(It is a hot day, and I’m in a long queue at the checkout. There is a very well-dressed woman in front of me with a baby carriage. She is in no way shabby — she has an expensive haircut, designer clothes, and unique jewelry — and she seems to be in her early twenties. In the carriage is a very well-behaved baby munching on a piece of cucumber. An elderly lady in front of the young woman turns to her.)

Old Lady: “Do you want to go before me? I see you only have a few items.”

Young Woman: *smiling, with a strange accent* “Thank you kindly, but I cannot accept that. You are very nice, though.”

Old Lady: “It is no problem, I assure you. You should head home with the baby as soon as possible in this heat!”

(The young woman accepts the offer after a few more arguments, and then helps the lady load her own groceries on the belt. They are chatting meanwhile, and the young woman, while she has a strong accent, speaks English pretty well, and politely and eagerly makes small talk about the little boy with the lady. Another man from behind me butts in, shouting at the old lady.)

Man: “Don’t pamper that bloody immigrant! They are doing nothing more than taking our jobs and living out of benefits!”

(It is very obvious that the young lady is not on benefits. She jerks from the yelling, and the baby also starts crying, which makes the man yell more.)

Me: “Hey, that’s rude!”

Man: “Shut up! She is doing nothing more than leeching on us citizens!”

(The young woman picks up the baby and turns around, beet red with anger.)

Young Woman: “Let me stop you right there. Unless you are a professor of [extremely obscure scientific field] or at least a fellow teacher at [University], I am not taking your job, and I was never on benefits, not here nor at home. Besides, this baby is a citizen; he is the son of my friend, and I am just babysitting him until the semester starts. But I have to say, if you are so afraid of me taking your job, you must be crap at it.”

(The man started spluttering and tried to curse at her, but the young woman turned away as it was her turn for the cashier. The old lady started to comfort her and the baby, and they left together, the young woman helping to carry the old woman’s groceries. The man tried to harvest some sympathy, but everyone turned away. Served him well!)

(One of my mom’s friends has picked me up from work but makes a quick stop at a video game store to look for a gift for her son, who is turning 12.)

Mom’s Friend: “You play games, right? Got any suggestions?”

Me: “[Kid] has a 3DS, so the new Pokémon games are pretty good. You could always get him one of the LEGO games, too; those are fun.”

(She suddenly notices a big display for “Assassin’s Creed: Origins,” which just came out a few days ago.)

Mom’s Friend: “I think he mentioned wanting that one!”

Me: “Oh, that’s definitely not a good choice at his age.”

Mom’s Friend: “Why not?”

Me: “I’ve only put a few hours into it, but it’s very violent and there’s a lot of blood, plus there’s a good bit of bad language, not to mention a few topless women. I mean, you play as an assassin, so basically, the entire goal is to kill people.”

Mom’s Friend: “Oh, are you sure? He said it was a fun adventure game.”

Me: “Yep, I’m sure. I mean, it is technically a fun adventure game, just not one appropriate for kids.”

Mom’s Friend: *looking at the box* “But look, it’s in ancient Egypt, so it might teach him about history!”

Me: *flipping the box over to show her the M rating, which lists all the reasons I had tried to deter her* “Maybe, but he’ll run into all this stuff along the way.”

Mom’s Friend: *heading toward the counter* “I’m getting it. You’re a girl; I’m sure you wouldn’t play anything that bad.”

(While she’s paying, I ask the cashier if he considers the game appropriate for a preteen.)

Cashier: “Probably not.” *shows us the rating* “As you can see, there’s a lot of content that could be a problem.”

Mom’s Friend: “It’s okay. I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

(I later found out she made her son turn it off after the first cut-scene and immediately returned it.)

(I’m waiting for a bus with several other people. There is a lesbian couple who are getting quite affectionate while they wait. They have a young girl with them in a stroller. I notice the young girl break loose from the belt and climb out of the stroller, with the intent of petting a dog who belongs to another person waiting. As she climbs down, she manages to unlock the brake and the stroller starts rolling away from us and down the hill. There is a busy road at the bottom. I decide to tell the couple.)

Me: *tapping one of them on the shoulder* “Excuse me, your—“

Woman #1: *turn looking disgruntled* “Do you mind? We’re BUSY!” *turning back*

Me: “I just thought—“

Woman #1: *turning around again* “You just thought you’d try and stop us? Well, it’s not going to work. It’s a free country, and if I want to snog my girlfriend, I can. You just have to sit there and take it.” *flips me off*

Woman #2: “Yeah, f*** off, you homophobe!”

(They turn back to each other and start getting really into their session, to the point of mimicking orgasms. My friend, who has said nothing at this point, decides to intervene after we see the stroller get run over by a bus. Had the girl been in there, she probably would have been killed.)

Friend: “EXCUSE ME!”

Woman #1: “Another gay hater! Well, you can fu—“

Friend: “We just thought you’d like to know that your stroller, the one with your daughter in it, the one you should’ve been paying attention to, has just been driven over by a bus!”

(Both the women look to the spot where their stroller was and turn pale.)

Woman #1: “Oh, no!”

Me: “Your daughter’s fine; she climbed out before it rolled the hill.” *pointing to the girl and the dog*

Both Women: “WHY THE F*** DIDN’T YOU TELL US?!”

Me: “I tried—“

Woman #1: “No, you didn’t! I bet you wanted to see my poor girl die, just because I’m a lesbian! You make me f****** sick!”

Me: “What?!”

Woman #1: *getting out her phone and dialing 999* “F*** YOU!”

(My friend then grabs my head and smacks his lips against mine. I’m a guy, too, and neither of us is gay. He holds my hand after he stops. The women stare at us, dumbfounded, and we can hear the emergency operator trying to get their attention on the phone.)

Friend: “No, he didn’t. He was trying to be a nice guy. But you decided to s*** all over him with your vitriol.”

(Both women stare in horror at realising that we must be together before grabbing their daughter and fleeing down the hill after the stroller, which has now attracted quite a crowd. I turn to my friend. We’re still holding hands.)

Me: “I suppose that was one way to deal with the situation.”

(He let go of my hand and caressed my cheek before winking seductively. We then burst out laughing at how awkward it was.)

(I am working in a small deli. We have a few “signature” sandwiches that are listed with the ingredients — meats, cheese, veggies, sauces — but customers can also make their own; there is a limit on how many toppings they can get. There are three people in line. The first two, both Caucasian, order a signature sandwich and the third, Asian, makes their own. I am Caucasian and I’m making the sandwiches; my coworker, who is Indian, is taking the orders.)

Me: *to the first two customers* “Would both of you like everything on your [Signature Sandwich]?”

Customer #1: “That sounds good, but could you add mayo?”

Customer #2: “Everything with ranch on mine.”

(I finish wrapping theirs while my coworker rings them out.)

Me: *to [Customer #3]* “What toppings would you like on yours?”

Customer #3: “Everything.”

Me: “Your sandwich doesn’t come with toppings; I need to know what you want.”

Customer #3: “I want everything. Everything. All of what you have there.”

Me: “I can’t give you everything. I’m only allowed to give you four toppings of your choice. I just need to know what they are.”

Customer #3: *to coworker* “Why won’t she give me everything on my sandwich? She gave those other two everything on theirs.”

Coworker: “Oh, they both got [Signature Sandwich], which comes with set toppings. You have to tell her what toppings you want.”

Customer #3: “Oh, I understand. I just want lettuce and pickles, then.”

(I finish her sandwich and hand it to her with a forced grin. As I turn away, I hear this little gem.)

Customer #3: “I didn’t know they had ordered specials. I thought she was just racist.”

(After she left, my coworker burst into laughter and I had to excuse myself to the back to fume. I called my district manager and explained what had happened because I was floored at being accused of being racist over sandwich toppings. My manager was legitimately confused because she knows me and my husband… who is Asian. For the record, I don’t agree with our topping limit policy, but I get paid to follow it. I’m not going to lose my job over a few slices of tomato.)

(I’m at a church for a school band concert. This occurs in the bathroom as I’m washing my hands.)

Pre-Teen Girl: “Grandma, there’s a boy in the girl’s bathroom.”

(I’m dressed quite masculine for the event, in an all-black button-down and bow tie, but my face and other key areas are prominently feminine. However, this happens quite often, so I’m not surprised.)

Grandma: *loudly* “THAT’S NOT A BOY! IT HAS TITS!”

(I almost hit my head, I laughed so hard. Finally, someone has figured it out.)