(We’re playing card games at a friend’s house. I’m ready to attempt a victory when he plays a card that completely ruins my hand.)

Me: *fake angry* “I was ready to win!”

Friend: “I know! That’s why I played that card. And I looked REALLY HANDSOME while I did it. When you tell this story, can I be on a horse?”

(And then he rode off into the sunset, gorgeous locks flowing luxuriously in the wind.)

(I grew up in New Mexico, but go to college in Louisiana. This exchange happens during my senior year. Sadly, I have had similar exchanges, but none are as bad as this. This particular chain of local stores sells their hard liquors from behind their customer service counter. The cashier I’m dealing with appears to be in her mid-thirties.)

Me: “Excuse me, do you have any [liquor #1]?”

Cashier: “Yes, and it’s even on sale right now for $2 off!”

Me: “Awesome, I’m glad I found some here! I’ll take one, and one of the small bottles of [liquor #2].”

Cashier: “All right, I just need to see your ID.”

Me: “No problem!” *hands her my New Mexico driver’s license*

Cashier: *looks at license for a minute* “I need to see your passport, too.”

(I am taken aback. I don’t even own a passport, since I haven’t traveled outside of the US.)

Me: “What do you mean?”

Cashier: “Sorry, but I can’t accept this.”

Me: “What? Why not?” *keep in mind, I’m of age*

Cashier: “We only accept passports, Louisiana state IDs, or licenses from the United States.”

Me: “Um, New Mexico is a state.”

Cashier: *in a rather condescending tone* “Uh, no, it’s not.”

Me: “Um, yes, it is.”

Cashier: *sounded irritated* “No, it’s not. We had someone in here from there the other day and we needed to see his passport!”

(After spending sometime trying to convince her that New Mexico is, in fact, a part of the United States, and has been since 1912, she starts to get rather nasty with me. I request a manager. She rolls her eyes but eventually pages one, warning me that he is just going to tell me the same thing.)

Manager: “Hello, miss. What seems to be the problem?”

Cashier: *waving my license at the manager* “She’s refusing to show an ID or passport, and she wants to buy alcohol!”

Me: “Uh, no, I showed her my ID, but she doesn’t believe that New Mexico is a state.”

Cashier: “Because it’s not!”

Manager: “Um, [Cashier], it is a state.”

(Amazingly, the cashier starts arguing with him about it, too! After a few more minutes of back and forth, the manager sends the cashier away with the promise of a “talk” later. She leaves with a huff and a death glare at me.)

Manager: “Sorry about that. I’ll get your alcohol.”

(He checks the birthdate on my ID, hands it back, and rings my alcohol through.)

Me: *I’m pretty annoyed, but I also have to laugh at the entire situation* “Well, I’ll definitely have an interesting story to tell at the party tonight!”

This story is part of the fourth Geography roundup!

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(Like many redheads, I have freckles, but the darkest ones are on my arms. I’m sitting in a comic shop with my husband and some friends, waiting for the [Trading Card Game] event to start, when a guy that’s new to the area starts talking to me.)

Guy: “So… is your hair naturally red?”

Friend: “[Guy]! That’s rude!”

Me: *waving it off* “I get asked that all the time.” *to the guy* “Yeah, it is.”

Guy: “Well, then, why are your eyebrows brown?”

Me: *shrugging* “I dunno. They were nearly the same color as my hair when I was younger, but as I’ve gotten older, my hair’s gotten brighter and brighter to the point it looks closer to orange, whereas my eyebrows have gone more auburn.”

Guy: “Where are your freckles? I thought redheads had freckles?”

(Upon hearing this, my husband, who has been having a totally different conversation, grabs my arm, holds it up, and points at the freckles.)

Husband: “If she doesn’t have freckles, what are those? Chickenpox?”

Guy: *shaking his head* “No, I meant on her face.”

Me: *waving my hand in front of my face* “Yes, I do have freckles on my face. They’re just super light.”

(The guy’s eyes suddenly bug out as he stares at my face.)

Guy: *gasps* “Witchcraft! You didn’t have freckles a minute ago!”

Me: *chuckles* “Yes, I did. You just didn’t see them.”

Guy: *skeptical* “I guess.”

(He gets up and wanders away, and my husband laughs.)

Husband: “I think if you were a witch, you’d do more interesting tricks than that, right?”

Me: “D*** straight. I’d make my hair literally fiery. Like Chandra’s.”

This story is part of our Redhead roundup!

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(I am at my school’s choir practice. Our instructor is going over the alto part for a section of a song and no one is getting it right.)

Teacher: “Come on, guys. Make it sexy!” *noticing our looks* “What? Gospel can be sexy.”

(Pause…)

Teacher: “JESUS CAN BE SEXY, TOO!”

(Cue an uproar from everyone else.)

(After lunch one of my friends comes running up to me and pulls me off to the bathroom. She looks worried, so I ask what’s wrong.)

Friend: *embarrassed* “Well, I started my period today and I don’t have any pads! I had some in my purse but my sister must have stolen them!”

Me: *relieved* “Oh, okay. I’ve got some in my purse.”

(I pull one out and hand it to her. She takes it and dashes into a stall. When she comes back out, she still looks worried.)

Me: “What’s wrong, [Friend]? It must be more than your period.”

Friend: *suddenly blurts* “I’m out of pads at home!”

Me: “Why don’t you tell your mom? I’m sure she’ll buy them for you.”

Friend: *shaking her head* “No, she won’t!”

Me: *stunned* “What?! Why not?!”

Friend: “Well, [Friend’s Sister] and I get an allowance of $20 every month for our ‘essentials,’ like toothpaste, feminine products, razors, deodorant… you get the idea. Our mom got the idea to do it to teach us how to budget.” *sighs* “Problem is, the cost of stuff has gone up since my mom started doing this, and she hasn’t increased our allowance, so it’s not enough any more. Usually my sister and I run out of something or other and have to do without until we get our allowance again.”

Me: “That’s terrible!” *I pull the other half dozen pads out of my purse and give them to her* “Stick those in your purse.” *pause* “Can you use scented pads?”

Friend: *frowns* “Yeah, why?”

Me: *smiling* “Good! I’ll bring you a whole box of them tomorrow!”

Friend: “You don’t—”

Me: *holding up one hand to silence her* “Yes, I do. Besides, I grabbed them by mistake a couple months ago, and I can’t use them because the scent makes my butt break out in a rash.”

(My friend bursts into tears and laughter at the same time.)

Friend: *sniffling* “I’m sorry! I’m just so happy you’re going to bring me pads, but at the same time, that butt rash story was TMI!” *giggles*

(That wasn’t the last time I had to bring pads to that friend. I used to sneak them to her when I’d stay the weekend, because if her mom saw me giving them to her, she lectured me, saying her daughter “needed to learn better money management.”)