(My family and I are visiting my dad’s aunt. She is in her early 80s, is typically very social and fun to be around, and loves the latest and greatest technology and classic sports cars. Some of the discussions that happen during this visit are reminders that we grew up in different times. For background, my dad’s side of the family immigrated from Ireland in the 1920s. My parents are somewhat liberal democrats, and my dad’s aunt is a somewhat conservative republican. While watching television, the following conversation occurs. A commercial comes on with black actors.)

Aunt: “They sure do love to employ black actors, don’t they?”

Mom: “What do you mean?”

Aunt: “All these commercials. They have so many people of color. Black people, Asian people, Spanish people… The companies really want to show diversity.”

Mom: “It’s a good thing.”

Aunt: “Yeah, but you hardly see white people anymore. We’re not represented. The blacks have it so good these days! It sure is a great time to be alive for black actors!”

Mom: “Uh… okayyyy.”

(Later, a conversation about slavery ensues:)

Mom: “It was one of the darkest periods in America’s history.”

Aunt: “Yeah, but it was nothing compared to how to Irish were treated!”

Mom: “What?! How so?”

Aunt: “The Irish were denied jobs, they were discriminated against, they couldn’t afford to feed their families or find homes, it was awful!”

Mom: “Yeah, but they weren’t slaves.”

Aunt: “Slaves didn’t have it so bad. It was their own fault, anyway.”

Mom: “WHAT?!”

Aunt: “Yeah! They came here on boats, but since they were from Africa, they did things the opposite way Americans did. They didn’t know any better because Africa is a backward continent. If they knew better like Americans did, they would have had jobs, owned houses… but they didn’t know how life worked over here, so they had to work as slaves.”

Mom: “They didn’t choose to be forced into labor, sold, or whipped. Most of them were kidnapped, captured, or tricked into thinking there was a better life over here.”

Aunt: “Well, I’m just saying, they didn’t have to come on the boats…”

Mom: “I’m done here…”

(Later, my mom told me she kind of hoped my dad’s aunt had the beginnings of some sort of dementia like her brother — my grandfather is very bad — but she also couldn’t rule out what the public education in the 1940s was like.)

This story is part of the Black History Month roundup.

Read the next Black History Month roundup.

Read the Black History Month roundup.

(I work as a cashier at a big chain retailer. I am just finishing up ringing out a customer when they hand me a coupon.)

Customer: “Here you go.”

(The customer hands me a five-dollar-off coupon. I take a look at the total of the items. The total rang up to be around four dollars. I know the coupon won’t work but I scan it, anyway, to show the customer.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but it didn’t work.”

Customer: “I wanted to use it.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but you didn’t spend more than five dollars, so the coupon won’t work.”

(I hand the coupon back to the guest.)

Customer: *in a hushed tone* “This is ridiculous.” *pays for her items and leaves*

(Sorry, but I can’t give you five dollars off for a four-dollar purchase.)

(In our deli, we have to change gloves when switching from handling meat to cheese, but not usually when switching between other cheeses or meats. As a result, our line moves more quickly and we use fewer gloves if we handle one kind of product for as long as possible before switching. This exact conversation happens multiple times each day.)

Me: “Hello, welcome to the deli. Are you getting any cheese today?”

Customer: “Half a pound of ham.”

Me: *after changing gloves and slicing their ham* “Anything else?”

Customer: “A pound of American cheese.”

Me: *changes gloves and slices their cheese while wondering when it became okay to ignore someone once they put on a name tag*

(I am working at a grocery store where we usually get a lot of tourists. Two men, presumably father and son, walk into the store and buy some items. I ring them up and tell them the price. The father starts to get money out of his wallet when the son puts his hand in front to stop him.)

Father: *in a British accent* “[Son]?”

Son: *with the same accent* “How do you know that that’s the real price? They could be lying.”

(I feel a little offended by that, but before I can say anything, the father talks to me.)

Father: “I am so sorry about this.” *to [Son]* “It’s the actual price.”

Son: “But the tax is included in the price in Britain. They don’t here! How do I know he’s not just pocketing the extra cash?”

(The son sounds frantic now and pulls out a calculator from his pocket that I haven’t seen since the 1990s.)

Father: “I can see the till from here; he’s not scamming you.”

(The son seems relieved and eagerly pays for his items before walking outside chewing on taffy.)

Father: “I am so sorry for this, sir. We just got off the ferry from Salem and a woman at the counter tried selling him a ginger beer for fifteen dollars. I looked there and they didn’t have the prices displayed.”

(It is in the middle of a rush. A customer orders three black coffees with fifteen sugars on the side. I prepare everything and hand it out the window.)

Me: “Three coffees with fifteen sugars.”

(The passenger looks at the pile of sugar in the drink tray.)

Passenger: “Yeah. I’m going to need five more sugars.”

Me: “Not a problem!”

(I get the sugar and hand it out.)

Passenger: “Is there any cream in these?”

Me: “No, ma’am. They were not ordered with cream.”

Passenger: “Well, I’m going to need fifteen of those. Put them in a bag.”

(I put the cream in a small bag and hand it out. Satisfied, the car leaves. The next car pulls up.)

Next Customer: *jokingly as I hand out the bag* “Yeah. I’m going to need fifty sugars.”