I live in a town in Alberta that is popular in the summer for tourists. We have a desert-like climate: very hot and very dry. I’m a customer in this story and I overhear this between two customers as I wait in line behind them.

Customer #1: “Oh! We forgot sunscreen.”

Customer #2: “Shoot!”

[Customer #1] turns to the cashier and asks, straight-faced:

Customer #1: “Can people get sunburned in this town?”

I couldn’t help but stare at the man, hoping he was joking. No sign of sarcasm was present.

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I’m part of an Internet group that meets together to play board games. Our setup is that one person will host, and the rest of those who attend will bring snacks, potluck style, ensuring that there is plenty to go around.

My typical contribution is a meat and cheese mix on French bread slices. It’s pretty simple for me to throw together and a bit “fancier” than most snacks we have, and it is always a big hit. I will generally bring one or two trays’ worth.

One day, after a session, the host comes up to me as I am packing up and leaving.

Host: “What are you doing?”

Me: “Oh, I’m just going to be headed home.”

Host: “But why are you taking those?”

He points to the trays. I think he’s mixed them up with his trays.

Me: “Oh, I actually brought my snacks on these.”

Host: “But why are you taking them?”

Me: *Pause* “Because they’re mine.”

Host: “But you brought them. You can’t take them after you brought them.”

Me: “Uh…”

At that point, someone else distracted him with a question, and I quickly just scooted out of there.

He ended up making several posts about me and a few others “stealing” his stuff. We responded by pointing out the truth, that we were just taking the trays, bowls, and the leftovers of snacks we’d brought, but he ended up “rage-quitting” the group when people weren’t supporting him.

The really confusing thing was that he had hosted several times before and had never brought up any problem with us taking home what we’d brought.

I’m not sharing this to make fun of any teenagers; I’m sharing it to comment on how old I felt when this happened.

I volunteer as a Sunday School teacher, and one day, I am chatting with some of the teenage helpers. We are discussing music.

Teen: “I love that song, ‘Footloose.’”

Me: “Me, too. It’s one of my favourite movies. Although, I haven’t seen the remake, and I don’t plan to.”

Teen: “It’s from a movie?!”

It’s the day after Hallowe’en. I’m pushing my baby in her stroller down the wheelchair ramp to the train station’s entrance when the door opens. Out comes a woman with a two- or three-year-old child in a Spiderman costume.

The woman takes a step to the side, enough to clear the route through, and gets out her phone. Mini-Spiderman looks around, spots the stroller coming down, crams himself tight against the wall, and then starts vigorously waving the woman away.

Mini-Spiderman: “MOM, WATCH OUT! WATCH OUT, MOM! MOM, WATCH OUT!”

The woman looks at him, then up the ramp at the baby and me, and then smiles and steps even farther to the side.

Me: “Thank you, Spiderman!”

Mini-Spiderman: *Cheerfully* “No, actually, I’m Batman.”

I guess even Batman gets to dress up for Hallowe’en!

I’m an Indigenous person. My mother is white and my father is Indigenous, but I was raised fully understanding my First Nations history and on reserve, too. Because of this mixed heritage, people frequently have a hard time “determining” what I am. I have heard it all; Indian, Lebanese, Iranian, Polish, Japanese, Russian, Brazilian, Spanish, Greek, Mexican… almost anything but what I actually am. This type of interaction happens often. Let it also be noted that I think that I have “resting pleasant face” from far too many years in retail.

Stranger: “What are you?”

Me: “Canadian.”

Stranger: “No, I mean your parents.”

Me: “Yeah, Canadian.”

Stranger: “No, I mean, what is your heritage?”

Me: “Canadian.”

Stranger: “No, I mean…”

Me: “Let me cut you off, ‘cause it goes all the way down.”

I’ve also, unfortunately, been subjected to people that are clearly trying to find a way to insult me and claim that I’m somehow undeserving of the job or opportunity I’ve got. They’ll fish in this same way but get increasingly angry at my inability to play into their game.

Honestly, maybe it’s because I am on the autism spectrum, but as disturbing as I find it, it is equally funny to watch them struggle to claim that I’m taking jobs away from “Real Canadians.”

My “favourite” person finally yelled at me, “Go back to where you came from!” I smiled and said, “You go back to where you came from, white boy. I’ve got a card that proves I was here before you.” People, don’t assume people of colour are not from wherever you are, both by recent history or heritage. All you do is show your own ignorance!