Older Customer: “Your hair is too short for a lady. What if you get invited to a ballroom dance?”
Me: “First and foremost, I am a punk; I don’t do ballrooms. Second of all, I’m a transguy.”
She laughed and didn’t take me seriously, and she proceeded to complain that women are getting too many rights.
I told her to get out.
I have just come out as nonbinary. It’s an adjustment for my boss and coworkers. They’re great with my new name but not so much with my pronouns/other nicknames. It helps us all when we don’t take things too seriously.
I’m cleaning up the milkshake machine after I was making a milkshake and it exploded on me. This always happens only with the chocolate for some reason. My boss comes up to me. I don’t remember the exact context, but he calls me “Miss”.
I give him a look.
Me: “Miss?”
Boss: “Sir? No, I’m just going to call you what you are. Mess.”
I look at the milkshake I’m cleaning up.
Me: “Yeah, that’s fair.”
I’ve started my first job, working as a kitchenhand and tea trolley pusher in a nursing home. While the specific details of my gender aren’t important, my workplace assumes I am a cis male, and I have a relatively androgynous appearance, further accentuated by the hairnet and mask I have to wear.
It’s my first shift, and my coworker is showing me around the place as I do the tea trolley run — the oldies love their hot beverages — and introducing me to all the residents. It’s a fairly normal process (my coworker does most of the talking), until…
Coworker: *As we enter one of the rooms* “Hello, [Resident]! This is [My Name]; he’s our new hire!”
The resident in question is an elderly lady lying in bed. She squints, so I move a little closer, thinking she might not be able to see me well.
Resident: “Are… are you a lady or a man?”
Me: *Without thinking* “Uh… yes?”
Resident: “Oh, I see. Carry on, then.”
My mother-in-law and I do not see eye to eye on a lot of things. Normally, I either walk away from the conversation and she claims that my refusal to argue means that I agree, or we get into screaming matches. After talking with a family friend, I have a new tactic for dealing with her poking at me.
Recently, a bakery has been in the news for refusing to make a cake for a same-sex couple.
Mother-In-Law: “Did you hear about the bakery that won’t cater to [gay slur]s?”
Me: *Uninterested tone* “Uh-huh.”
Mother-In-Law: “All these people are crying about how the bakery should make the cake and take their money.”
Me: “I heard.”
Mother-In-Law: “But they’re a private business; they have the right to refuse service! If the [gay slur]s and their hags disagree, they can go somewhere else.”
Me: “That’s how companies work.”
Mother-In-Law: *Aggressively* “They— What?”
Me: “Everyone who agrees with the bakery can continue to buy from them, and everyone who disagrees can take their business elsewhere.”
Mother-In-Law: “Well… yes. That’s what I said.”
Me: *Smiling* “I’m glad we agree.”
She was quiet for a moment, and then she turned and walked away. I wouldn’t say I won that argument, but I do think she is a little confused now.
I’m an ER nurse and it is Halloween, so we have been getting some rather colorful patients. I am doing intake and a group of gay men wearing animal costumes approaches, all looking rather sheepish. One of them is wearing a towel around his midsection.
Me: “What’s the reason you’re here, so I can give you the correct intake form?”
Man #1: “Well, my friend here wanted to wear a tail to the club, y’know, to have the best costume.”
Me: “Okay?”
Man #1: “And he… well… he wanted to make it, like… interactive with some of the guys at the club, and…”
Me: *Picks up a specific form* “Okay, so it’s a ‘removal’ procedure? Did he use lube?”
Man #1: “Wait… how did you know?”
Me: “Animal tail attached to a butt plug that gets stuck? Happens every Halloween.”
Man #2: “So… I’m not the first?”
Me: “Oh, honey. You’re not even the first tonight.”
Seriously… every d*** Halloween.
