But Can She Do A Superhero Landing?

, , , , | Friendly | August 25, 2020

I am greeting members at a gym. A member walks in wearing a shirt with Deadpool riding a unicorn on it. I am female.

Me: “Hey, I like your shirt!”

The member looks at me, surprised and caught off guard.

Member: “Thanks?”

As he and his friend walk away, he turns to them and says:

Member: “Girls like Deadpool, too?!”

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My Bladder, My Choice

, , , , , | Working | August 24, 2020

I have been on a long car trip with my uncle. I tend to have to pee a lot, so we’ve plotted out our stops to our destination and back home before leaving. We never stop somewhere and only use the facilities; if we don’t need gas, one or both of us will buy a drink or snack.

At this particular stop, our last before home, my uncle is filling up his tank. There is a “Clean Restrooms!” sign in the window, and I need to go, so I head inside. Finding that the restroom door is locked, I approach the employee at the counter.

Me: “Hi! We’re getting gas—”

I point outside through the window behind the employee, where my uncle’s is the only vehicle. 

Me: “—and I need to use the restroom. Could you please unlock it for me?”

The employee says nothing but comes around and unlocks the door, constantly glaring at me, even after I thank him, without looking away once.

While going, it occurs to me that perhaps the station doesn’t get much kick-back from gas sales, and to him, I might as well be using the restroom without making a purchase, so afterward, I grab a drink and a snack and head to the counter.

Employee: *While ringing me out* “Next time, you don’t ask me to unlock the restroom for you! You ask me if you can use the restroom! You are a woman! I am a man! I decide when you need to use the restroom!”

Stunned, I think I probably gape like a fish while I go through the motions of paying and then practically run back to the car.

Uncle: “What’s the matter? Are you sick? Why do you look weird?”

I told him what happened and he CATAPULTED out of his low sports car and barreled into the store.

I will never forget the look on that employee’s face when my 6’3″, pissed off, long-haired, bearded Native American uncle came charging toward him! I wish I could give a more satisfactory ending, but it’s been so long that I don’t remember the exact words that he screamed at the employee, only that the little vein in his temple that tells me when he’s REALLY mad was bulging! We’ve never stopped at that gas station again.

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Those Neighbors Were Probably Thrilled

, , , | Related | August 23, 2020

I’m twelve years old and our family decides to move. I’m excited since we plan to move from a condo to a real house. We look around with a realtor, and my dad narrows it down to two houses.

Dad: “Which one do you think?”

Me: “I think the first house was better! It had a big backyard, huge rooms, and a fireplace!”

Mom: “But there were black people.”

Dad: “I don’t know, you decide.”

Mom picked the other house. I was disappointed since this house was dowdy, obviously old, and not in good shape. It had a back yard, but it was a severe slope, covered in poison ivy bushes, so we couldn’t play. We ALL had a miserable time there for fifteen years, all because Mom was racist. I’m glad now as an adult I can live where I want!

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Hindu You Know What You’re Talking About?, Part 2

, , , , | Right | August 22, 2020

I work at a retail store in western Pennsylvania where the majority of the customers are, for the most part, educated.

Customer: *Looking at my necklace* “What’s that? An elephant man?”

Me: “Oh, it’s Lord Ganesh!”

Customer: “Who?”

Me: “He’s a god in Hinduism. I, myself, am Hindu.”

The customer looks at me quizzically.

Customer: “You don’t look Hindu.”

Me: “Well, ma’am, Hinduism is a religion, not a race.”

Customer: “Oh. Well, then, I’m sorry.” 

Hindu You Know What You’re Talking About?

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Geography Is Extra Hard When You’re Racist

, , , , , | Working | August 17, 2020

My dad’s family is from a very popular US territory island. I’m working at a location in a very small town.

Coworker: “So, you mentioned once that you’re half Spanish on your dad’s side. Right?”

Me: “Yep.”

I get this a lot. I’m probably the only person of that ethnicity in the area.

Coworker: “So, remind me, where was your dad born?”

Me: “[Large City].”

Coworker: “Huh?”

Me: *Slightly louder* “[Large City].”

Coworker: “No, no. Where’s he from?

I know what she’s getting at, but I play dumb.

Me: *Much louder* “[Large City].”

Coworker: “You mean… he was born in the US? He’s a citizen and everything?”

Me: “Yes and yes. I mean, even if he was born on the island, he’d still be a citizen, since it’s part of the US.”

Coworker: “No, it isn’t.”

Me: “Yes, it is. It’s a US territory, and has been for over 100 years.”

Coworker: “I went to [Territory] and I had to show my passport. It’s not part of the US.”

Me: “I think I know my own family history. Are you sure that’s where you went?”

Coworker: Yes! I think so. Or maybe not. Maybe it was the Dominican Republic or the Bahamas…”

She wandered off. I texted my parents the story. My dad joked that she was trying to get me deported. Obviously, I don’t work there anymore.

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