This takes place at the beginning of spring before masks become mandatory in my province but are still recommended in public, confined places. I am running late for the bus and have my mask in my hand as I sprint to the bus stop. The driver sees me running, stops the bus, and waits for me.

I board the bus and dig in my pocket to get some change. I haven’t put my mask on yet, as I find it hard to breathe through it when running. The drivers have these huge plastic curtains for these situations. This driver has his curtain pulled to the side, put away.

Driver: “Hi, how’re you today?”

As I put change in the terminal:

Me: “Great. Running a little late, though. Thanks for waiting.”

Driver: “Yeah, you can show your gratitude by not killing my grandma.”

He makes a gesture to his own paper mask. I chuckle awkwardly, putting on my cloth mask.

Me: “Don’t worry, sir. I’m not planning on doing that.”

The driver mumbled an apology and didn’t say anything for the rest of the ride.

I’m a volunteer marshall. I do anything required at a vaccination site to make things go smoothly, except preparing and giving the actual injections, though I have applied to be trained to do that, too!

The tested vaccine protocol for both vaccines currently on offer in the UK is two doses, three weeks apart. The government has decided to focus on getting as many people their first vaccination as soon as possible, so patients are being told to wait twelve weeks for their second vaccination. I was vaccinated three weeks ago, which means I am ready for a second shot, but I probably won’t be called before Easter; it’s the end of January now. However, I am working on the front line, so I will take it if they offer it to me. Before administering the vaccine, they ask a series of screening questions — allergies, are you well today, etc. — and one of them is, “Have you had a vaccination of any kind in the last seven days?”

I’ve arrived late for my shift at a site I haven’t visited before. I go to the check-in desk where patients go when they arrive to pick a fresh mask up before finding something to do.

I take a mask from a box on the table and indicate my hi-viz.

Me: “Thanks. I’m a volunteer; I have just arrived.”

Admin: “Great, just take a seat there.”

I sit in front of a nurse, thinking she is going to deploy me.

Nurse: “What’s your date of birth and NHS number?”

Me: “What’s happening here?!”

Nurse: “Don’t worry; I’m not going to give you an injection.”

Phew! She asks a few more questions and I see where this is going. 

Me: “You are not going to give me an injection, but after this, someone else will?”

Nurse: “That’s right.”

Me: “I had the [Company #1] vaccine on the eighth.”

Nurse: “That’s fine; it’s more than seven days ago.”

Me: “What vaccine are you using today?”

Nurse: “[Company #2].”

Me: “But I had the [Company #1]!”

It took a few more moments to work it out. It had been a long day, and she had asked these questions a lot. There was much laughter as the people nearby had wondered why I kept saying [Company #1]! If I had been at the end of my shift and as much on autopilot as she was, I might have been an n=1 study of the effects of mixing two vaccines.

I guess it’s a reminder to own your own healthcare.

I’m thirty years old but my mother raised me to be an old-fashioned lady; no elbows on the table, no pointing, no swearing, always use manners, etc. As a result, I never got in the habit of pointing. I always gesture with my full hand unless the item is super close.

I’m shopping for clothes for a funeral with my sister, who is thirty-four, in a large department store. A lady in her fifties or sixties approaches me and taps me on the arm. I’m very surprised because, due to the current health crisis, no one where I live gets close enough to touch strangers.

Customer: “Girl! Where are your children’s shoes?”

I start walking backward straight away until we’re six feet apart.

Me: “I don’t work here, but I think over there.”

I gesture to the children’s clothes area. The lady looks me up and down, steps halfway between us, scrunches up her face, and starts shouting.

Customer: “F****** rude! It’s rude to point! It’s rude to tell me you don’t work here! It’s rude to back away from me! I’m not infected with anything! You are! B****!”

Other customers nearby turn and start to stare. I’m shocked and embarrassed but anger quickly takes over. I back up a few feet and raise my voice, pointing at her with my index finger.

Me: “Get away from me right now! We are shopping for a funeral and have been isolating together to be able to attend. I’m not risking my family’s safety for some crazy old b****!”

The woman’s face turns red as some of the store’s employees start to approach to deescalate the situation. She looks from them to me before throwing her items on the floor and stomping off.

My sister, who has been silent this whole time, turns to me, half-laughing.

Sister: *With a sing-song voice* “Ooh, Mom’s going to kill you when I tell her about this!”

I’m on the road for a business trip and stop off for a coffee. With the masks, it takes a few attempts to get through my order, even face to face, but we get there and the cashier repeats it back to me. While he doesn’t say it, I definitely get the impression that this is all too frustrating for him — lots of sighs and terse replies.

I stand down the way and wait for the coffee. The same cashier puts a cup on the table with a slam.

Cashier: “Coconut latte!”

Me: “Sorry, is that mine?”

Cashier: *Sighs* “Did you order a coconut latte?!”

Me: “Well, no, I ordered a coconut vanilla latte.”

Cashier: “No, you didn’t.”

Me: “My receipt is here.”

Cashier: *Taking the receipt and muttering* “Should be clearer when you order.”

Another worker brought me my drink and I left. I understand getting fed up if you’ve had a long day, but this was only an hour after opening and it wasn’t even busy.

It is the middle of quarantine. Most restaurants are closed, but mine is open with limited seating. I work at a pizza restaurant that typically has a buffet but is shut down at the moment for health reasons.

Customer: “I need six for the buffet.” 

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. Due to the health crisis, we aren’t currently having the buffet.”

Customer: “What?! Well, then what are we supposed to do?”

Me: “You can still order pizzas and dine in; we just don’t have the buffet.”

Customer: “So we’re just supposed to order and share? What are we supposed to do if everyone wants a different kind?”

Me: “We can do half and half or personal sizes.”

Customer: “No, that won’t do. This is ridiculous that you expect us to come and share like that. You should have your buffet open!”

Me: “Well, like I said, this is because we are in the middle of a health crisis and it is unsafe for us to have it open.”

Customer’s Friend: *Throws their hands up* “Well, we’re going to [Competitor]!” 

They all stormed out. I’m still wondering how those people order pizza at places that don’t have buffets.