(While I’m filling my car I observe a man trying to work the pump across from me, and speaking out loud in a very noticeable accent.)

Customer: “Why won’t this work? Declined again!” *pushes intercom button for gas station attendant service* “It keeps saying my credit card is declined; I don’t know why it isn’t working!”

Attendant: “Please come inside the store, sir, and you can prepay your fuel in here.”

Customer: “I just don’t understand why it isn’t working!”

Attendant: “You will have to come into the store to pay if the machine isn’t working.”

(This repeats for about six minutes. As I walk towards him to go into the store, I ask him:)

Me: “How long have you been in Canada, now?”

Customer: “Only three days. This pump isn’t working right, and the employee isn’t coming to help me!”

(As I pass by I tap the, admittedly, poorly-phrased sign on the pump: “Foreigners, please pre-pay for fuel inside store.” He takes a second to read it, then hollers after me:)

Customer: “But I’m white!“

(As I left he was still out there trying to argue with both the pump and the attendant, via intercom, that the card reader wasn’t working, and he still hadn’t made any attempt to enter the store. I tried one more time on my way by to explain to him that the pump didn’t care about his ethnicity; it just couldn’t read cards that weren’t issued in Canada. He was just going to have to go inside if he wanted gas! He was still standing outside when I drove off.)

(It’s probably about minus 30 outside at the full-service gas station. I fill a very elderly lady’s vehicle, clean all the windows, and clean the lights. She comes out and gives me a tip.)

Customer: “Here you are, dear. Go buy yourself a coffee.”

(I looked down to see she gave me a quarter and a dime. The smallest coffee is still a dollar twenty five. She must have been pushing 90, so I didn’t think anything of it. She was very sweet, otherwise.)

Customer: “Pack of [Brand] cigarettes.”

Me: “Sorry, we don’t carry [Brand].”

Customer: “What am I supposed to smoke? What’s like [Brand]?”

Me: “I don’t know.”

Customer: “Well, why not?!”

Me: “Because I don’t smoke?”

(I’m queer. I don’t hide it from my coworkers, but sometimes I have to openly state it before they realize otherwise. Currently, I’m working in the kitchen and frosting donuts for the next morning.)

Me: “Hey, [Coworker], do we have any more rainbow sprinkles?”

Coworker: “I don’t think so. What we have on that shelf is what we’ve got.”

Me: “D***, how am I going to make these donuts as gay as I want without rainbow sprinkles?”

Coworker: “Now, [My Name], that’s not the right word to use.”

Me: *after a pause* “These donuts are now gay. Just like me.”

Coworker: “Oh!”

(We then had a nice chat where he told me all about his awesome, butch aunt.)

(I am purchasing some things from my local petrol station. I know the total comes to under £10, but I need change and decide to give a £20 note instead.)

Cashier: *leaning away from my money* “Umm, do you have anything smaller?”

(I fish around in my wallet and hand over £10. I then notice a pack of gum has appeared alongside my other items.)

Me: “Oh, was this scanned, as well? I don’t want it. Can it be taken off, please?”

Cashier: “No.”

Me: “No? Why not?”

Cashier: *visibly sweating* “You aren’t allowed.”

Me: “But I don’t want it.”

Cashier: “But you must!”

Me: “Well, I don’t. Take it off.”

Cashier: “NO!”

(Our argument alerts the station owner who comes forward and I explain the situation.)

Owner: *to the cashier* “Take it off.”

(She gives him an imploring stare but his face is set in stone. She’s actually shaking as she moves her hand to the register with her eyes shut tight, as if it were about to explode. The second the gum is taken off, she runs away, screaming that she “can’t go on.” The owner sighs and takes my £20.)

Me: “Thanks, but what was all that about?”

Owner: *shrugs* “Sometimes the ultra-religious around here make it hard to shop.”

Me: “Huh?”

(He taps the display saying the total: £6.66.)

Me: “Oh.” *takes my change and leaves*

(Usually the ultra-religious in my area are over sixty, so it was an odd sight to see a young adult with the same attitude. Whenever I go in there now and she’s in, she glares at me the entire time and runs into the back when I get near the register. Thankfully, I don’t go in there often.)

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