Religion To Step Up Its Game, As Hell Advertises Itself As Pretty Darn Awesome

, , , , | Friendly | November 11, 2018

(This is something I hear while waiting at some traffic lights. There is a preacher standing close to the crossing, and he clocks an elderly woman crossing the road.)

Preacher: “Hello, and how you are today? Would you like to know how you can have immortal life with Jesus? It starts—”

Woman: “Oh, no. I’m hoping I get into Hell, actually.”

Preacher: *gasps* “But why?”

Woman: “Because my brother’s down there for being gay. He died of AIDS in the eighties. I miss him.”

(She continued walking while the preacher stood, dumbstruck.)

Trying To Transition Out Jerk Customers

, , , , | Right | November 9, 2018

(I am a transman; however, I am not on testosterone when this story takes place. Since I work in a busy, well-known fast food place and look fairly androgynous, I am used to being asked whether I am “a boy or a girl” constantly. I am working the drive-thru. A car arrives. I take their order over the headphone and ask them to move up to the next window to pay. I am sitting in said window. The car pulls up, and inside are three dudes in their 20s. They see me and start laughing immediately.)

Me: *with the biggest forced smile I can possibly produce* “Well, you guys look happy.”

Customer #1: “So… we… sort of have this question.”

Me: “Yeah?”

Customer #2: “We were wondering… uh…”

(I know what they want to ask, but don’t want to give them the satisfaction of getting around asking the question.)

Me: “Yes, go ahead.”

Customer #1: “Uh, no, never mind.”

Me: “Oh, please, go ahead. I want to give you the best service possible.”

Customer #2: “Nope, never mind. We’re leaving.”

Customer #3: “What about the food?”

(They sped off without paying and without their food. A coworker later told me that they came back and told him that they were betting on my gender and that whoever lost had to pay for the food. My coworker told them to f*** off.)

New Reality Show To Air, About People That Are Detached From It

, , , , | Friendly | November 7, 2018

(I’m a queer woman. I am only out to a few close friends. I am hanging out with one of those friends, when one of his friends, an acquaintance of mine, stops by. We are trying to decide on something to watch on TV.)

Friend: “Oh, [Reality Show about LGBT people] is playing; do you guys want to watch that?”

Friend-Of-Friend: “Oh, my God, yes! I love that show!”

Me: “Uh… I mean, it’s not really my taste.”

Friend-Of-Friend: *suddenly hostile* “What do you mean, it’s not your taste?”

Me: “I don’t really like reality TV.”

(For the rest of the evening, she’s ice cold to me. I’m very uncomfortable, and even though my friend tries to smooth things over, it’s obvious that his friend has a problem with me. I leave pretty shortly after. A few days later, I am talking to my friend, and he tells me that this happened as soon as I left the room.)

Friend-Of-Friend: “Oh, my God, can you believe her?”

Friend: “What do you mean?”

Friend-Of-Friend: “She doesn’t like [Show]! Is she some sort of homophobe or something?”

Friend: *one of the three people who knows that I’m queer* “Um… You know, I’m pretty sure that’s not it.”

(It took a few years before I was comfortable living as an “out” woman. When the news finally reached the friend of my friend, she contacted me. She was doing a thesis on gender and sexuality studies, and wanted some personal examples of internalized homophobia. I asked her what specifically she was referring to, and she brought up the fact that I didn’t like that show. I cut off contact, and I’m pretty sure that she still doesn’t understand that some people just don’t care for reality TV.)

Enveloped In Love

, , , , , , , , | Hopeless | October 28, 2018

This story took place over two years ago, but it still brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it.

My husband was an English teacher at a local high school, also running an afterschool “club” designed to support the LGBT+ students. He ran it through his own choice, not getting paid to run it, and became pretty well liked because of it.

He was coming home from work one afternoon when he was involved in a serious collision with a drunk driver. He was taken to hospital, but ended up passing away from his injuries later that night. I was devastated, and my brother had to be the one to inform the school of his death. The school passed on their condolences and I thought that would be the end of it.

Almost a month later, one of his old colleagues came over to deliver the belongings that my husband had left in his classroom at school. I had completely forgotten about going to collect his things, so I was incredibly grateful to the woman who brought them over. With a box of his things I was also handed a large reusable bag, crammed full of envelopes. Confused, I looked up at the woman and asked what they were. She just smiled and told me it was “a little something from the students.”

After she left, I sat down and opened the envelopes. There were close to 300 envelopes in that bag, and each and everyone one of them contained a handwritten letter from a student about how much they had liked my husband, how his work had helped them, and how he would be missed. There was one larger envelope containing a cheque for just over £1,000, along with another letter explaining that the money had been fundraised by several students after they had learned of my husband’s passing, wanting to support me and our children as a way of saying thank you for all the support he had given them through his running of the club.

I don’t remember how long I cried for, but it still warms my heart to know how much effort teens were willing to put in to help a grieving family that they had never even met. If any of those students are reading this, I want to thank them. They helped me smile during one of the most unbearable moments in my life.

Christianity Is Still Transitioning

, , , , , | Right | October 28, 2018

(I’m a 21-year-old transgirl living in Cape Town, and I work for a chain store as a cashier. In every aspect, I look like a typical brunette white girl, except for my voice, which is somewhat deeper and far more raspy. I can’t change it much, no matter how much I’ve tried. Because of often negative opinions on LGBT people in South Africa, I keep it to myself. I know English, Swedish, and Afrikaans.)

Me: “Hoe gaan dit met jou?”

Customer: “I don’t speak that!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am!”

Customer: “Are… are you futa?”

(“Futa” is short for “futanari,” a type of Japanese chick-with-a-d*** porn.)

Me: “No, I’m not.”

Customer: “Why your voice so deep, then?”

Me: “Laryngitis as a girl, ma’am.”

Customer: “Well, I think you are futa. You are boy!”

(My female Xhosa coworker comes over.)

Coworker: “Is there a problem, ma’am?”

Customer: “Yes! Why this boy look like a girl?”

Coworker: “Because she is a girl.”

Customer: “Humph!”

Me: “Have a great day!”

Customer: “Bye, [trans slur]. And f*** you, you [racial slur]! I’m a Christian! F*** you! God hates you!” *storms off*

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