(I go to a pet store to purchase some food for my pet bird. I am describing my lovebird, who happens to be a blue mutation, black-masked lovebird. When I describe him, I say he has a “black face, white collar, blue body, and a purple spot on his tail.” Some lady — who happens to be holding the leash of a black lab — gives a massive gasp, does the pearl-clutching gesture, and proceeds to lecture me:)

Woman: “Don’t say… that term! That’s racist! How can you be in public when you use that language?!”

Me: “Ma’am, I was talking to the cashier who inquired about my bird food purchase. I have a lovebird. I was describing his colors to her.”

Woman: “And you responded with a racist slur?!”

Me: “No… I didn’t. He is a black-masked lovebird. That’s literally his species. I said he has a black face.”

Woman: “You can’t say that!”

Me: “I just did.”

Woman: “Hasn’t your mother taught you to have respect for other ethnicities? That’s racist!”

Me: “Ma’am, there’s a difference between putting on makeup to offensively portray an ethnicity and using a similar term as a physical description for an animal.”

Woman: “There is no way to use… that term… inoffensively!”

Me: “Okay, I’m done trying to educate you.”

Woman: “You can’t ‘educate’ someone by claiming that racial terms are okay!”

Me: “Look, lady, I’m buying food for my bird. Buy the dog food for your black lab–” *she gasps again and looks outraged* “–and leave me alone.”

Woman: “You’re doing it again! Don’t call him a ‘black’ lab! Call him a ‘dark lab’!”

(I just rolled my eyes and walked away. I don’t understand this mentality.)

(I work at a non-profit rehab for teens as a counselor. During their lunch, a new resident is having a heated argument with other staff over her dietary restrictions.)

Teen: “I can’t eat this; it has cheese. I’m vegan.”

Staff: “We’re trying to accommodate. The cooks have been made aware and are working on fixing you something else.”

Teen: “You shouldn’t be eating this stuff. Do you know how badly dairy and meat harms your body? You guys are all disgusting.”

Me: *screaming internally* “You shouldn’t lecture anyone when you smoke meth!”

I work at a car dealership. It’s the Friday before a long weekend. We have a busy day booked already, but we anticipate that we’ll get some calls and drop-ins from people who want to go out of town for the holiday and neglected to ensure their car is ready until the very last second. We are correct, but one in particular really takes the cake. He calls and talks to two different people, telling them both that he wants to go to Yosemite and urgently needs to get his service done. They both tell him if he doesn’t want to make an appointment for a future date he can bring in the car and leave it with us and we’ll work it in between or after when customers who had appointments need their cars — our normal answer, holiday weekend or not. We know he’s an extra-special sort of guy because he tells both of them the same thing: we should do his car first because he’s more important than the people who scheduled appointments, and he feels it is urgent because he wants to be on the road as soon as possible. He insists that we have to do this for him.

Both of them tell him the same thing: no, but in a more polite way. They say they don’t have the authority to make that call. So, naturally, he wants to talk to a manager. He hangs up before being connected the first time — perhaps because he is So Important — but the second time does successfully speak to the head of the service department. The manager tells the customer exactly what the other two employees told him: bring it to us and we’ll work it in, but the needs of the customers who scheduled appointments come first because that’s why we recommend scheduling appointments. If he wants it done as soon as possible, the earlier he brings his car the better. He finally relents and says he will bring his car immediately, but we are not to lose sight of how urgent his needs are.

He does end up bringing his car in… almost five hours after he talked to the manager.

Gee, I’m sure sorry we didn’t hold off on working on any other cars until his arrived and was done like his original demand. Obviously, it was very urgent.

We don’t wash service cars at my dealership. We have a detail department and there is one wash bay, but we don’t have a drive-thru car wash and with our volume, it’s just not feasible to wash every car by hand one at a time. Since people tend to expect a free car wash out of a dealership service visit, we instead contract with a local car wash chain and hand out vouchers so customers can go there for a wash and vacuum.

A customer comes in irate. He had an oil change and tire rotation done at our shop last week. And he swears that during his service visit, someone peed in his car.

So, that’s already special. But making it even more special is what he claims is undeniable proof that someone peed in his car: when he came to pick it up, he was given a free car wash voucher. And why on earth would we have given him a free car wash voucher if we weren’t covering something up? Not only did someone pee in his car, we knew about it. There is, of course, no other reason we would have possibly given him a voucher for a free car wash. Except for someone peeing in his car.

It’s the only explanation.

(My husband, my brother, and I are about two-thirds of our way into a ten-mile hike. Things have not been going according to plan; for one, my husband is hobbling along on a sprained ankle he got from a nasty slip a couple of miles back. As we were too far in to turn back — the journey back would have been all uphill — and he would probably have to stay in the wilderness overnight if one of us left to get help, which he resolutely decided against, the only thing to do was to keep going. We haven’t seen many people, though we are certainly not alone; a lovely swarm of mosquitos is graciously accompanying us every step of the way. Of course, I forgot the bug repellent in the car. I’m keenly aware of the time I told my parents to expect our arrival at the car park, the fact that we will probably get there at least two hours after that time, after dark, and how worried they’ll be because of it. On top of all that, at this present moment, we appear to have lost the trail — for the second time on this whole journey — even though I was sure we’d stayed on the path.)

Husband: “Look, everything’s going to be fine. We’ll just head back the way we came, and I’m sure we’ll find a fork we missed somewhere, and we’ll pick up the trail again.”

(We turn around, my brother leading the way. He quite sensibly wants to get out of here as fast as possible and walks quickly on ahead. In contrast, my rational brain decides it has reached its limit of what it can handle today and decides now is a good time to take a time-out.)

Me: *hyperventilating* “This can’t be happening. How far back do we have to go before we find the trail? It’s already almost dark, my parents are probably s***ting themselves, and there’s no reception. What if–“

Husband: *grabbing me by the shoulders and turning me around* “Sweetie, calm down. We’re gonna find the trail, and we’re gonna find our way out.”

Me: “But–“

Husband: *firmly* “We’re not gonna die, okay? We–“

Me: *slaps him*

Husband: *blinks*

Me: *realises* “There… No, there was a mosquito. I’m sorry! You had a mosquito on your cheek!”

(I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation.)

Husband: *dryly* “Well, gee. If I’d known that was all you needed to feel better. Here, wanna slap the other cheek, too?” 

Me: “No, no, it was a mosquito, I swear! There really was a mosquito!” *laughing uncontrollably*

Husband: *smirks* “Uh-huh, sure. Whatever you say, dear.”

(We arrived at the car park several hours later, well after dark, to the immense relief of my parents. My husband’s ankle took some recovering; it was pretty swollen for a day or two. On the bright side, he now gets to brag about the time he hiked six miles on a sprained ankle. He also gets to regale the admittedly hilarious account of how HE had to calm ME down only to get brutally slapped for his valiant efforts. The honest truth, though, there really was a mosquito.)

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