Mom is a smoker. I am not. I have recently purchased a nice used vehicle for myself whose previous owner did not smoke in it. I am determined to keep it this way, which is fine with Mom. She doesn’t like that I won’t let her smoke in it, but she respects my decision and honors it.

We need to head to the store for weekly groceries.

Me: “Hey, which vehicle are we taking? Yours or mine?”

Mom: “Oh, it doesn’t matter to me. Whichever you want to take is fine.”

Me: “You aren’t allowed to smoke in mine.”

Mom: “We’re taking mine.”

I was babysitting my friend’s kids, and we had all just come back from the park. The oldest retreated to her room as she often does, and I started entertaining the younger. I had worked up a sweat having to carry the youngest on my shoulders and his bike up the hill to the house, so I decided to strip off my shirt to cool down some. I figured a two-year-old boy wasn’t going to complain if the man watching him showed off his non-abs for a little while.

However, the kid found my naked belly amusing and started playing with my belly button. Surprisingly, he managed to notice the tiny, white — and usually nearly impossible to see — scar running along the length of my belly button and asked me what it was. So, I was obliged to try to explain that I had donated a kidney to a child around his age a long time ago, even though I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t fully understand.

Me: “So, now that boy has the two kidneys he always had and my kidney, meaning he gets three kidneys and I only have one.”

My friend’s son is still learning to talk, and to be honest, I only get about two-thirds of what he is saying, so this is just my best attempt to translate his babble.

Kid: “Me have three kidneys.”

Me: “You do?! Why do you get three?”

Kid: “Me have them!”

Me: “Well, if you have an extra kidney, I think you should share one with me. Then we would each have two.”

Kid: “No, my kidney.”

Me: “You’re not going to share?! But you have three, and I only get one. Is that fair?”

Kid: “No, me need them.”

Me: “Oh? Why do you need an extra kidney?”

Kid: “Me need three to be [Kid].”

Me: “You do, now? And where did you get your extra kidney from?”

There was a good bit of babble here I wasn’t able to translate, but this is the bit I was able to get.

Kid: “At the park. The bad, bad, bad park in a box.”

Me: “You found your kidney in a box at a bad park? Well, that seems totally legit. I’m sure no one is going to be asking questions about that.”

Later, when his mom got home, I couldn’t help but share that little tidbit.

Me: “And speaking of parks, did you know that your son told me he found a kidney in a box at a ‘bad, bad, bad’ park?”

Friend: “You know what? I’m not going to ask about that.”

Me: “Good idea — less to explain to the cops that way.”

One day at my old hotel, a guest came to check in. He was an elderly man with a walker, and he was very sweet.

Guest: “I really need an accessible room with a roll-in shower. Most of your regular rooms have tub/shower combos, and I can’t use lift my leg to get into a tub. I had to book last-minute due to a family emergency, and only standard rooms were available.”

I double-checked the inventory and, yes, all accessible rooms were either rented or had been reserved for today. I started checking the arrivals list. Maybe one of our regulars had booked an accessible room by mistake — it happens — and would switch to a standard. But only one reservation had booked an accessible room, and it was through a third party, so there was no way to tell whether that person really needed it or not.

I was about to explain to [Guest] that we just didn’t have any accessible rooms available when I overheard my coworker greet and begin to check in a couple that walked up. This couple had the third-party reservation. I quickly excused myself from my station, dashed over to my coworker, and interrupted.

Me: “Do you need an accessible room, or would you prefer a standard king with a standard bathroom?”

The couple seemed confused. The third-party site hadn’t specified to them what kind of room they were getting, but they didn’t need a roll-in shower room.

I quickly told my coworker to switch their room with [Guest]’s room.

I went back to [Guest] and explained what was happening, and he walked over to the couple and gave them a hug.

Somehow, Serendipity was on our side and everyone got the room they wanted. [Guest] was very grateful, and we got a glowing review online.

I work in a fast-food place in a pretty white neighborhood. I’m the only person of color (Asian) and I have long hair. A regular customer likes to pick on me with snide remarks and micro-aggressions with racial undertones. It’s nothing I haven’t experienced my whole life, but it seems my indifference to his special attention is getting under his skin.

After being served he comes back with a complaint.

Customer: “Get me your manager! My sandwich had a long black hair in it!”

I get the manager and they discuss the situation, both staring back at me multiple times. The manager finally gives the man a refund and a replacement sandwich.

Manager: “You need to be more careful with your hair.”

Me: “I’m not the only one here with long black hair.”

Manager: “I don’t care. I had to refund him and give him a replacement sandwich.”

Me: “Did he show you his sandwich with the hair in it?”

Manager: “…no.”

Me: “Interesting.”

A few days later, the same regular comes in. Lo and behold, he returns a few minutes after ordering with the same complaint and pointing at me. Same deal, refund, and replacement.

Manager: “I thought I told you to tie your hair back.”

Me: “I’m literally wearing a hat over it right now.”

Manager: “Enough! I don’t want to hear it. Sort it now!”

Tired of this, I decide I am going to do something about it.

A few days later I am wearing my hat, extra tight to make sure absolutely nothing comes out. Same regular, same order, same complaint. This time both of them come storming up to me.

Manager: “[My Name]! This is the third time this has happened! This customer is beginning to suspect you’re doing it on purpose, and I am inclined to believe him!”

Me: To the customer. “You found a long dark hair in your sandwich again, sir?”

Customer: “Yes I did, and I know it was you!”

Me: “May I see the hair, sir?”

Customer: “You may not! I am the customer! Know your place, girl! In this country, the customer is always right!”

Me: “So you found a long black hair in your sandwich, today, and you think I did it?”

Manager: “Yes he did, and it’s looking suspicious [My Name].”

Me: “That’s very odd, you see…”

I take off my hat to reveal my brand-new hairstyle. It is a kaleidoscope of colors! Reds, blues, and greens, all fading into each other like a rainbow. My cousin is a hairstylist and specializes in Asian customers who want to color their hair, so I told her to go nuts! Sky’s the limit! It took ages, but it was free and fun!

Me: “…I don’t have black hair at the moment. If you could show me a hair that has all these colors then I’ll apologize, but if it’s just dark it has to belong to someone else.”

The manager and customer are both initially silenced by my hair and statement. The manager finally turns to the customer.

Manager: “You did say it was a dark hair, sir, so I’m afraid it can’t be my employee.”

The customer harrumphs and storms out. I eventually quit that place when I realized my manager wasn’t going to apologize and indicated he shared some of the outdated views as my customer/accuser.

One day at work, I was on my way to the bathroom to blow my nose as I had a cold and a runny nose. A customer asked for my help along the way, so I helped her before proceeding.

After I got out of the bathroom, my manager approached me.

Manager: “There’s been a complaint about you. A woman you just helped came to me and said you were sniffing the whole time you talked to her. She said it was disgusting and I should do something about it!”