I’m working in a convenience store in New York City. A new mayor has just won his electoral race, and it’s on the front page of every newspaper in the city.

Customer: “Bah! Can you believe this guy? This guy says he’s a socialist! Loud and proud! This city is f***ed!”

Me: “I mean, he makes some interesting points.”

Customer: “F*** off with that socialism! I work hard for over forty hours a week, so that, what, worthless pieces of s*** who contribute nothing to society steal my earnings? F*** that! Get them off their f****** gravy train and force them to get real jobs, losers!”

Me: “Actually, I think you just described capitalism…”

Related:
Needs To Work On Their Socialist Skills, Part 11
Needs To Work On Their Socialist Skills, Part 10
Needs To Work On Their Socialist Skills, Part 9
Needs To Work On Their Socialist Skills, Part 8
Needs To Work On Their Socialist Skills, Part 7

CONTENT WARNING: Blood

This story reminds me of one that happened a couple of years ago. On my train home, we pulled into a station, and I saw the girl sitting across from me glance up toward the end of the car and then just bolt right out of the train.

Curious, I looked over, and as a guy who had just gotten on the train approached, I could see that his face was liberally covered in blood. It looked like he had a wound on his forehead, and he’d been bleeding enough that his shirt had gone from all-white to mostly red. Strangely, he didn’t seem to be in any distress at all; he just sat down like nothing had happened.

(I should point out that it was spring, so he definitely wasn’t in a Halloween costume.)

The rest of the ride was pretty quiet. The guy even briefly chatted with the person sitting next to him, who I’m guessing never looked at him. He wasn’t showing any signs of pain, the blood was mostly dry, so he wasn’t getting any on the floor, and he wasn’t wiping it off on the poles or seats, so I let him be. 

He was still on when we got to the terminal, so I figured that was the time to ask him about it, but someone else beat me to it. I didn’t hear what the other person said to him, but in response, the bleeding guy touched his hand to his forehead and said something like, “Oh, did it start again?”

Related:
More Drawn Out Than Drawing Blood

I’m taking a shuttle to the airport, along with some other passengers. As the driver unloads our luggage, I pull out some bills to tip him. An older woman passenger approaches me.

Woman: “Can I borrow a dollar?”

Me: “Sure.”

I peeled a bill off the ones I was going to tip with and gave it to her. She then handed it to the driver.

I’m on a date with a woman I met through a dating app. We’re chatting about our favorite exercise activities. She likes to use the rowing machine at the gym. I like to run.

Woman: “Oh! Oh! What’s the longest 5k you’ve ever run?”

Me: “Uh… 5,000 meters?”

Woman: “Haven’t you run more than that?”

Me: “I’ve done a few half-marathons. Never a full one, though.”

Woman: “So, the longest 5k you’ve run is a half-marathon?”

Me: “I think you’re misunderstanding something, but I don’t know how to explain it to you without potentially making you feel foolish. Are you okay with me explaining more carefully how races work? It might make you feel dumb, and I don’t want to hurt your feelings or leave a bad impression.”

Fortunately, we were able to resolve the misunderstanding without anyone feeling bad about it. She had thought that “5k” just meant a race because she’d heard people talking about a 5k race that was coming up at the gym, and they were using the two terms interchangeably.

We have more dates coming up in the future!

It’s the mid-1990s, and I’m fresh out of college. I’m visiting a friend in New York. She’s the house manager at two off-Broadway theaters, and she invites me to see both of the currently running plays for free. At one of the theaters, one of the night’s ushers hasn’t shown up, so the theater hires me as a replacement for the evening and trains me very quickly.

My friend warns me that this particular show is about senior citizens and attracts a similarly senior audience, and that some of the attendees can be a bit crotchety and difficult. Mostly, that turns out not to be a problem, but there is this one old lady who hands me her ticket, which I read aloud.

Me: “Okay, 208.”

Old Lady: *Snapping* “Wait? Wait for what? Just show me to my seat!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, right this way.”

I made something like $17 for the evening.