. A male customer goes past the till, heading for the children’s section, and sees me.)

Customer: “Oh my god, your hair looks amazing! How did you get it like that?!”

Me: “It’s a wig, actually! I lost my hair when I was younger.”

(The customer looks very shocked, but then suddenly gives me a thumbs up.)

Customer: “Darling, you look smashing.”

Me: “Thank you, you just made my day!”

(The customer who took the time to give my self esteem a boost?! I honestly hope he wins the lottery one day!)

I was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome as a little girl. Due to my disability, as well as the fact that I do not have a driver’s license, I wasn’t able to land a job until my early twenties. After being turned down at countless other places, I finally manage to get a job as a waitress at a small restaurant on the outskirts of Chicago.

About a year into my job, we have a new shift manager take over for the one who originally hired me. One day, I’m sweeping the floor when the shift manager approaches me and orders me to the office.

Me: “What’s up?”

Manager: “[My Name], you are fired.”

Me: *Shocked* “On what grounds?”

Manager: *Sternly* “You know what I’m referring to.”

I don’t know at all what she’s referring to.

Me: “Was it something I did? Did I not clock my hours correctly? Was there a shortfall in the till? Please, tell me!”

Manager: “I shouldn’t have to tell you. You already know.”

Me: “Honest, I don’t know! Really!”

Manager: *Raising her voice* “Don’t you lie to me! You know what happened, and you know that it warrants your termination.”

I’m on the verge of tears at this point.

Me: “You don’t understand! I don’t know what I did to deserve this!”

Manager: *Now yelling* “YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID! DON’T YOU TELL ME YOU DON’T KNOW!”

The head chef overhears the manager’s yelling and steps into the office. He is visibly angry.

Head Chef: “What’s going on? What’s all the yelling about?”

I can’t take it anymore and break down crying.

Me: “I just got fired! I don’t know why, and [Manager] isn’t telling me!”

Manager: “SHUT UP! YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHY!”

Head Chef: “No, she doesn’t, and neither do I. Please tell me what happened, and why you fired [My Name].”

Manager: “It’s none of your business!”

Head Chef: “Actually, as the owner of [Restaurant], this is very much my business.” *Sternly* “Now please, tell me what you fired [My Name] for.”

Manager: “Okay, fine! I’m firing her for insubordination!”

Head Chef: “Insubordination, huh? Show me her write-ups. I want proof of this.”

The manager suddenly goes pale. She begins scrambling through the desk.

Manager: “Umm… I… I think I misplaced them.”

The head chef glares at her for a moment and then turns to me.

Head Chef: “Why don’t you go take a break, [My Name]? Take a moment to pull yourself together. I would like to talk one-on-one with [Manager].”

While I was regrouping in the break room, I could hear the head chef yelling at the shift manager in the office. We had a new shift manager by week’s end.

I later learned from a coworker that the now ex-shift manager had planned to directly fire me for being on the autism spectrum and was trying to pass it off as insubordination. The head chef knew better, not only because the former shift manager failed to provide any proof of my so-called “insubordination,” but also because, as it turns out, he actually had the same disability as me.

I’m still working there to this day, but I haven’t seen the former shift manager since the day she was fired.

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(I work as a supervisor for an electric company call center. I’m a woman, although my voice sounds very deep to the point where most customers think I am a man, especially over the phone. This doesn’t typically bother me. I am on a supervisor call correcting a billing mistake — these calls always have to go to a supervisor. The customer speaks very good English to me, but rants in German to somebody in the room with him that I am actually helping him because I am a “man,” and various other misogynistic comments about how women don’t belong in the workplace, are inept, etc. He doesn’t realize I speak German and understand everything he says.)

Me: *still in English* “Okay, you are all set; you’ll see an adjustment on your next bill and you can simply pay the corrected balance at your earliest convenience.”

Customer: “Thank you very much, sir. You have helped me incredibly.”

Me: *in German* “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

(I hear a gasp on the line.)

Me: *still in German* “Well, as a supervisor, I’m glad I had the opportunity to satisfy your concerns. Again, my name is Frau [Surname], and thank you for calling [Electric Company].”

This story is part of our Women’s Equality Day roundup!

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(My father assembles wooden deck and lifeguard chairs and I paint them. We’ve hired a new girl, who insists she is a savant with a spray gun.)

Me: “Just do red today. Tomorrow is blue.”

New Girl: “Can I draw a little something something on the chairs?”

Me: “Not today. But if you submit a design, we’ll let you do a mock-up next week.”

New Girl: “I’m h***a good. Trust me. I’ll show you!”

(She takes the paint sprayer and holds down the trigger. Instead of being a skilled spray paint artist, she blasts red paint all over the floor, her, me, and a batch of chairs meant to be blue. She didn’t even say sorry. She just dropped the sprayer and walked out crying about her shoes.)