I walk up to the desk of my rec centre after work to renew my gym membership. A world-weary woman behind the counter looks up at me.

Attendant: “Are you here for the gym or pool?”

Me: “Umm, I’m looking to renew my gym membership. The pool’s closed for two weeks.”

Attendant: “Wait. You know that?”

I look at her strangely.

Me: “Yeah. There’ve been signs in the parking garage and on the doors for weeks. I was staring at three signs about it as I was waiting in line. I saw it in big letters on your webpage when I checked your hours. I mean, my hand is resting on a Sharpie-written notice right now.”

Attendant: “So… some people do see them…”

Me: “I am so sorry about your next two weeks. Here’s my card to renew.”

Since marijuana has been legalized federally in Canada, provinces have been allowed to regulate it more or less as they will. In my province, they’ve gone basically the same way as alcohol, with private shops and government board-run shops, with the addition that you can order from the government-run website.

Friend: “Hey, I was going to ask you… Can you recommend a cannabis shop that’s good about social distancing and whatnot?”

Me: “I get mine online.”

Friend: “Right! We can get pot from The Man now, can’t we?”

This takes place when my sisters and I are children. We are on a family road trip, with the three of us stuck in the backseat. We are all close in age — there are less than three years between me and my youngest sister, and I’m the oldest — and we end up, as siblings who are close in age AND close in physical proximity are wont to do, arguing and fighting with one another.

My parents are getting quite fed up with this, and after repeatedly telling us to knock it off, my dad finally loses his cool.

Dad: “That’s enough! What would you do if one of you was to die?!“

Youngest Sister: *Wide-eyed* “I’d cry!”

Middle Sister: “I’d cry, too!”

I look back and forth between my two sisters.

Me: “Well, then, I guess I’d be the dead one.”

As I’m waiting at a red light in the left turn lane, I look lazily to my left to see a smartly-dressed older woman tottering as fast as she can to the street corner in her kitten heels. The light turns green, giving us a turning advance, including a bus two vehicles in front of me.

The bus passes the next bus stop and I look in my rearview mirror as the older woman finishes crossing the road and stops on the corner, deflated. I stop at the bus stop and wait for her to walk to the stop to catch the next bus.

Me: “Come on, get in. We’ll go catch the bus.”

Woman: “What? What do you mean?”

Me: “Come on. I’ll get you to a stop in front of the bus.”

The woman’s eyes light up and she pulls the door open and climbs in.

Woman: “Really?!”

Me: “Yeah, let’s go!”

Traffic is bad so we’re together for fifteen minutes while tailing the bus. She tells me that her husband has headed to the airport to pick up her sister and she wants to surprise her by being there, too. By missing the bus, she’ll miss the next SeaBus, which means she’ll be behind by half an hour and unlikely to make it.

Me: “Oh, the SeaBus? I’ll just take you straight there. Then you’ll have lots of time.”

Woman: “Oh, dear, no. I don’t want to take you out of your way.”

Me: “No, it’s no problem. I was just getting home from work, anyway.”

Woman: “Well, thank you. I hope I’m not taking you too far out of your way.”

I give her a quirky smile.

Me: “The SeaBus stop is in front of my house.”

She thanked me over and over, but it was barely even a thing for me. I was done with my work for the day and happy to drive around a bit on a chilly afternoon.

I’m a Caucasian woman, and I’m rather lazily eating sushi and reading on my phone in a food court while waiting for a movie. Suddenly, a woman storms up to me, demanding angrily:

Woman: “Who are you trying to impress?”

Me: “I— What? No one.”

Woman: “Everyone can eat with chopsticks.”

Me: “Oh. Okay. Well, I’m just eating sushi. I’m not trying to impress anyone.”

Woman: “Yeah. ‘Cause everyone can eat with chopsticks.”

Me: “Okay. If everyone can use chopsticks, then how would I be trying to impress anyone?”

Woman: “You’re using your left hand!”

Me: “What? I’m left-handed.”

Woman: “That’s ridiculous.”

Me: “What?”

Woman: “Left-handed is for writing.”

Me: *Pause* “What?”

Woman: “Just because you write with your left hand, it doesn’t mean you have to show off.”

Me: “Seriously? I do everything with my left hand. I’m left-handed.”

Woman: “Left-handed people write with their left hand. You can do everything else normally. You shouldn’t show off.”

Me: “I— I’m sorry you think I’m showing off, but I really can’t use chopsticks with my right hand any more than you can with your left.”

She was so upset that I put my chopsticks and phone down and ate the last few pieces with my right-hand fingers.