(Two of my male friends are basically soul mates. They have been best friends for almost their entire lives, and can quite easily finish each others thoughts and sentences. They’re completely secure in their sexualities, too. While they’re both straight, they sometimes appear to be a gay couple to people who don’t know them well.)

Friend #1: “So, [Friend #2], how about that girl you were chatting to earlier? She was pretty fit.”

Friend #2: “Yeah, but she was as dumb as a box of rocks. Can’t have sex with someone who can barely read.”

(A new friend in the group suddenly pipes up.)

New Friend: “Wait a sec. I thought you two were gay?”

Me: “Haha, yeah. They seem like that. They’re both totally straight.”

New Friend: “Oh… So why are they holding hands?”

(We all peer around the table to see that they are indeed holding hands. They look at their hands, then up at each other. Then they speak in unison:)

Both: “I don’t know who started this, but I’ll be d***ed if I let go first.”

(A salesperson has knocked on my door. After his pitch, this exchange happens:)

Sales Guy: “So can I put you down for a consultation.”

Me: “No, thank you.”

Sales Guy: “Okay, but you could be saving a lot of money.”

Me: “No, thank you. I’m not interested.”

Sales Guy: “Can I ask you why not?”

Me: “Because I have two sleeping children, a sign that says ‘No Solicitation,’ and you rang my door bell.”

Sales Guy: “Uh… Have a nice day…”

(It’s Christmas, and a left-wing leisure organization hosts an event in the local theatre. The children go on stage with a Santa Claus impersonator, who gives them small presents. The kids are encouraged to tell rhymes or sing songs. I’m three years old.)

Me: “I want to go onstage!”

Mother: “What on earth for? You’re too young!”

Me: “I want to go! I want a present too!”

Mother: “But you don’t even know a rhyme!”

Me: “I know a song! I want to go!”

Father: “Let her go. Let’s see what she does.”

(I join the queue with the other kids, and finally it’s my turn to be onstage with Santa.)

Santa Impersonator: “Well, well, here’s a very young lady. What’s your name?”

Me: “I’m [name], and I want to sing a song.”

Santa Impersonator: *handing the microphone to me* “All right. What are you going to sing?”

Me: “I’m going to sing The Red Flag!”

(I start singing the theme song to socialism. Part of the audience stands up and sings with me, part is scandalized, and the rest are rolling with laughter. My parents had not been aware that their neighbour, a former partisan, had taught me the song!)

(It is Christmas, and I’m opening presents.)

Dad: “Open that one next, sweetie.”

(He points to a box, which I open. Inside is one of those obnoxious singing and dancing robot Christmas trees. I’m a bit shocked and dismayed, as I had pointed out how much I hate these things when we went shopping the week before Christmas.)

Me: “Uh, weren’t you listening when I said I thought these were the most annoying things ever?”

Dad: “I know, I know. But… open that one next.”

(This time he points to a long, heavy package. I eye him suspiciously, but open it up to reveal a sledgehammer.)

Me: “What the? Is this for what I think it’s for?”

Dad: “And you thought I wasn’t paying attention!”

(I work at a grocery/retail store that has a somewhat relaxed dress code for the cashiers. It is quite hot both inside and outside the store. Many of my female coworkers are wearing less clothing than usual. A customer comes to my check lane and unloads her groceries.)

Customer: “Oh, thank God. SOMEBODY around here knows how to dress in a way that pleases the Lord!”

(Right away, I know this is going to be unpleasant. I’m a transgender man with no religious belief.)

Customer: “All of these god-d*** heathens dress like streetwalkers! I’m so glad I found someone uncontaminated to handle my food!”

Me: “I’m sorry. Did you say ‘uncontaminated’?”

Customer: “Why, yes, dearie. Those worthless w****s you have to work with are contaminated by the devil! It’s too bad you have spend so much time around them, but I understand times are tough.”

Me: “Actually, I enjoy working here. I have excellent pay, flexible hours, and the opportunity to be part of a great team. I’ve made friends with several of my coworkers, and we regularly spend time together outside of work.”

Customer: “Oh, dearie, you know you shouldn’t yoke yourself to an unbeliever! But I suppose it’s hard to lead some to Christ if you don’t know them very well.”

(At this point, I’m finished scanning and bagging her groceries. She pays with her card and turns to me.)

Customer: “You know, young lady. I just feel so bad for you. You’re stuck in this awful, godless place, and I just—”

(The customer rummages in her purse and pulls out two $5 bills.)

Customer: “Take these are use them to do The Lord’s work!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t accept your money in good conscience. I happen to be one of those godless heathens you were upset about. Furthermore, I’m sorry to say that you have made a crucial flaw in your perception of me. I am not, as you said, a ‘young lady.’ I am a 21-year-old transgender man.”

(The customer begins to shout various racial, homophobic, and trans-phobic slurs. My manager rushes over to find out what’s going on.)

Customer: “THIS GODLESS C*** CONTAMINATED MY FOOD!”

Manager: “Ma’am, you need stop verbally abusing the staff and leave the premises. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to call the police.”

Customer: “HOW DARE YOU?! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM!?”

Manager: “No, ma’am, and quite frankly I don’t care. You’re shouting some of the vilest insults in the English language at one of my best cashiers. Get your s*** and leave. NOW!”

(The customer flees, insulting both of us the whole time. The next customer in line has watched the situation unfold.)

Next Customer: *to my manager* “Excuse me. Would it be all right if I gave you both a gift card? You deserve something nice after all that.”

Me: “You don’t need to—”

Manager: “Uh, okay. Sure.”

Next Customer: “Here. Just [item] and two $25 gift cards for [coffee shop].”

(When the friendly customer gives me the gift card, his number is written on the back. We’ve been dating for almost two years!)

This story is part of the Even-More-Transgender-Stories-themed roundup!

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