(I am naturally blonde; while in college I decide to be a redhead — a redhead on a budget. So about once a month I would buy a $2 box of dye, in all different shades. Sometimes I was deep auburn, sometimes I was copper penny red. Clearly I was dying my hair. I worked with this guy for two years during this time period. He had a huge crush on all the girls there, myself included. It is worth noting that he was Hispanic and very vocal about all perceived racism and stereotyping. He told a tale of woe about how awful his life growing up had been with being picked on because of his race, until a year later his younger brother started working at the same place, and we find out he grew up in a small town that was nearly 90% Hispanic and the reason he was picked on was because their dad was the Sheriff and his mom a judge, and he made use of that. One day during a conversation I make a comment about dying my hair.)

Guy: “Wait, wait, you aren’t a natural red-head?!”

Me: “Dude, you’ve been in my pants. No, I am not.”

Guy: “But… but what are you, then?”

Me: “What? Blonde.” *laughing* “Why does it matter?”

Guy: *with a look of horror* “Are you kidding me!? You are a liar and a fraud; all blonde girls are mean, stuck up b****es! They think they are so much better than anyone; will never give a guy like me the time of day!”

Me: “Seriously? You’ve known me for two years. Have I ever given you that impression? We have known each other intimately; are you seriously going to sit there and tell me that you have such a problem with the hair color I was BORN with, that knowing me for two years doesn’t matter, because I am blonde? Seriously? You don’t see the utter hypocrisy you have going on right now?”

(He didn’t see the hypocrisy — and we no longer hung out except as work forced us to.)

(We have a small bookstore at a renaissance festival, which tries to focus on history over fantasy. We carry books on making clothing, drying cloth, heraldry, medieval and renaissance recipes, blacksmithing, etc. These are two overheard customer comments that have never left us.)

Customer #1: *looking at books of names and heraldry* “I wonder if any of my relatives were alive during the Renaissance?”

(Passing by outside:)

Customer #2: “Oh, look, a bookstore! We should get Harold a book!”

Customer #3: “No, Harold already has a book…”

(I’m working a sand art booth at a fair that comes to my city every year. I had the sand set up in the front of the booth so the kids could see it and fill up their jar with whatever colors they like. A little boy that looks around 8 or 9 years old approaches my booth.)

Little Boy: “Excuse me, miss.”

Me: “Hello. How may I help you?”

Little Boy: “What flavors are each of these?”

Me: “Um… it’s sand.”

(The little boy looks at me in confusion. After a few seconds he points to the purple container of sand.)

Little Boy: “So… is the purple grape flavored?”

(A lady comes into my booth at a craft show and is very interested in my products. She asks me for a particular scent and I point out to her where it is on the table.)

Customer: “No, this isn’t it. This is [scent].”

Me: “That’s part of my company name. The actual scent is [scent].”

Customer: “Wait, I thought you said you made all this. Why is there a company name?”

Me: “It’s my company, so the name belongs there…”

Customer: “No! Everyone knows you don’t have your own company. Only big corporations have companies! I don’t want to support that, so I won’t buy from you!”

(She walked out and I was left to ponder how it was that I was not allowed to own a company because I’m only one person.)

I occasionally work at antiques fairs, mainly specialising in Ancient Greek and Roman antiques, like coins, statues, vases, etc. Today I’m covering all ancient and Oriental artefacts, including two statues from ninth-century China, both named ‘Fat Ladies.’

A man comes up to the booth and looks intently at the two statues for a while before giving me a leery smile and saying ‘I like fat ladies.’ and then patting me on the head before leaving without saying another word.