I work at a well-known grocery store, which is where this happens; an important detail is that I always wear bright red lipstick. Another thing is that, even though I’m twenty here, I still only look fifteen.

A couple in their fifties or so comes through my till with their cart full of groceries. As I check them out, the following interaction occurs.

Husband: “That’s nice lipstick you’re wearing.”

Me: “Oh, thank you!”

Husband: “Can I lick it off?”

I pause here, because I think he couldn’t have possibly said what I think he just said.

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Husband: “Can I lick it off?”

As I’m struggling for words, his wife steps in.

Wife: “You shouldn’t say that!”

Husband: “Why not?”

Wife: “She doesn’t like it!”

I’ve had enough of him.

Me: “Have a nice day, sir.”

Then, I turn to his wife, who is still being pleasant, and carry on the transaction, thoroughly creeped out. The guy leaves after a few seconds, and at the end, his wife apologizes.

Wife: “I’m sorry about him; he’s learning boundaries.”

Then, she left. If your husband is still learning boundaries in his mid-fifties, it’s time to throw the whole man out. It was probably the creepiest thing to happen during my time working there, and that’s saying something.

I am in the fourth grade. It is the middle of the first month of school, and while most kids have shiny new pencil cases and things, my family is going through a rough patch and has been barely able to afford school fees for the four of us that go to school. So, I have my sister’s old sneakers and one pencil to last me for the month. I guard it fiercely.

For the fourth and fifth grade, I have a teacher who HATES me, mostly because I have ADHD and need to leave class twice a day to go get my medication and take it at the water fountain. It takes less than a minute and I usually remember on my own.

I slept in this morning and forgot my pencil case — with my pencil and sharpener inside — on my desk. So, I lean over and ask my friend for a pencil for the day.

My teacher turns around so fast she might have tapped into the speed force.

Teacher: “Stop disrupting the class.”

Me: “But I—”

Teacher: “You’re still doing it.”

Me: “I need a pencil. I forgot mine.” 

Teacher: “You should have thought of that earlier.”

She turns back to the projector. My friend quietly rolls a pencil across our shared table to me. 

After the lesson, the teacher turns back. She demands as I scribble in my last notes:

Teacher: “Where did you get that?”

Me: “My fr—”

Teacher: “I told you to stop disrupting other students with your disorganization. Give it back.”

Friend: “It’s fine, ma’am.”

Teacher: “No, she’s lazy and ungrateful. She needs to learn. Give it back.”

Me: *Standing up* “But I need my notes.”

Teacher: *Towering over me* “Don’t care. You should have pencils at home for homework so this doesn’t happen.”

Of course, this makes my ADHD just dig its tiny heels in. I am in the right. I’m not doing anything wrong.

Me: “We can’t afford that many and there are four kids in our house that need them. “

Teacher: “Oh, they can’t afford pencils but they can afford your medicine for your made-up disease?”

Me: *Shouting* “It’s not made-up! The doctor says it’s just not common in girls!”

I stamp my foot, tears starting to run down my face.

Teacher: “It’s not. Your family is just poor and trash, and your doctor is just making excuses for your messy habits and terrible grades.”

I am furious and embarrassed and crying up a storm.

Me: *Shouting* “You’re a dumb face!”

I leave the class, attempting to slam the door behind me. I then walk to the office, still sobbing my little heart out. When I get there, my principal is waiting. 

The principal is one of the few people who knows that my dad has been fired for being very sick and that my parents are very close to a divorce. So, she invites me in and listens to me blubber out what happened. She then calls my dad, who is at the school faster than you could eat a candy bar.

I have never seen my father so angry in his life than when I burst into tears when he enters the office and my principal explains what happened. It isn’t his usual volcano; it is quieter, like a freezing knife. 

Father: “Go get your coat. Your sister can get your homework.”

Me: “It’s recess; there’s no one in class.”

Principal: “I’ll help you get it.”

The three of us go to my class. My teacher is there and she goes as white as a sheet when she sees my dad.

I have no idea what he said to her while I got my coat and bag but she never outright looked me in the eye again.

I teach at an international school for adult students learning English as a second language. Obviously, navigating cultural differences between students is an inherent part of the job. 

For the second year in a row that I’ve been at this school, at a staff meeting, an older male teacher has brought up the fact that many of the female students are wearing “revealing” clothing. It’s summer, so we’re talking things like tank tops and shorts — nothing that would get you arrested. Nevertheless, he’s previously suggested that we should have a dress code.

Male Teacher: “I mean, shouldn’t we do something about this?”

Our headteacher is also a middle-aged man.

Head Teacher: *Pause* “Does something need to be done?”

Male Teacher: “Well, I mean, in particular, it attracts a lot of attention from some of the boys, especially the ones from more conservative countries where women don’t dress like that. They’re distracted and they, you know, talk and make comments.”

One of the new teachers, who’s younger and a woman, pipes up. 

Female Teacher: “You’re absolutely right, [Male Teacher]. We should do something. Thanks for bringing that up.”

Everyone looks up in surprise, since the female teacher is known for her outspoken feminism. She continues.

Female Teacher: “I’m so glad you agree that someone should talk about appropriate conduct to these young people. They need to be reminded that, in a multicultural environment, they have to be aware of differences between what is considered respectful and acceptable to their peers, and that there is no excuse for making other people uncomfortable.”

A few teachers, I included, catch on and start smiling.

Female Teacher: “To that end, [Male Teacher], I’m glad you’ve volunteered to talk to the counselors and ask that the students be reminded that ogling and commenting on their classmates in a sexual way is flatly disgusting behavior that will not be tolerated. It doesn’t matter if that’s an okay way to talk in their country; it isn’t here. This is a learning environment and our students should feel safe, not judged and objectified. 

Head Teacher: “Very well said! Thank you, [Female Teacher]; you’re absolutely right.”

Female Teacher: “And thank you, [Male Teacher], for being so sensitive to this problem. So many people would ignore it, or even try to blame it on the young women in this situation.”

She smiled at him like the purest, most innocent angel; he nodded like he was in pain, and never brought up the idea of having a dress code ever again.

This story is part of our Best Of August 2020 roundup!

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There is a nature preserve near my house with a path all around a lake and a floating bridge across one section of it. For a long time, it was made of wood, but in the past few years, it has been replaced with a man-made material. It is constructed of many separate sections to accommodate for shifts in water level, with ramped metal connections in between.

One day, when I’m walking the loop, I decide to take a picture of a duck that is standing no more than two feet from me, completely chill with my presence. I hear someone approaching on the bridge — the connectors unfortunately make a lot of noise when stepped on — think nothing of it, and keep snapping away.

Then, the approaching woman addresses me.

Woman: “The kids must love this, huh?”

Me: *Smiling* “Yeah, they—”

The woman SLAMS her foot on the next metal connector.

Woman: “Such a nice sound, isn’t it?”

I just stare at her, shocked, as she walks to the next one.

Woman: “Coming out here to enjoy the nature and—” *SLAM* “—scaring all the birds away!” *SLAM* “It’s just so nice, isn’t it?” *SLAM*

She proceeded to stomp on every single connector for the entire rest of the bridge, raising her knee to hip-height each time for maximum stompage, repeating her complaints to every single group on the bridge, some of which included small children that never made a peep.

Eventually, she rounded a corner behind some brush, but even a hundred feet away, I could still hear her stomping and complaining all the way back to land.

Relieved to know someone was setting such a good example for the next generation as to how they should act in nature, I turned back to my duck. For some reason, she’d flown away. How odd.

My parents are visiting and my mother has offered to go with me to the grocery store. My husband has written out the list and one of the items is “baking sheet”. I go to the kitchenware aisle and pick up, well, a baking sheet: a flat metal pan with raised edges.

Mom: “That’s not on the list.”

Me: “Yes, it is. See? ‘Baking sheet.’”

Mom: “Well, clearly, that’s not what [Husband] meant.”

Me: “But it is.”

Mom: “Why would he tell you to buy a cookie sheet?”

Me: “Because we need one?”

Mom: “He must have meant something else.”

Me: “What else could he have meant?”

Mom: “I’m sure he means parchment paper.”

Me: “Then why didn’t he write parchment paper on the list?”

Mom: “You know how men are; they forget what things are called all the time and then they get grumpy when you bring home the wrong thing. Your father does it constantly.”

Me: “Dad might, but [Husband] doesn’t. And I’m buying a baking sheet because I had an unfortunate encounter with the barbecue last week and wrecked our only one, which is why [Husband] put it on the list.”

Mom: “You should still buy some parchment paper just in case.”

I did not buy parchment paper, and my husband was pleased to have a replacement for the charred remains of our last baking sheet.