My college used to host an event called “Humans Versus Zombies” twice a year. It was, in short, a zombie apocalypse simulation, where “human” players would use Nerf blasters and approved foam melee to fend off “zombie” players; if a zombie tagged you, you became a zombie yourself. We ran for up to seven days, twenty-four hours a day, and it was a physical and mental marathon that was as fun as it was frustrating.

Sadly, the [global health crisis] killed it entirely; it’s not good form to run around trying to touch people during a viral event, after all. But when we ran the game, we had built a bunch of fairly specific rules and stipulations for play; this included the fact that we met with and kept in regular contact with Campus Police, considering we were running around the campus with things that looked remarkably like firearms and often screaming in panic and making a ruckus.

To my understanding, Campus Police were, in fact, real cops who just happened to work for the campus at large, rather than something like a glorified mall cop; however, they had to deal with any call coming from Campus, regardless of how big, as well as the surrounding area. We had a couple of different… incidents involving Campus Police (mostly players being dumb eighteen-year-olds), but this remains my favorite. 

One of our friends at the time was a bit of a rebel and definitely anti-police in every conceivable way, and she wasn’t shy about stating it. But she wasn’t dumb, either; she knew that if she hated cops and didn’t want to involve cops in her life, she shouldn’t do illegal things where cops would catch her. This meant she was fairly well versed in our state laws, and she’d make sure she knew everything about what was and wasn’t allowed if she decided to push the envelope. 

During one of our spring games, [Friend] decided she would do just that. She was one of the moderators for the game, so she didn’t have to worry about zombies and could walk campus freely and without any kit. She also did hula-hooping for fun and liked to bring hers around Campus when we roamed just for kicks. However, it was fairly warm that week — which was worse considering we were often running around campus at a full sprint and would be outside in the heat for hours on end — and she always hated hooping with a shirt on, since it got caught up, so that day, she decided she would bring her hoop but not wear a shirt OR a bra. She had, however, looked up the appropriate state laws and had covered the parts deemed inappropriate by said laws. This meant pasties, and the rest of her chest was free to hoop as she pleased. (These pasties were in the form of duct tape. Pro-tip: don’t do that. It sucks.)

We were on campus for roughly an hour before a police officer approached us. He approached [Friend] and specifically asked to talk to her and her alone. 

I wasn’t part of the conversation, so I don’t know the exact exchange, but [Friend] told us exactly what happened after the fact, so I can paraphrase well enough. Also, I cannot overstate that this officer was older, male, and taller than [Friend], and he spent this ENTIRE conversation staring VERY pointedly at the area just above [Friend]’s eyes. He was so uncomfortable that it was honestly hilarious; he was clearly trying NOT to look too far down but struggling because she was much shorter than he was.

The conversation went something like this.

Officer: “We received a call about someone running around topless, and we need you to put a shirt on.”

Friend: “What law am I in violation of?”

Officer: “You can’t run around campus without a shirt on. Please put one on.”

Friend: “But what law am I breaking?”

This went on for… a bit, honestly, without much variation, as [Friend] was as stubborn as they come and wasn’t going to relent just because she was asked. I don’t know how long they went back and forth, but I remember that my spouse and I both kept giving each other looks that were asking if [Friend] would ever actually give in or if she’d be stubborn to the end of time, and whether or not we needed to get our phones out and record since [Friend] was very obviously queer and being frankly maybe a bit too pushy in response — would that combination mean this guy would just lose it?

Was she right? Absolutely, yes. She’d looked it up ahead of time, and Campus rules were the same as state law, and by state law, she was perfectly fine; thus, by Campus rules, she was also fine. She had every right to feel the sun on her bare chest, and Campus honestly couldn’t do anything about it but ask nicely for her to stop.  

As this continued, however, one thing the officer said stood out in my memory.

Officer: *Getting tired of this* “Look. There’s another call of gunshots on campus that I need to get to, but I can’t leave until you put a shirt on. Please put a shirt on.”

Friend: “I’m not breaking any laws.”

It continued, ad nauseam, after that. Eventually, the cop, exasperated and apparently late for a more important call, CALLED FOR BACKUP, and the Chief of Campus Police was the one to arrive. This was made funnier by the fact that all of us knew her by name and face; we talked with her every semester when we moderated the game since she was present at all Campus meetings. She was also significantly more comfortable with [Friend]’s lack of a shirt, and I think her other officer was relieved to not be participating anymore. 

Chief: “Look, you’re not breaking any laws, but we keep getting calls about you not wearing a shirt, and it’s tying up the phone lines. I really need you to put something on, just while you’re on campus.”

[Friend] acquiesced, pulling a crop top from a bag she had (to the Chief’s very exasperated, “You had a shirt with you?!”), but added: 

Friend: “Your officer did say there was something about gunshots he wasn’t able to get to.”

The Chief’s face was the kind of face that no man could withstand; it was the face a mother gives a child who’s about to be in DEEP S***, and she turned that on her officer. Clearly, he wasn’t supposed to say anything about the gunshot call they’d gotten, and he’d messed up BIG TIME. 

They left shortly after, and [Friend] took her shirt off as soon as we crossed the street back to our house, which was technically off Campus. I never did find out what happened to the cop who spilled the beans, however, nor did I ever hear anything about the gunshots.

It was always hilarious to me, however, that an entire campus police department could be nearly shut down due to someone with their boobs out, and that, somehow, that superseded a call regarding actual gunshots.

I’m at work, in the kitchen, having my breakfast. There are several of us in the office chatting when one coworker asks me this.

Coworker: “So, [My Name], are you a bean?”

Me: “A bean?”

Coworker: “You know, like, the bean.”

Me: “No? Sorry, I don’t know what you’re asking.”

Coworker: “The bean! You know, the bean!”

Me: “As in that silvery thing in America?”

Coworker: “Ugh! No. The BEAN!” *Storms off*

No one in the kitchen knows what he is talking about, and I don’t see him for the rest of the day. Around 15:00, my desk neighbour sits down with a cup of coffee.

Neighbour: “So, do you want to know what [Coworker] was talking about this morning?”

I look at her, my interest piqued.

Neighbour: “He was asking if you were gay.”

Me: “What? How do you figure that?”

Neighbour: “He thinks ‘lesbian’ is French, and the ‘les’ part means ‘the’.”

Me: “Oh… What?”

Neighbour: “Yeah… I tried to convince him otherwise, but he’s certain that lesbians are ‘the bians’, pronounced ‘beans’.”

I’m a lesbian and have kept my hair short for a while, not because I am trying to look “butch” but because I initially cut it off for a cancer charity and then decided to keep it short so I could cosplay Furiosa at Comicon.

Customer: “Oh, wow! Are you a lesbian?!”

I could say (rightfully so) that it’s none of her business, but this woman is a kind old regular who I know means nothing malicious by it.

Me: “Yes, I am.”

Customer: “I love your hair! It’s so… daring!”

Me: “Haha, thank you.”

We make small talk, I explain to her what cosplay is, and we both go on with our lives.

Then, 2020 hits, and from there to 2022, most of us either work grocery drop-offs only, get migrated to a fulfillment center for online orders, or get let go entirely. I’m a lucky one who is retained, but it’s a couple of years before the world goes back to normal and I see this same customer again.

Customer: “Oh! Are you not gay anymore?”

Me: “Uh… I am?”

Customer: “Well, I mean, you grew your hair out…”

I am checking out the items of an older woman with her young grandson. Two younger women are in the line behind them, and from how they’re talking and their body language, it’s obvious they’re a couple.

Younger Woman #1: “Oh, honey! We forgot the butter!”

Younger Woman #2: “Oh, crap! You’re right! Can you run back and grab some? Love you forever!”

One of them runs back to get their forgotten butter, and the little boy grabs his grandmother’s attention.

Boy: “Grandma! That lady called that other lady ‘honey’! But I thought only daddies called mommies that!”

Grandma: “Well… maybe Honey is actually her name.”

The younger woman comes back with the butter, and they go back to waiting, but now they’re holding hands.

Boy: “Grandma! That lady is holding hands with the other lady! I thought only daddies held hands with mommies?”

Grandma: *To me, pleadingly* “Look, could you hurry it up?!”

I try to hurry, but she’s getting a lot of items, and my bagger can also only go so fast.

Boy: “Grandma! Why are they holding hands?”

Grandma: “[Boy]! Mind your own business! Maybe they’re just sisters!”

At this point, one of the younger women has said something cute to the other, and they laugh and share a quick peck on the lips.

Boy: “Grandma! I don’t kiss my sister like that!”

I snort in an attempt to hold back a laugh.

Grandma: *To me* “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just hurried up!” *To the women* “And you! Thanks to you, my grandson is going to be full of questions! Now I have to tell him about all the sinners in the world and ruin his innocence! You did that!”

Younger Woman #1: “Lady, if you think healthy expressions of love will ruin his innocence, then you’re damaging him far more than we ever will.”

Me: “Ma’am, your total is $221.54.”

Grandma: *To me* “About f****** time!”

She paid and stormed off with her poor confused grandchild.

My dad moved for work to a small country town in the outback. Actually, I think we were a hamlet or a village, technically. The point is that it was a very small place with a lot of old, white, salt-of-the-earth men. The white-haired Boomer-generation man who ran the local hardware store was exactly what you’d expect from a man running a hardware store in a small farming town. 

That made it even more surprising that said hardware owner agreed to let me work there on weekends. I am weedy, I have never nailed a wall in my life, and my clothing choices lean to the swishy-skirt side of nonbinary. I was not who you expected in a hardware store.

Still, money was money, and I wanted to make a good impression. On my first day, I wore my manliest pants and a nice button-down shirt. The owner greeted me and, in order, showed me how to work the register and how to search his inventory database and then got down to running down with me the details for how I’d be paid and what he wanted me to do if I had to call in sick.

Owner: “Now, I think that’s the basics, so the rest I can show you on the— Oh, no, wait. There are questions I’m meant to ask. What was… Ah, do you have any of them pronouns?”

Me: “Sorry?”

Owner: “Pronouns. My daughter says it’s important these days.”

Me: “Um… I prefer they/them.”

Owner: “That all?”

Me: “Like, do I use other pronouns? Nooooot really?”

Owner: “All righty, you show me how to do that later. And if you change your mind, no tails on the floors.”

Me: “Wait, tails?”

Owner: “My grandkid, she and her mom come up for the holidays, and she’ll wear them cat ears, but tails aren’t safe when you’re moving pallets. The identity stuff is all well and good, but we don’t compromise on safety here, understand?”

Me: “Hold up. It doesn’t bother you?”

Owner: “The old folks round here might say they’re not taking hardware advice from some cat-not-man, but they come in already thinking they know better and weren’t going to take any advice from you kids on the floor anyway. So I don’t see what difference it makes.”

Best job I ever had.