My father picks me up outside school and drives me to his optician to pick up his first ever prescription glasses. He is a consulting doctor to several hospitals and drives thousands of kilometers every week. He comes back with his new glasses, gets into the car, and puts them on, and we pull into traffic.

Dad: “Oh, wow, look at that! That’s Table Mountain.”

Me: “Yes, Dad, it’s a 1000-meter-high, flat-topped chunk of ancient granite that you’ve lived next to for nearly fifty years.”

Dad: “Hmm… I can’t remember the last time it was so… vivid. Oh, look, that’s [Local Bakery where he used to buy bread].”

Me: “Okay, now you’re starting to worry me.”

Dad: “Wow, I’ve just realized how big you’re getting. Is that stubble on your chin? I… Oh, s***!”

And that’s when he drove into the back of the car in front of us because he was too busy looking at things he hadn’t been able to see in years to look where he was going.

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.

This story is part of the South Africa Roundup!

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(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*

This story is part of the South Africa Roundup!

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(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!)

(My dog has just given birth to puppies. Two days later, when I take them and the mother to the SPCA — Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals — to get checked:)

SPCA Person: “If you want us to check your dog who just had puppies, you need to supply a certificate to show she’s been neutered.”

Me: “…”