(I work at a “members-only” warehouse club, and our company places the membership and returns desk near the exit, not the entrance. I work at the one-hour photo lab that sits where new members expect customer service counters to be. We are busy and have a line.)

Customer: “I need to return these pants.”

Me: “Sorry, sir, this is the photo lab; if you go back out to the entrance and in through the exit door, the folks at the membership counter will be happy to help you with that.”

Customer: “What the h***?! I just waited in line for like ten minutes, and when I get to the front you tell me I have to go somewhere else?!”

(My supervisor stops what she is doing and drifts over to the counter, prepared to offer backup.)

Me: “Yes, I’m sorry, sir. We cannot process returns here at the photo lab. All returns are handled by the staff at the membership desk.”

Customer: “Why did they put the d*** photo counter by the door?”

Me: “So you can drop off your order as you begin shopping and have it ready by the time you’re done.”

Customer: “Pretty d***ed stupid if you ask me. They should at least put up a sign!”

(As if it had been rehearsed, my supervisor and I look at each other for a moment of disbelief, then back up and behind us at the three-foot-tall letters spelling out “ONE-HOUR PHOTO,” and then back at the customer.)

Customer: “You know what? F*** you.” *storms off*

(I’m white, female, and bi. I am having dinner with someone I met while travelling previously who’s now visiting the UK. We’ve met up a few times on her trip. When we first met months ago, I mentioned that I wasn’t straight — in the context of a discussion about me being a non-straight woman at work and lack of role models — and she seemed to take it in stride. She talks a lot about hot guys and makes comments about the type of boyfriend I should have, which I find slightly annoying, but I don’t call her out on it. I’m due to go on a date with a dark-skinned guy soon, and she seems surprised by this. She then suggests, upon learning that I have previously dated a black man, that dark-skinned men are my “type.”)

Me: “Um. I don’t really factor skin colour in a great deal. I mean, my boyfriend before that guy was white and half-German. And my last two proper relationships have been white women, though I guess one of them was Fr—“

Friend: “Wait, women? As in, a girlfriend?”

Me: “Um. Yes?”

Friend: “You’re a lesbian?”

Me: “No, I’m bi.”

Friend: “You never said that!”

Me: *thinking of the conversation we had months previously* “I have. I’m fairly open about it.”

Friend: “You always talk about previous boyfriends.”

Me: “I said partners, though I may have mentioned boyfriends before since I have had boyfriends before.”

Friend: “You have never said that you aren’t straight.”

(She’s clearly forgotten our conversation from the first time we met, but just as I’m about to explain that I’d not realised she didn’t remember that, something occurs to me.)

Me: “Hang on. I literally made a joke about being bi yesterday to you.”

Friend: “What?”

Me: “You made a comment about guys preferring a different style to mine in women, and I made a joke that started along the lines of, ‘Well, the good thing for me about being bi is…’. What did you think I was talking about?”

Friend: *waves her hand dismissively* “I don’t always listen.”

Me: “You told me to stop being silly, so I assumed you’d heard it.”

Friend: “I really don’t think you’ve ever said anything.”

Me: “I made a comment about a hot woman the other day. I literally wear a pride badge on my jacket.”

Friend: “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Me: “I have definitely told you that I’m not straight. Yesterday included.”

Friend: “You haven’t. But I don’t mind. I’m okay with gays.”

Me: “Er, good.”

(She then proceeds to tell me she doesn’t like women hitting on her, and shares an anecdote about an admittedly creepy-sounding woman hitting on her. I respond with an anecdote about a creepy guy hitting on me, to make the point that it’s the person that can be creepy. Still, she does seem mostly okay with it so I don’t make a fuss. We chat a bit more. Then:)

Friend: “So, why did you switch back to guys?”

Me: “What?”

Friend: “You said you were dating lesbians. Why men now?”

Me: “I didn’t switch. I’m bi. The last date I went on was with a guy, but the date before that was a woman.”

Friend: “Does your date know that you used to be a lesbian?”

Me: “You mean that I’m bi?”

Friend: “Yes.”

Me: “Well, I assume so. It’s on my profile.”

Friend: “Oh, really? Why would you put it on your profile?”

Me: “Um. Why not?”

Friend: “What does he think about it?”

Me: “It’s not really come up. I’m assuming he’s fine with it. But if he is homophobic, then that’s his problem. I’ve not got time in my life to put up with that.”

(By this point, although she’s assured me several times that she’s “fine with gays,” I’m a little nervous about what she’ll say. Thankfully, however, she laughs.)

Friend: “Yeah! You go! That’s the right attitude!”

(She then tried to give me advice on staying safe due to my orientation. It came from the right place, I guess, so all’s well that ends well. I actually mentioned the conversation to the guy; he just wanted to know how my joke about being bi ended.)

(My father happens to be totally blind, and he and his rabbi are visiting my mother in the hospital where she is being treated for cancer. Besides being blind, my father is able-bodied. The rabbi walks with a very defined limp.)

Father: “Thank you for driving me here, Rabbi. I just wanted to warn you that the nurses here must think people walk and hear with their eyes. They’re going to offer me a wheelchair, and they’ll address any questions to you.”

Rabbi: “What? I’m sure they won’t.”

Father: “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

(The rabbi and my father walk into the hospital and go to sign in as visitors. Immediately…)

Nurse: “Wait here while I call someone to bring a wheelchair.”

Rabbi: “It’s okay; I can manage the elevator without it.”

Nurse: “What? Oh, no, it’s not for you. It’s for him.”

Father: “I don’t need a wheelchair, really.”

Nurse: *to the rabbi* “Are you sure he’ll be okay without it?”

Rabbi: *to my father, after they manage to turn down the wheelchair and head for the elevator* “You were right!”

(I work the front desk for a company that makes movie trailers. Sometimes clients will send gifts to my bosses and use mobile delivery services to do so. One day, a delivery boy from a delivery company comes by to drop off a gift.) 

Delivery Boy: “You guys work in entertainment, right? What exactly do you guys do?”

Me: “We make movie trailers.”

Delivery Boy: “What does [Gift Recipient] do?”

Me: “Um. He is a producer.”

Delivery Boy: “Oh, well, I’m an actor, so would it be all right if I leave my information for him?”

Me: “He produces movie trailers. He is not a movie producer.”

Delivery Boy: “I still like to leave my information for people, just in case.” *begins writing down his information*

Me: “But like I said, we make movie trailers; we don’t make movies. The studios send us the film and we cut it into a trailer. We are post-production.”

Delivery Boy: *continues to write down his “acting” information and then tries to flirt with me for five more minutes*

I am working in a vet clinic one morning and a client comes in with her cat for an appointment. I look down at the book and notice her appointment is actually for the following day, Saturday. I mention this to the client and the blood drains from her face as she proceeds to yell, “Oh, s***, y’all! I’m supposed to be at work!”

The client had somehow gotten an entire day ahead in her own mind. She came back the following day on her actual appointment day and told us that, thankfully, her boss just laughed the whole thing off!