(It’s a slow Friday about halfway through May. The weather has only just warmed up. I find my supervisor standing near my coworker.)

Me: “Hey, can I get you to sign this?”

Supervisor: “Sure! Hey, do you know what’s great about today?”

Me: “What’s that?”

Supervisor: *grins* “It’s almost Christmas!”

Coworker & Me: “…”

Supervisor: “Right? We’re almost halfway through the year!”

Coworker: “The snow only just melted and you’re already counting down.”

Supervisor: “No, I don’t start counting down until September when we have 150 sleeps left.”

(It’s probably good that she’s not allowed to decorate until December.)

(I’ve gone to the emergency room. I get checked in through triage, and the nurse gives me the appropriate paperwork and sends me to the next waiting area. I drop my paperwork into the tray at the waiting area as instructed and take a seat. There are five or six other people already waiting. Every few minutes, a nurse will call a name and direct that person to an exam room.)

Nurse: “[Female Name that isn’t mine].”

(Nobody responds.)

Nurse: *repeats*

(Still no response.)

Nurse: *looks directly at me* “Are you [Female Name that isn’t mine]?”

Me: *a male, shakes head* “No, that’s not me.”

(The nurse disappears after that. A short while later I’m called by the same nurse and sent to an exam room. The nurse pulls open the curtain and there’s already someone there. She seems surprised by this but directs me to another room and leaves the curtain somewhat open as I sit down. The doctor comes in to see me after a few more minutes.)

Doctor: *reading his papers* “Okay, [Female Name that isn’t mine], looks like you’re here for [not my issue].”

Me: *still a male* “No, I’m [My Name], and I’m here for [my concern].”

(The doctor looked up for the first time and saw me. He was obviously confused, but double-checked his papers and walked out. I saw him go to the occupied room I was sent to initially. I don’t know why they were so insistent on me being that woman.)

(I work at a popular fast food restaurant that serves a wide variety of sandwiches and paninis as part of their lunch menu. This occurs when I am taking orders in the drive-thru.)

Me: “Good afternoon and welcome to [Restaurant]. What can I get for you today?”

Customer: “Can I get a…” *reads* “…turkey chi-pot-el pa-nai-nai?”

Me: *realizing he means a turkey chipotle panini* “Okay, and did you want that on white bread or multigrain?”

Customer: “I’ll get it on mult-ai-grain, please.”

(I am a fourth-grade student in the late 90s. Our class is having snacks.)

Me: “Does anybody have a napkin?”

Teacher: “You don’t say, ‘napkin,’ [My Name]! This is Canada!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but what am I supposed to say? I need a napkin.”

Teacher: “Don’t say, ‘napkin’! ‘Napkin’ is an American term! We call them ‘serviettes’ in Canada!”

Me: “Okay, geez, does anybody have a ‘serviette’?”

Classmate: “Here, you can have one of my napkins.”

Teacher: “SAY, ‘SERVIETTE’!”

(We didn’t want to suffer through this any further, so pretty much the entire class tried to avoid saying, ‘napkin,’ around this teacher. I was always perplexed by this experience, because every time I went to the supermarket with my parents, I only ever saw napkins being sold; I have seen ‘serviette’ used as the French word for ‘napkin,’ but I’ve never seen it used as the Canadian English term. From fifth grade onwards, I’ve gone back to calling them ‘napkins,’ and haven’t gotten into any trouble well into my adult life. If I had to take anything positive out of this, it was probably what triggered my fascination with linguistics.)

(I have a friend who I tend to be jokingly evasive with when she asks me questions. I’m currently playing a game on my tablet.)

Friend: “Whatcha doin’?”

Me: “Nothing.”

Friend: “You’re playing a game, right?”

Me: “No.”

Friend: “Then whatcha doin’?”

Me: “Lookin’ at p*rn.”

Friend: “No, you’re not!”

Me: “Yup, I definitely am.”

Friend: “No, you definitely aren’t.”

Me: “I totally am.”

Friend: “If you were looking at p*rn, you wouldn’t be swiping your finger across the screen so much. You’d be jacking it.”

Me: “I’m zooming in on her butt cheeks.”

Friend: *after a few more seconds of me swiping around* “How many butt cheeks does she have?“

Me: “Way too many. I think it might be a medical condition.”