Entitled Karen Bans Me From Public Pool.. I’m a Disabled Man in a Wheelchair!

Most females, and not too few males, You that gazelle on the veldt feeling. Something is off. Something had the hair on the back of your neck standing on end. You don't know what it is and the rules of social interaction demand that you keep your mouth shut and play nice, but the guy spends a few minutes of charismatic smiles. I'd never seen teeth like that outside of Channel 10 news presenters acting like he's having trouble reading the form.

I designed the form over the course of multiple painful weeks and know you would have to be severely brain damaged to have issues understanding it. My boss had me dumb it down to the point that a kindergarten student could know where to scribble a name approximation and this guy is well-spoken and clean-cut and he's got the sharpest and most familiar gaze I've ever seen. I cannot think of any reason for him to be this obtuse, honestly, and I begin to suspect that he's hitting on me.

Which for multiple reasons has me creeped out by several orders of magnitude. I just want this guy to go away, really.

Finally, after agonizing minutes of him struggling with a form that a 2-year-old could sign, he hands it back and says, still with that same confident and charismatic smile, "Read it to me."

I was at a low point in my life and I hated every single thing about my life. I had untreated PTSD and the thought of anyone hitting on me made me want to go scrub a layer of skin off. The realization that this guy had me pinned to a desk I could not leave until he signed the form made me want to punch him, but I needed this job and my boss would grind me into the flour and turn me into concession and stand specials if I even pretended to stand up for myself.

So, instead, I complied. I shifted into a happy customer service mode and I read him the damn form. I summarized the legalese. I dumbed things down from kindergarten to preschool. I did it all with the sweetest smile I could muster and tried to be about as asexual as the desktop computer right next to the counter window.

I made it a point to be the most cheerfully helpful person and hoped that somehow this would translate to go the F away. And it worked. He signed, he left, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Well, until next week when the form had to be supplemented by the sign-in sheet and the whole damn song and dance repeated itself. He asked me to read him the damn sign-in sheet and I did with a smile that could have not been more forced if he had a gun to my head. At this point, I was heaping lit coals on his head and practicing my obtuse as f face. I might be a captive audience, but I would be damned before I let him know he got to me.

I maliciously treated him like any other customer. I hated to see him arrive and when he left, I cheered and this went on for weeks because every session the boss would need a new form signed and every session that guy asked me to read it to him and I managed it by channeling my inner robot. I even began highlighting his daughter's name. What kind of crap dad by the way forgets his daughter's name?