(I am out trick-or-treating with friends and family last Halloween. I don’t expect many people to know my costume as it was home-made rather hastily and badly at that, not to mention it was from a show that wasn’t very well known. The only things tying me to the character I am going as are  the pink wig and the white scarf I am wearing.)

Me and Friends: “Trick or treat!”

Resident #1: “Oh, are you [Character]?”

Me: “Yes! You are the first person all night to know who I am!”

Resident #2: “[Show that the character’s from], right?”

Me: *getting excited* “Yeah!” [Show]!”

Resident #1 and #2: [Show]!”

Me: “[Show]!”

(We kept screaming the name of the show at each other as we went back down the driveway.)

Dad: “Someone knew who you are?”

Me: “Yes!”

(I am really hoping to meet them again this year, since I ordered a proper costume.)

(I have been a huge fan of “The Lord of the Rings” for almost half a century; I am also a huge nerd and know some Elvish. My son knows this so when he runs into another kid at the group picnic we’re at he brings him over to say hi to a fellow fan.)

Son: “Here, you should talk to my mom! She’s a huge ‘Lord of the Rings’ fan, too; she’s making an Elvish costume to go to a convention in!”

Kid: *in a very snotty voice* “I’m a huge ‘Lord of the Rings’ fan. I’ve got the ‘War of the Ring’ video game! I’m a way bigger fan than you!”

Me: “Oh, you like ‘Lord of the Rings,’ too? That’s great! Len suilon? Le maer? Man i eneth lîn?”

Kid: “What’s that mean?”

Me: “‘Hi! How are you? What’s your name?’ in Sindarin.”

Kid: “…Yeah, well, I have the ‘War of the Ring’ game!” *stomps away*

(The sad thing is, I love meeting fellow fans, and would have enjoyed talking about something we both love. But maybe talk to a person a bit first, rather than instantly trying to dismiss them!)

(I’m standing in a kiosk, looking at four Romanian Romani that have previously tried to beg for money from me. The group consists of a mother, a teen, and two children below the age of ten. They’re going to buy a cola and two biscuits. A woman approaches me.)

Woman: “Oh, look at those! They beg you for money and then they buy THAT. Shame on them.”

Me: “I know, right? That’s no dinner.”

Woman: “It sure isn’t!”

Me: “So I’m going to buy them dinner.”

Woman: *looking incredibly shocked* “What?”

Me: “Three of them are children. They have nowhere to live and nowhere to cook. They can’t buy proper food. There’s a pasta place down the road. I’ll buy them takeaway pasta for tonight.”

Woman: “Well… I…”

(Ignoring her, I told the group of my offer and was lucky enough that there was someone nearby that could translate. At least for one night, four people didn’t go hungry. Wherever you are, lady, I hope you grow some empathy.)

(I frequent a certain fast-food establishment for lunch, mostly because it’s a two-minute walk from my job. One day I decide to go in during breakfast to grab some food before work.)

Rude Customer: *not trying to whisper at all* “Look, he went in his pants again!”

(I see another regular being handed a coffee. I know for a fact this regular is a homeless Vietnam vet who goes in for the cheap coffee and he does in fact have some bladder issues.)

Worker: “Here’s your food, ma’am, have a good day.”

(I leave and think nothing more until I’m loading my food into my bike. The homeless customer is outside now, minding his own business and drinking his coffee when the customer from before leans out the door.)

Rude Customer: “Why don’t you f*** off till you learn to use a toilet, bum!”

Vet: “F*** you, man!”

Rude Customer: “At least I’m toilet trained!”

(The rude customer goes back inside and I give the other man a sympathetic look as I have mad respect for veterans. Finally fed up, I go back inside.)

Me: “You know, he can get toilet trained, but you’ll always be an a**-hole!”

(I’ve always looked young for my age; even now at 30 I can still pass for a teenager, so I am used to odd looks and snarky comments when I take my baby daughter out on my own. She is hot, tired, and hungry. I just about manage to rock her in one arm, whilst preparing a bottle in the other. I eventually settle her down, get her fed, burped, and happy. I can feel the eyes of the family next to me bear down on me. Eventually the father of the group wanders over. I prepare for another lousy comment.)

Father: “You’re doing a great job.”

(That was it. It took me a few moments to unclench waiting for the mean remark.)

Me: “Er, thanks?”

(With a smile he left again. It was a rough day, but small comments can mean the world.)