(It is the first of the month. My mom, dad and I are all at the supermarket picking up groceries for the week. Once we have all we need we go to stand in a queue. It should be noted that here in South Africa people receive their sassa payouts on the 1st and many choose to withdraw their money at the store. There were 2 tills allocated to those wanting sassa.)

Random man: *to security officer* Can I get my sassa in this queue?! *refer to the queue my mom, me and several other regular shoppers having been standing in for about an hour*

Security officer: Yes sir.

Random man: Then why are these people here?!

(Please note that there was no sign above this till saying it was for sassa only)

Security officer: *says nothing and walks away to go where she is needed*

Random man: *to other sassa people behind him* these people with their groceries should get out the d*** queue and go stand another one! This is for sassa not that shit!

Other sassa people: *agreeing with him*

(At this point it is me and my mom, 2 ladies in front of us and 1 lady in front of them)

1st lady: *tries to withdraw from sassa card which causes a problem since the register hasn’t been properly set up to use the cards)

After 10 minutes the card finally worked and the cashier was able to starting ringing up the ladies in front of us.

Old lady storms from back of queue: *storms up to cashier* Why are you not making these people move?! They can’t be here! Send them to another queue! They are causing this to take too long!

Cashier: No, they were here first. They are not causing a delay and will be done quickly since they are not on sassa and paying cash.

Old lady: *to security officer* Make these people get out of line! This is sassa only and they have groceries! Do you speak English or Afrikaans! I don’t speak your damn click click language! (The officer was a black woman with no noticeable accent meaning she was probably raised speaking English)

Security: They will be checked out here because they have queued. It is not their fault that there is no sign here. It was taking down because the card reader is not working correctly and therefore causing a delay.

Old lady: *storms back to place in line*

(Another note: my mom and I were standing alone in the queue as my dad went to wait in the car as he has a bad back. It should also be said that while my mom is white, my dad is black and I have coloured skin. I look really well tanned but my hair and lips usually tell people I am mixed race. The two ladies in front of us have been rung up and have paid and is now mine and my moms turn)

Me: *unloading cart while my mom stands next to the till by the scanner*

Random man: Those damn white people always feel so entitled to everything! We should burn them all! *to my mom* Hey B**** why don’t you learn to f****** listen and hear that they said this is for sassa only huh?!

My mom: I got into this queue because I was told it was cash only. Since I am paying cash, and have queued here for an hour and a half I will continue to check out here.

Random man: You need to move to another queue, you white w****! Your daughters probably a whore to since you let her get a f****** tan!

Me: *frantically texting my dad to come back to us because the man is starting to move towards my mom in a threatening way*

(My mom is only 5ft tall and while I am 5ft10 and very strong I can’t protect my mom because I recently broke my arm and it’s in a cast)

Mom: I will not move, it won’t even take me 2 minutes to check out. Now leave me alone or else.

Random man: Or else what b****, you and your w**** daughter gonna hurt me?! Ha! White b***** are weak!

(With the best timing my dad shows up and is now standing behind the man. My dad is 6ft8 and built like a fridge.)

My dad: Or else i’ll show you how fast I can turn you into a pretzel!

Random man: *turns around, sees my dad and pales* …..

My dad: That’s what I thought.

(We were able to check out peacefully after that and like my mom had said, it took less than 2 minutes. The man and every other sassa person in the queue shut up after my dad showed up. I felt the need to share this story because honestly it pissed me off that this man was so horrible to us because my mom and I have lighter skin. This is sadly not this first time my mom and I have been treated like this when my dad wasn’t around and it won’t be the last either as it happens nearly every week when my mom and I shop. This is why my mom and many or our friends (many of whom are of colour) say that South Africa is in apartheid again, but this time it’s the whites suffering.)

I was skippering a large charter boat off the west coast of South Africa in the 1990s. We took a group of passengers up the coast and stopped off at an island overnight, where we fed them freshly-caught crayfish, BBQ, and all sorts of rich food. The party went on well into the night and many bottles of booze were consumed against the advice of me and my crew.

In the morning, the wind had changed direction and was picking up strongly. The sailing got rougher and rougher, and as captain, I decided to ask the passengers to stay below deck.

Suddenly, one of the passengers ran on to the deck to be ill and, understandably, given how ill he was feeling, had a little breakdown and started screaming abuse and demanding to be taken to shore. I explained that, as we were more than 30 miles from the nearest harbour, nothing could be done.

That’s when he crossed over to the dark side and threatened to kill us before trying to jump overboard to swim for shore. I caught him before he was over the railings and managed to pin him to the deck while he was screaming, trying to bite and punch me, and generally behaving like a crazy person. As I was holding him down, his girlfriend leapt onto my back, also screaming like a banshee, and started hitting me in the head with a shoe.

That’s when I decided I’d had enough and released my inner Captain Bligh, muscling both of them into the aft lazarette, a small stowage area on the boat, and locking them in the tiny enclosed space for the eight hours it took me to get them to shore. Their friends tried to protest and were informed that if they didn’t like it they were welcome to join them and so we sailed in solemn, bitter silence until we hit the wharf.

I released the wayward couple there and watched as they staggered to shore, covered in vomit, and stalked down the pier without a backward glance, never to be seen again.

Guests came in and ordered drinks, then did not want to pay for them as my waiter decanted them into a glass. They reordered even when I made it clear they would still be paying for the first one – she “couldn’t drink it out of a glass”???

I offered to pour it back into the bottle but that also was not acceptable “because it had already been in the glass”.

They were then joined by another 2 “ladies” whose attire did not leave much to the imagination and proceeded to start shouting and screaming at each other.

I asked them to leave which they did and then proceeded to carry on fighting outside in the street.

(I’m a 21-year-old transgirl living in Cape Town, and I work for a chain store as a cashier. In every aspect, I look like a typical brunette white girl, except for my voice, which is somewhat deeper and far more raspy. I can’t change it much, no matter how much I’ve tried. Because of often negative opinions on LGBT people in South Africa, I keep it to myself. I know English, Swedish, and Afrikaans.)

Me: “Hoe gaan dit met jou?”

Customer: “I don’t speak that!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am!”

Customer: “Are… are you futa?”

(“Futa” is short for “futanari,” a type of Japanese chick-with-a-d*** p*rn.)

Me: “No, I’m not.”

Customer: “Why your voice so deep, then?”

Me: “Laryngitis as a girl, ma’am.”

Customer: “Well, I think you are futa. You are boy!”

(My female Xhosa coworker comes over.)

Coworker: “Is there a problem, ma’am?”

Customer: “Yes! Why this boy look like a girl?”

Coworker: “Because she is a girl.”

Customer: “Humph!”

Me: “Have a great day!”

Customer: “Bye, [trans slur]. And f*** you, you [racial slur]! I’m a Christian! F*** you! God hates you!” *storms off*

(I have just moved to a new area, and I decide to try out the local optometrist to get new contact lenses. I book the appointment, and the doctor asks me to come in with my current prescription and their respective casings. The day of the appointment, I wake up with the most horrible stomach pain, but I decide to suck it up and go to the appointment. The doctor is very cheerful and friendly. She asks if I’m currently wearing my lenses while she looks at my old prescription, and I tell her I am. A few minutes into my eye test, she sighs in wonder.)

Doctor: “I don’t understand why your previous doctor has you on such a high prescription! You should be on a -1, at most!”

(I’m quite taken aback, as my previous doctor in my hometown is one of the most acclaimed optometrists in the country, and I have been wearing -3 prescription lenses for over a year without any problems.)

Me: “That’s really weird. I’m blind as a bat without these lenses. Even when I started wearing glasses, I was at least a -2.”

Doctor: “You shouldn’t be able to read this chart at all with your eyes. I’m really not sure what’s going on here.”

Me: *pause* “You are aware I’m still wearing my lenses, right?”

Doctor: “…”

Me: “…”

(Turns out we were having such a nice chat that she’d completely forgotten to ask me to take them out, and I was so focused on my stomach pain that I hadn’t thought to ask. We had a good laugh about it, and the rest of the test went smoothly! She’s one of the nicest doctors I’ve been to in a long time, and she gave me a good chuckle on a bad Monday morning!)