I’m a substitute school bus driver, filling in for my full-time coworkers when they get ill, take a vacation, drive a field trip, or are absent for whatever reason. Most students don’t really care as long as I get them to where they’re supposed to go, and they simply get on without comment beyond perhaps, “Is this [Route]?”

One bright spring day, though, an elementary student got off the bus with a wave and a big, friendly smile.

Student: “Thanks for the ride! Your hair is so pretty! I love it!”

I smiled and thanked her.

Student: “You look like a Ghostbuster!”

Me: *Confused* “Th-thank… you?”

She nodded confidently.

Student: “It’s a compliment.”

I was too confused to ask for further clarification as she skipped down the road to her home.

I’m a white woman with dark, curly/wavy hair and a body type between Sigourney Weaver and Melissa McCarthy, so maybe she meant one of them? I’d be happy with either. I just hope she didn’t mean I look like Dan Aykroyd, Bill Murray, or Harold Ramis.

I am an avid collector of “Transformers” figures. My best friend and roommate’s son, who is five, frequently comes down to the basement to gaze in wonder at the ever-growing robot army. Optimus Prime is his favorite character, and he knows exactly what Optimus normally looks like, so when he notices an Optimus figure I have that isn’t red, blue, and white as Optimus typically is, he becomes curious.

Roommate’s Son: “Why is that Optimus the wrong colors, and why are his eyes red?”

The figure he’s referring to is Optimus Prime from a series called “Transformers: Shattered Glass”, which effectively reversed the factions, so the Autobots were evil and the Decepticons were the heroes. As such, this particular Optimus Prime — an evil version of himself — is light gray and dark purple and has red eyes, whereas Optimus’s eyes are usually blue or occasionally yellow.

Me: “Because that Optimus is from a series where Optimus wasn’t a good guy.”

Roommate’s Son: *Suddenly distressed* “OPTIMUS PRIME WAS AN A**HOLE?!”

I work at a restaurant. It’s a typical night, kind of slow. I get a table with a father and his kid.

Me: “Hey, how are y’all doing?”

Customer: “Good, thanks.”

Me: “Good! What can I get you to drink?”

Customer: “A [soda].”

Me: “Sounds good. I’ll go grab that and be right back.”

Kid: “Lift up your skirt, please.”

I was a little stunned, but mostly I was trying my hardest not to lose my s*** laughing because it was the dad I was talking to the whole time and that was the first thing out of this seven-year-old’s mouth.

I know that sounds bad, but for one, I’m a dude, and two, the kid meant my apron. My coworker took over the table because it was a buddy of his, and he told me the kid said that because he served them all the time and kept candy for the kid in his pocket, so that’s what the kid wanted.

It’s kind of a cute thing but a really funny thing to be able to say I’ve had a customer ask me to lift up my skirt.

When I was around second grade, my church put on a Christmas play involving every child in Sunday school, telling the story of Jesus’s birth. I was cast as one of the three wise men, and our role was to stand in front of the mics, look up at the ceiling, and comment on the Star of Bethlehem. In order to prevent us from looking in three different directions, we were told beforehand to look in the direction of the ceiling fan. Unfortunately, I had no idea where the fan was in the nave, especially in the darkened room.

Wise Man #1: “Wow, look at that star!”

Wise Man #2: “That star is shining so bright!”

Me: “What could that star mean?” *Pauses* “Where is that stupid star?”

My mom told me afterward that all the adults around her thought it was adorable, which totally made up for the other kids telling me their parents were recording the play and I blew their big moment.

My goddaughters and their mother were staying at a local bed and breakfast near me to visit and, as such, I was getting some quality time with the kids. My friend and her family keep REALLY late hours, so it was late enough that some kids would be preparing for bed already by the time dinner had ended. The still wide-awake kids asked if I’d take them to the park. I agreed, and we stayed there until it was dark out before it was time to walk them home.

I should mention here that I’m male, and I volunteer with kids enough that I’m quite familiar with having to prove to strangers that I’m not secretly a pedophile kidnapping kids. I’ve discussed the problems I have with this with the girls as part of explaining why gender roles — and other stereotypes — are harmful and generally trying to get them to be more supportive of non-traditional folks.

As we walked, I noticed a police officer drive pass the small road we were on and then stop, back up, and turn onto our road. There was nothing else down this road except us, so I could only assume he’d seen the man walking with two young girls — of an entirely different race — down a dark alley and wanted to make sure everything was okay.

Me: “I think the police officer is coming to talk to us. He probably wants to know why I have you kids out here so late. I’ll take care of him, so don’t worry. Just answer his questions nicely if he asks you anything.”

As expected, the officer pulled up next to us and wound the window down.

Officer: “Have you seen a fourteen-year-old girl with red hair?”

[Goddaughter] interrupted the officer in a very determined voice.

Goddaughter: “Godfather [My Name] is not stealing us, and he’s not a bad guy! We love him!”

Officer: “Umm… what?”

It turned out that, in this case, I had been unfair in my presumptions. The officer did drive down the alley to talk to us but only to see if we had seen a missing girl. However, my goddaughter’s preemptive defending of my honor was one of those suspiciously specific denials that just makes you look more guilty, so I had to hasten to explain the context of her comments.

Officer: “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve dealt with that with my own girls enough times to know what it’s like. But thank you, young lady, for letting me know that your godfather isn’t a bad guy.”

Sadly, we weren’t able to help the officer with his missing child, but [Goddaughter]’s mother had a good laugh at her daughter’s adamant defense of me. And, of course, I made sure to let the girl know I loved her, too.