My girlfriend is visiting me in my apartment. She has an upcoming vacation planned to Panama with two friends. One of her friends speaks Spanish as her first language. During many of my conversations with her about this trip, she mentions the “Spanish friend” going with her on the trip and how helpful she has been in spearheading the arrangements since she speaks the national language of Panama.

Me: “You know, there are differences to how Spanish is spoken in Spain compared to how it is spoken in Latin America. Has she been experiencing any issues?”

Girlfriend: *Confused* “What do you mean?”

Me: “Your friend, the one from Spain going with you on your trip.”

She looks at me as if I’m wearing a block of cheese as a hat.

Girlfriend: “She’s not from Spain! She’s from Honduras!”

Me: *Confused pause* “Throughout the entirety of the weeks you’ve been talking about your trip, you’ve been saying, ‘My Spanish friend this,’ and, ‘My Spanish friend that.'”

Girlfriend: “Because she speaks Spanish!”

Me: “That doesn’t make her Spanish; she’s Honduran.”

Girlfriend: “It’s the same thing.”

Me: “No, it is not the same thing. You’re an American, but what if you were living in a foreign country and your local friend kept referring to you as their English friend? Wouldn’t that bother you?”

I can see the wheels turning in her head as she realizes I am right, but she’s trying to deflect.

Girlfriend: “Well… this isn’t like that.”

Me: “Yes, it is. It is exactly like that. You’re Asian. Do you speak Asian?”

Even after all that, every single time her friend comes up in conversation in the days or weeks that followed, she still refers to her as “my Spanish friend.”

Me: “You don’t have a Spanish friend; you have a Honduran friend.”

She would either reply with, “Whatever!” or she would repeat her statement with “my HONDURAN FRIEND!”

Related:
Totally Estúpido! Part 16
Totally Estúpido! Part 15
Totally Estúpido! Part 14
Totally Estupido, Part 13
Totally Estupido, Part 12

I’m having chest pains after eating, and it finally becomes bad enough that I go to the doctor. I’m a rather tall 240 pounds. I’m sitting in the exam area waiting for someone to come in when the doctor walks in, looking at a chart.

Doctor: “Mr. [My Name], your problem is that you’re grossly… Wait. You’re 6’9″. I was going to say that you’re obese but you’re not, are you? I guess I’d better examine you.”

After actually examining me and talking to me, I get meds for GERD. But he sure was quick to dismiss me in the beginning.

When I am a teenager, around the year 2000, I start a story and share it through a forum. People love it and say I should make a comic out of it. Alas, I can’t draw digitally and don’t have a scanner, but someone offers to draw the comic for me.

I ask him to draw the main character, an energetic black girl. He draws her in black and white lineart. Using MS Paint, I add colour (very terribly). He then draws her again, using most of my colours.

This all takes place through forum posts.

Me: “She looks great! She does look very pale, though.”

Artist: “Oh, I thought that was a mistake. I thought she was this colour, because she was based on you?”

Me: “No, she’s not. I wish I was as cool as her! But if you could darken her skin, that would be great.”

He darkens her skin to a more olive tint.

Me: “Can you please darken it more?”

Artist: “This is as dark as I can go.” 

Me: “Really? I looked online, and your software should be able to use hex codes, right? Could you use something like [hex code of dark brown]?”

Artist: “No, my software won’t allow me.”

Me: “But you are using [Software], right? It says on this site that you can add hex codes. Maybe if you swap palettes? This tutorial tells you how.”

Artist: “No, not my software.”

At that point, people were calling his BS. I was just confused about why his software didn’t allow him— naive me. Eventually, he lashed out, saying that black people scared him and he flat-out refused to colour her in the colours specified. He was promptly banned from the forum, and rightly so! I was very confused about this — again, naive me — because he showed pictures of himself and he was Hispanic and had dark skin. 

The comic never happened, and looking back at it, it was a terribly thin story. Still, I taught myself how to draw, and now I can draw her myself, making sure she has the right skin tone every time.

I’m a customer in this story. I don’t live in the best part of town but I have a good relationship with many local store owners. I get to the counter just behind another customer. He has a four-pack of mixed drinks, which he holds in his hands instead of putting on the counter. The cashier reaches out to get them to scan, and the guy loses it.

Customer: “What the f***?! You touched my hand! Don’t touch me, you homo! I don’t want those; I’m not buying anything from this homo shop!”

The cashier thinks the guy is making some off-colour joke and gives a half-hearted laugh.

Customer: “Why are you laughing?! What is wrong with you, you homo?! Everyone in this shop is a f****** homo! I’m not buying s*** from this homo shop!”

The awesome owner comes out of the backroom:

Owner: “Good, get out! We don’t want your money! Piss off!” 

The customer stormed out, got in his car, and gunned it, screeching out of the carpark and screaming out his window about how no one should go to this shop because it’s a “homo shop.”

I turned to the cashier and both of us just had “What the f***?” expressions on our faces.

I am a pagan lesbian working as a call center agent. In particular, it’s my job to talk to customers who, in some capacity, requested contact regarding a transaction or feedback. This particular call type typically takes around forty-five minutes, so that, combined with the general office drama, means that management’s expectations are low.

I have just gotten through the final part of a call with a lonely old woman who got on so many tangents that the call has taken almost two hours. I have been as nice as I can, but I’m mentally reeling in exhaustion, when she drops this gem on me.

The woman is talking amicably about her niece’s family, and then, suddenly, her tone changes to a really threatening and angry sound.

Woman: “You know, dear, [Political Figure] is the antichrist. I can’t believe that it’s allowed now for gay people to, you know! Ugh! Those gays shouldn’t be allowed to get married.”

I snap out of my stupor.

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, can you say that again?”

Woman: “Didn’t you hear? Gays are allowed to marry! It’s so revolting! I hate gay people. They’re all going to burn in Hell!”

Me: *Failing to stop myself* “Stop pretending you’re good enough to judge others on God’s behalf. Jesus loves everyone, especially gay people!”

I hang up on her and then remember I’m at work and look in horror toward my supervisor, who is staring at me like I’ve grown another head.

Supervisor: “Since I could hear you, I have to flag the call. I thought you said you believed in, what was it? Like, trees and the moon? What was that about?”

I’m embarrassed, and I figure this is how I get outed at work and then fired. 

Me: “Well, uh, she said gay people are going to Hell, so I just—”

[Supervisor] puts her hand up to stop me. 

Supervisor: “Oh, no. I get it. My brother is gay. I’ll make sure it’s in the system that she’s an abusive caller. Even if she calls back to complain, it won’t go anywhere.”

My coworkers were very supportive of my relationship with my girlfriend, and my coming-out at work inspired a couple of others to come out of their shells! I didn’t end up working there too long, though, because call center work is really miserable.