(Two girls, looking to be in their late teens/early twenties–one blonde, one brunette–walk in. Their arms are linked. They talk under their breath for a minute, and then laugh. The brunette kisses the blonde’s cheek and they separate. My coworker prides herself on being open-minded.)

Coworker: “Aww! Look at them. They’re so cute.”

(My coworker goes over to the brunette.)

Coworker: “Excuse me, I just wanted to tell you how cute the two of you are together. How long have you been together?”

Brunette: *thinks for a minute* “Uh, gosh. I guess it’s been, what, eighteen years now?”

(My coworker just stares.)

Brunette: *trying not to laugh* “We’re sisters.”

(My coworker doesn’t approach people she thinks are couples anymore.)

(A passenger stands up to offer an old man a seat.)

Old man: “Nah, just give it to that pretty young lady over there!”

Girl: “Oh, it’s okay, you can have it.”

Old man: “Are you sure? Okay.”

(He sits down.)

Old man: “Hey, about sitting here on my knees instead?!”

(I’m meeting my boyfriend on a pier to watch the Fourth of July fireworks. It’s a very popular location in a predominately Hispanic neighborhood. Though I don’t look very Hispanic, I am. My boyfriend is Nordic. An old man starts talking to my boyfriend before I find him.)

Old man: “There sure are a lot of people here today, aren’t there?”

Boyfriend: “Yeah, well, it’s the Fourth of July.”

Old man: “There are a lot of them Hispanics, too, aren’t there?”

Boyfriend: “I guess?”

Old man: “The women are nice to look at, aren’t they? You know, you can look, that’s fine. But you can’t marry them. Imagine if you had mixed children with them! They’re taking over our country!”

Boyfriend: “Actually, my girlfriend is Hispanic.”

Old man: “Well, sleeping with them is fine. Just don’t marry them or have kids with them!”

(My boyfriend is speechless. I find him and walk up. He wraps his arms around me and kisses me sweetly.)

Boyfriend: *to me “Hi, my dear. I missed you.” *to the old man* “This is my girlfriend.”

Old man: “She looks like a nice white girl.”

Boyfriend: “Actually, she’s half Puerto Rican. She’s one of those ‘mixed children’.”

(He keeps his arms around me, clearly indicating that we’re not just ‘sleeping together’. He stalks off, mumbling about mixed children and Hispanics.)

(I am a Japanese teacher. I am presiding over homeroom. A female student, who had a pretty serious fight with her boyfriend in the hall before homeroom, is intently writing on a piece of paper.)

Student: “Ugh, I can’t do this anymore!”

(She throws down her pen and calls up to me.)

Student: “Love is too hard!”

Me: “Well, I know it always seems that way after having a fight. But, you know, people have disagreements all the time and work through them. Besides, you’re still young, and part of this age is discovering how to be in a relationship with others. I am sure he is just as upset as you are.”

(She looks at me quizzically and then holds up the paper she is working on.)

Student: “I meant trying to write it in Japanese for your homework.”

Me: “Oh. Yeah. That can be hard, too.”

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(My boyfriend and I are finishing our meal, and he tells me what he thinks of his food.)

Boyfriend: “You know what I love?”

Me: “What?”

Boyfriend: “Avocado. Know what else I love?”

Me: “What else?”

Boyfriend: “Eel! Know what else I love?”

(He then looks at me as if the answer to this question should be extremely obvious.)

Me: “Me?”

Boyfriend: “That, too. I was actually going to say soy sauce, though.”