I’ve been a substitute teacher at the same school for about ten years, and I’m one of the favorite subs the district has according to most of the kids. One day, I’m assigned to a class that has two identical twin brothers. I’ve known them for a few years, but despite my best efforts, I simply cannot tell them apart unless they are literally shoulder-to-shoulder in front of me. The twins are Black, and I am white.

We’re between classes when the kids have a few minutes to go to the bathroom or grab something from their locker. I’m standing out in the hallway when [Twin #1] approaches me.

Twin #1: “Hey, Mr. [My Name], can I please go to the bathroom before class?”

Me: “Yes, you may. Which one are you?”

[Twin #1] starts to answer, but then I hear a woman’s voice just behind me.

Woman: “Excuse me? What did you just ask him?”

I turn around and see a middle-aged woman I’ve never met before, at school or anywhere else. She is white, like me. Before [Twin #1] or I can say a word, she continues.

Woman: “Are you racist? Do all African American children look the same to you, so you need to ask ‘which one’ is speaking to you? I may have a word with the school principal about this.”

Just then, [Twin #2] comes out of my classroom and stands next to his brother. The woman splutters a bit and goes beet-red.

Me: “In this case, yes. I have a bit of trouble telling [Twin #1] and [Twin #2] apart. Most people in school do, and it has nothing to do with their race or ethnicity. Can I ask who you are?”

The woman refused to answer, turned on her heel, and started walking toward the office. I gave both twins permission to go to the bathroom and then asked a different teacher who I knew was on their free hour if they could please cover my class for a few minutes. The teacher agreed after I gave a hasty explanation, and I followed the woman to the office to make sure I could defend myself against any accusations she might make.

The woman turned out to be a brand-new substitute teacher, and she did try making a few accusations against me — racism toward Black students, verbal abuse against her, etc. The principal — whom I’ve known for many years, even before I started substitute teaching — didn’t buy a word of it after hearing my side of the story. The woman was invited to rethink her decision to become a substitute teacher and to either learn to figure out the facts before jumping to conclusions or find a different career.

I returned to class and got a high-five from both twins. We still sometimes joke about it whenever I have to ask “which one” of them I’m talking to.

I am a waiter at a restaurant, and I am currently transitioning (female to male). The vast majority of customers don’t notice or don’t care, but of those that do…

Customer: “Are you one of those… those he-shes?”

Me: “I identify as transgender if that’s what you’re asking.”

Customer: “I do not want to be served by someone who is mentally ill! Get me another server.”

When this happens, I have been advised to call my manager over, so I do. Usually, I run a tight ship, so when my manager comes over for me, he knows it’s most likely the bigotry thing. I’m in my early twenties and my manager is in his late twenties.

Manager: “How can I help you, ma’am?”

Customer: “I do not want to be served by someone who is mentally ill.”

Manager: “As far as I am aware, all of our staff are mentally fit enough to work here.”

Customer: “A person who thinks they can choose their own gender and then mutilate their God-given body to try to make it fit isn’t right in the head. I don’t want them dripping their… hormones all over my food!”

Manager: “Ma’am… you think… you think being transgender is something you can catch?!“

Customer: “I’ve made my request. Will you honor it?”

Manager: “I will not move my staff around to cater to your outdated and, quite frankly, vile ideas, ma’am.”

Customer: “Your generation invented this! We didn’t have all this trans stuff when I was younger!”

Manager: “You did, but they were all miserable. Now they get the chance to be happy, but it’s making you miserable. They didn’t have a choice to be miserable, yet you’re choosing it, and you say they’re the mentally ill ones?”

Thankfully, the customer broke down into Biblical rhetoric and escorted themselves out. I hope they’re happy choosing to be miserable elsewhere…

After many years of dating, my boyfriend and I decided to move in together. One thing I was super excited about was being able to cook for him. I grew up eating different recipes from around the world, and before my father died, he was able to teach me many different recipes.

One week after we moved in together, I had the day off and my boyfriend didn’t, so I decided to surprise him and cook for him. I was able to make a Caribbean/Mexican fusion bowl for him with jerk shrimp and mango, sautéed vegetables, and homemade guacamole over Spanish rice. Then, to my surprise, my boyfriend came home with a container of food his mother had made us. (She lives across the street.)

Don’t get me wrong; I was happy she was thinking about us, but his mom can’t cook. Her opinion of cooking is mashing everything together and boiling it or frying it until it is dark brown. Nonetheless, we put my bowls in the fridge and ate what his mom had made. We had the bowls for breakfast the next day.

After that, whenever my boyfriend had work, I would try to cook something nice for him: Gumbo, Korean rice dogs, Sushi, mocco locco, honey-glazed salmon, etc. No matter what, he would always come home with containers of food from his mother, and whatever I made would be stored away until the next morning.

One day, my boyfriend was working a closing shift, so I decided to try one last time. If he went to his mother’s to get more food, I would eat my food for dinner that day and would stop cooking dinner for him for a month. While I was simmering the food on the stove, there was a knock on my door. I opened it, and to my surprise, it was my boyfriend’s mother with thirteen frozen pizzas.

Mother: “Is [Boyfriend] home? I texted him asking him to come over after work, but he never came.”

Me: “Oh! He’s working a closer. I’m just making some dinner.”

His mother went over and inspected what I was making.

Mother: “What is that?”

Me: “Rogan josh.”

(Editor’s note: rogan josh is a curry dish originating in India.)

Mother: “Good thing I brought these; I don’t think my son should eat stuff like Rohan Seth.”

I stared at her, open-mouthed, and then went back to making sure it didn’t burn. [Mother] opened the freezer to put the pizzas away, lecturing me about how I should stop trying to poison her son with “gross ethnic food”. I angrily glared, but I had an idea. The food was done, so I grabbed a container and went to pour the food into it.

Mother: “What are you doing?”

Me: “Every day I try to cook for my boyfriend, you insist on him eating your food, and my food is never even tasted first, so I may as well give this to his father. I’m sure he’ll enjoy it, and it’ll actually get eaten fresh.”

[Mother] gave me a look of rage as I offered her a spoonful. She took a bite, went, “Hmph,” and left, taking the pizzas with her.

Later that night, when my boyfriend came home, we discussed what had happened. He wasn’t thrilled; he said his mother had apparently told him I would appreciate not having to cook for him, and that’s why he kept bringing home her food, and we actually ate the food the day it was cooked.

His mother sometimes drops off frozen food, but it goes into the freezer for days we both work late. Otherwise, he now says, “No, thank you.”

My nine-year-old niece is an amputee. About four years ago, she was involved in a car accident which caused her right arm to be amputated below the elbow and her right leg to be amputated above the knee. My sister is a single mom and works a very demanding job, so [Niece] often stays with us, whether it’s for a few hours or a night or weeks at a time. She gets along very well with my kids, boy-girl twins just a year older than her. 

Last year, [Sister] had to travel around Thanksgiving for work. [Niece] is here often enough that my in-laws consider her their “honorary granddaughter”, so it was only natural that they invited her to Thanksgiving at their house. Thanksgiving consisted of my family, [Niece], my in-laws, my husband’s sister, her kids, my husband’s brother, and my husband’s two aunts — his father’s younger sisters.

My husband’s sister and parents had met [Niece] before; his brother and aunts hadn’t. His aunts can be a bit nosy, and they comment about everything, getting into everyone’s business. I’d never been a fan, but my husband’s family mostly tolerated it. I could easily imagine them making weird statements about [Niece] about how she eats a lot of food, how skinny she is (moving a prosthetic leg with a knee joint is a lot of work, and she needs a lot of energy to keep it up), or the different ways she’s adapted to eat with one arm.

I’ve already yelled at them about saying stuff about my kids — that they’re too pale and should go outside more, or that they’re too young to have glasses and should go outside more. (Both are statements that also apply to [Niece].) [Niece] is pretty shy and sensitive, and understandably, she dislikes when other people stare at her or make rude remarks.

My husband and I decided to head off his aunts by letting them know first that [Niece] was an amputee and to refrain from their usual comments. I think we could have been gentler with our warning. Both aunts got very offended.

One of them refused to attend Thanksgiving. The other one showed up. She was there when we arrived, and from that moment, she started making a big deal about how offended she was that we would even suggest that she’d make rude comments — all while making exactly the sort of comments we were afraid she’d make. She wouldn’t stop complaining. She insulted my husband and me to our faces for offending her.

While my mother-in-law was in the kitchen by herself, my husband’s fifteen-year-old niece took the other kids outside, and my father-in-law laid down the law. He told [Aunt] she had one chance to prove she could handle Thanksgiving. The next words out of her mouth were an “apology” where she referred to my niece as “the cripple”. (Luckily, the kids were well outside at this point.) My father-in-law kicked her out before any food had even been served.

[Niece] felt super bad that she had “ruined” everyone’s Thanksgiving. Literally no one felt that way, and others kept trying to convince her that she was actually completely in the right, but [Niece] wouldn’t listen and spent about ten minutes gently crying in my son’s chest. It seemed to be very overwhelming for her, so after a quick and quiet meal, we left early.

A few days later, when [Sister] came back, [Niece] still blamed herself, despite my and [Sister]’s best efforts.

Only two weeks after Thanksgiving, my father-in-law sent [Niece] an invitation for Thanksgiving the next year, promising that “Ol’ Grand-Auntie Meanieface” wouldn’t be in attendance. After that, she felt much better.

We just had Thanksgiving yesterday, with [Sister] and [Niece] both invited, and [Niece] had a lovely time. My father-in-law revealed that he finally stopped talking to [Aunt] and barely talks to the aunt who didn’t attend, saying what had happened with [Niece] was the final straw.

I’m a disrupted operations manager for my airline, and this happened in March 2021, soon after I returned from maternity leave.

Due to industry-wide staff reductions in most airlines in 2020, mine included, now that the flights are restarting in a “normal” fashion, we are a bit understaffed. This means I sometimes have to take over duties I normally don’t do, such as check-in, during this period.

I am staffing one of the check-in counters for a flight to Boston.

Me: “Good morning. Passport and reservation number, please.”

Passenger: “Here. Can I place my bag?”

She hands me a US passport and the reservation paper.

Me: “Of course, ma’am. Did you pack your bag, and was it always in your possession?”

These are mandatory security questions.

Passenger: “That’s none of your d*** business! Who do you think you are? Get me your supervisor right now, you hussy.”

She starts yelling up a storm, while my coworkers and the other passengers stare at her, and I call the police.

As soon as they arrive, she turns toward them and demands they arrest the “Irish-Mexican” filth that dared to question someone of her “status.” (I’m pale-skinned with auburn hair, and Portugal equals Mexico to this woman, apparently.) The police take her aside, and the commanding officer come to talk to me.

Commanding Officer: “Hey, [My Name], what’s happening?”

Me: “The passenger refused to answer security questions, and she was spewing insults at me.”

Commanding Officer: “Really? What do you want to do?”

Me: “Check-in and boarding denied due to disruptive behaviour.”

The commanding officer nods and then goes to the passenger to inform her that she is going to the security inspection room and that she’s going to miss this flight due to her behaviour. Her screaming begins again.

Passenger: “What!? Who the h*** does that b**** think she is? I demand to speak to a manager!”

Commanding Officer: “Sure. [My Name], can you come here? This ‘lady’ wants to speak with a manager.”

Me: *With my best customer service smile* “Hello, ma’am. [My First Name, Clearly American Last Name], disrupted operations manager. How may I be of assistance?”

The other passengers began laughing. The passenger screamed insults while being escorted by police. She did leave for the US — three days later as a deportee.