(It is the day after the Supreme Court ruled against DOMA and Prop 8. My same-sex partner and I have previously announced that we are getting married. My junior supervisor has a history of harassing me.)

Junior Supervisor: *yelling to all workers* “Y’all best stay prayed up! There’s a storm coming with all this abomination going on!”

Various Coworkers: “Yes, Lord! Amen!”

(The supervisor approaches me.)

Junior Supervisor: “Y’all going to California to get married? I saw they legalized that mess!”

Me: “It’s not mess, [junior supervisor].”

Junior Supervisor: “You really don’t think so?”

Me: “I surely do not.”

Junior Supervisor: “Hmm. Well, y’all going there?”

Me: “No, we’re going to Connecticut.”

Junior Supervisor: “But I thought California was closer!”

Me: “…what?”

Junior Supervisor: “Yeah! California isn’t far from Hattiesburg!”

Me: “It’s almost 3,000 miles away, [junior supervisor]…”

(I’m on a research trip through my school, but my group gets stuck at the airport due to missing a connecting flight. Luckily, one of the professors on the trip has a sister that lives in the area who is kind enough to let us stay at her house while we wait for the next flight out. This particular professor teaches anatomy. Most of us students are downstairs when we hear someone racing down the stairs.)

Professor: “I’m a uterus!”

(The professor has a pink striped bed sheet over her head. We look at her with confused looks on our faces.)

Professor: “I’m a uterus! See this is the endometrium—” *she grabs the sheet* “—these are the fallopian tubes—” *points to her arms* “—and these are the ovaries!” *waves her hands over her head*

(One of my classmates is chattering away next to me while we’re all working on our assignment for the day.)

Classmate: “Oh, yes, I love accents. Especially Irish. I made a deal with Jesus that if I get married, he has to be an Irish redhead. Preferably a museum curator.”

Me: “Are you going to go on a tour of museums in Ireland, then? That would probably be a fascinating—”

Classmate: *laughing* “No, don’t be silly. He has to come find me.”

Me: “Is that so.”

Classmate: “Yes!”

Me: “Here, in Cow-Town Colorado.”

Classmate: “Or Seattle. I’m moving there someday. I’m sure he’ll find me once I’m in Seattle.”

Me: “Uh, well, how will this dream man from across the pond know where you are? Or even that you exist?”

Classmate: “I made a deal with Jesus!”

(I dropped the subject.)

(A girl in my year comes up to talk to me in the library.)

Girl: “So, we don’t really know one another, but I need to tell you about the party, and you should have joined the student society, and—”

Me: “Sorry. Look. We have a test in three days. Please let me read.”

Girl: “Why? You’re always reading.”

Me: “I’m thinking about going for a research masters, and to do that, I need average of 7.5. So I need to study. Please let me.”

Girl: “LIAR!”

Me: “What?”

Girl: “The only reason any woman goes to university is to get a husband with an education; they earn more! You don’t need a good average, no woman does!”

Me: “…”

(I order sausages and bacon in the cafeteria on a Saturday morning. The college is normally very quiet on Saturdays.)

Me: “Can I also have two slices of white bread please?”

Server: “Sorry, we need the white bread to make toast.”

Me: “So, you won’t sell me the white bread as you need to keep it to sell as toast?”

Server: “YES!”

Me: “Can I have untoasted toast please?”

Server: “NO!”