(I’m a stay-at-home-mum. My husband has just got home from a frustrating day at work, and I am about to start cooking dinner. He takes over the food preparation, makes me a cup of tea, and pours me a glass of wine.)
Husband: “Sometimes I don’t know if I make enough of a fuss over you.”
Me: “What makes you say that?”
Husband: “Sarcasm.”
(I am watching TV with my six-year-old niece, when Dame Edna appears on screen. Dame Edna is a rather flamboyant female character, played by a male.)
Niece: “Is that the Queen?”
Me: “Not quite.”
(My family is on a road-trip. My 15-year-old sister notices us driving past a wind-farm.)
Sister: “Is that solar powered?”
(Many of my coworkers occupy their time making rude comments about people while hiding behind the tall display counter. A very pleasant woman I recognize comes in to browse, but one of my coworkers reaches her before I can.)
Coworker #1: “Is there anything I can help you with today?”
(The customer does not respond.)
Coworker #1: *passive-aggressively to herself* “Well, fine then, never mind.”
(Another coworker gets the customer’s attention and takes her order. This customer has a noticeable speech impediment. Upon hearing it, my two coworkers look at each other behind the counter and smirk. Once Coworker #2 has taken the customer’s order to the front so she can pay, she comes back and laughs with Coworker #1.)
Coworker #2: “Did you hear her? What was with that?”
Coworker #1: “I don’t know; she was a little rude anyway.”
Me: “Seriously? She’s DEAF. That’s why she didn’t respond at first, and that’s why she speaks differently.”
Coworker #1: “…oh, well…”
(Neither looked especially remorseful. This customer was not aware of what my coworkers were doing, and I’m grateful they didn’t ruin her day.)
(I work at a pretty popular furniture store. A girl and her friend come in. After looking around for a bit and giggling to themselves, the girls come up to me.)
Girl #1: “Hi. Yeah… we… like… we wanted to know… do you guys sell band members here?”
Me: “Sorry, what?”
Girl #1: “Yeah! Band members! Like, you know, people who are in bands and play music?”
Me: “Oh! No, we don’t really sell band posters, sorry.”
Girl #1: “No! Not posters! We want band members!”
Me: “What? You mean you want me to sell you the actual band members? As in the actual people who play in the band?”
Both Girls: “Yeah!”
Me: “I’m sorry… I don’t think we have any in stock, and we’re probably not going to get some anytime soon. Actually, I think no store will have what you’re looking for, girls.”
Girl #1: “Aw, really?”
Girl #2: “Come on… Are you sure? Not even clones?”
Me: “Yeah, I think the most you will find will be posters and band merchandise. With pictures of them, maybe, but not the actual people. I’m very sorry.”
Both Girls: “Aw… it’s okay; sorry for bothering you.”
(As they walk away, I overhear them talking.)
Girl #2: “Aw, I really wanted a Billie Joe Armstrong.”
Girl #1: “Yeah… I guess our best bet is asking Adrienne if she’s willing to share.”
Girl #2: “Yep, we should do it. I mean, it’s like… It’s not like I want to marry him or something. I just want to be his friend, and cuddle with him, and pet his hair. Don’t forget about petting his hair.”
Girl #1: “Same here! Hmm, you know what this means, right?”
Girl #2: “Yeah. Let’s ask her on both Twitter and Instagram until she finally answers.”
(My manager has heard everything and comes over to me laughing. We’re both huge Green Day fans.)
Manager: “Oh, God… Were they… really?
Me: “Yeah.”
(My manager starts singing to the tune of the chorus of the song “Stray Heart”.)
Manager: “Everything that they want, they want from him, but they just can’t have him. Everything that they need, they need from therapy, but they won’t realize it.”
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