(I am the ONLY person seated in a movie theater showing a horror film when the usher enters.)

Me: “Since I am the only person in here, will I still be arrested if I run around screaming ‘fire’?”

(Surprisingly, the usher is grinning from ear to ear after I say this.)

Usher: “No, but if you do it, can I join in?”

(Note: This is the second theater where I have asked this question under the same circumstances. I was granted permission to run around screaming ‘fire’ both times!)

(I’m with my dad at a local hardware store buying paint. We have bought paint at a sister store under the same company so we have their paint formula card with us. An elderly male employee comes up to us as we wait.)

Employee: “Can I help you guys today?”

My Dad: “Yes, we need a gallon of this paint right here. We have the formula.”

(After looking at the paint card, the employee grabs a gallon of white paint and gets ready to add the mix. He looks at the card for another two minutes before handing it back to my dad.)

Employee: “I hope you guys aren’t in a hurry because this may take awhile.”

(Note: it’s never taken more than a minute to mix paint at either store.)

My Dad: “Why? What’s the problem?”

Employee: “Well, you asked for a gallon of this color, but you gave me the formula for a quart of paint. I’m gonna need some time to convert the formula to gallon.”

(My dad and I turn and look at each other, completely dumbfounded at what the employee said. Choosing not to humiliate the guy we give in.)

My Dad: “Okay, I’ll come pick it up tomorrow morning.”

Employee: “Perfect, because [employee that’s a family friend of ours] is working then, so maybe she can figure this out!”

(I go up to the deli counter looking for some sliced roast beef. After much struggling, I manage to flag down an employee.)

Me: “Hi, I’d like some roast beef.”

Employee: “Like, how do you mean?”

Me: “You know, roast beef. Like the kind you put on a french dip sandwich.”

Employee: “Ah…”

(He then walks out from behind the counter, and takes me to the packaged meat section. He leads me to a beef tenderloin.)

Employee: “…Like this?”

Me; “Err, no, you can’t really put that on a sandwich. I’m looking for sliced roast beef.”

Employee: “Ohh, I see.” *holds up a thin steak* “So like this?”

Me: *speechless*

(I am 23, but look very young for my age. This normally leads to an extra glance or two whenever I have to present my ID. When I originally got my ID six years prior, my hair was a lot shorter and I was wearing glasses. On this day, I’m trying to buy a simple bottle of wine for a dinner party.)

Cashier: “This is your ID? You’re how old?”

Me: “23. I’ll be 24 in a month.”

Cashier: “There is no way that this is you. Your hair is so long! This picture has it short! And you’re wearing glasses!”

Me: “Well… yes. That picture was taken six years ago.”

Cashier: “No, this is a fake. I can’t sell you anything. And I’m going to have to cut this up.”

Me: “Excuse me?!”

Cashier: “Trust me; I’m doing you a favor. I should be calling the cops. I’m just going to cut this fake up.”

(The cashier grabs a pair of scissors and starts to put them over her fingers before I stop her.)

Me: “The h*** you are! I’m telling you, that’s my real ID. I’m 23, my birthday is [month/date]. I’m a [astrological sign], and I live on [street]. That is my ID, and it is very much real.”

Cashier: “No, it’s not. This picture looks nothing like you. In this picture, your hair is short, and you have glasses. But you have long hair and no glasses.”

Me: “Yes… Funny thing, pictures: they stay the same over time while you change.

Cashier: *blank stare*

Me: “Hair grows, ya know… and I’m wearing contacts.”

Cashier: “…Or you’re lying.”

Me: “Just get me your manager. Now.”

(The manager comes up and I explain what is going on. All the while, the cashier is insistent that the ID is not real because of the difference of my appearance. The manager quickly catches on and looks from the ID to the cashier.)

Manager: “Let me get this straight: you’re saying that this ID is a fake because her hair is longer and she doesn’t have glasses?”

Cashier: “Yes! We can’t sell to minors! She looks so young! We’d get in trouble! It’s a fake!”

Manager: ‘You do realize that hair grows right? Her face is exactly the same in this ID; it’s her.”

Cashier: “Fine! FINE! It’s all on you! When we get closed down for selling to stupid minors, it’s all on you!”

(The manager quickly rings me out and gives me a really good discount for the inconvenience, all the while apologizing profusely.)

Cashier: *glares at me* “You’re lucky he did that for you!”

Manager: “…and you’re lucky you’re my sister’s kid, or I’d have fired you already for being so d***ed stupid!”

(I am standing in the waiting area near the hostess station. A man who is gay is requesting a table. A primly dressed woman walks in.)

Woman: “Ugh, how horrid! You should be ashamed of yourself dressing like one of those sinful f***! People will get the wrong idea about you.”

(The man keeps his calm like he’s used to this.)

Man: “Actually, ma’am, it wouldn’t be a wrong idea as I am—in fact—gay.”

Woman: “Have you no shame at all!? You sound proud of it! You should be more like this young man.”

(She gestures to me.)

Woman: “He obviously is a proper, god-fearing individual.”

Me: “I’m honored. You really believe he should be like me?”

Woman: “Of course, you obviously have your priorities straight.”

(I walk over to the man and extended a hand for a handshake. He takes it.)

Me: “Well, you heard her…”

(I lean in and give him a quick peck on the lips.)

Me: “Never change sweetie.”

(The other three people in the waiting area break out laughing and the woman goes beet.)

Woman: “Well, I never!…”

(She stomps out. The man and I end up sharing a table for dinner. We’re now good friends and we laugh about that meeting a lot.)