(It’s my first year living in a college residence. My mom is over, and I’m packing some stuff to take back home for the holidays. Among them is a mug, a replica of one that appears in a webcomic I am a big fan of. In the comic, the mug is seemingly indestructible.)

Mom: “You’re taking your mug?”

Me: “Of course! It’s the Captain’s Mug!”

Mom: “But you know you have a lot of mugs at home, right?”

Me: “IT’S THE CAPTAIN’S MUG.”

Mom: “Okay, I’m just worried that it’ll break on the–“

Me: “Captain’s Mug is indestructible! It can survive a black hole!”

Mom: “I’d like to wrap it in some–“

Me: “IT CAN SURVIVE A SINGULARITY!”

(My son occasionally has to stay home alone after school for up to an hour until I get home from work. This is one such occasion; we are texting.)

Son: “Can I have a snake?”

Me: “Why? What kind of snake is it?”

Son: “Snack?”

Me: “Okay, there’s some cucumber and carrot sticks in the fridge.”

Son: “Wait. I can really get a snake?”

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(My longtime coworkers at this smalltown chain restaurant all know that I’m Jewish. We get a new manager who turns out to be a jerk in many ways, especially to me as an assistant manager, but one thing, in particular, stands out. Over several weeks, he makes a number of remarks about Jews that, without using any outright slurs, give me pause. Having had little direct personal experience with anti-Semitism up to now, I am unsure how to respond, beyond side-eye and raised eyebrows. One day in December, we’re both sitting in the back office when an employee pops in and wishes me a happy Hanukkah. [Manager] is visibly startled.)

Manager: “You… you’re Jewish?!”

Me: “Oh, yes, didn’t you know?”

Manager: “Oh, uh… Well, I hope I haven’t said anything, you know, that might, uh…”

(I turn and look straight at him.)

Me: “Why, [Manager]? Is that the sort of thing you’re likely to say?”

(He turned red, stammered something, and remembered something he had to take care of elsewhere. I was done with that place, anyway, and that guy was the final nail in the coffin. I left a few months later.)

(I’m sitting in a common area near the learning commons, and I end up overhearing parts of a conversation between two girls and a boy.)

Girl #1: *just arriving* “I feel better now. My migraine’s gone.”

Girl #2: “Yay!”

Boy: “Did you do the test?”

Girl #1: “No, I went home and died. It was super effective!”

(Later on, they start talking about babies and families.)

Girl #1: “My parents thought they couldn’t have children, so they adopted me. A year later, my brothers were born!”

(Later:)

Girl #2: “My mom didn’t go into labour with me; I was in fetal distress…” *blah blah* “…so if Mom had given birth to me naturally, I would’ve strangled myself on my umbilical cord!” *blah blah* “…and they had to cut my head open!”

(My jewelry store is having a Secret Santa exchange and it cannot be a gift card. I am a seasonal associate, and therefore haven’t really known these people that well, so I have to guess at what my person will like. As I am underage, I have limited options on what I can buy; all my other coworkers love to drink. My person wrote down that she likes a specific tea shop; since there is one in the mall, I go there after work. I eventually choose a tea mug with a steeper and go to pay. I get a 10% mall discount in all food locations, so I decide to ask if that applies to this tea shop on non-food items.)

Me: “Can I get my mall discount?” *points to my nametag*

Associate: “Sure, where do you work?”

Me: “[Famous Jewelry Store].”

Associate: *looking skeptical* “Really?” *looks me up and down* “But you’re so young!”

Me: *laughing* “Yeah, I’m the youngest there. They hired me exactly on my 18th birthday. That’s why I wear my nametag; people never believe me.”

Associate: “I am so glad you laughed. As soon as I said it, I was worried it would be taken the wrong way.”

Me: “Hard day?”

(We talked for about ten minutes about bad customers and exchanged Facebooks. I drop by the store every shift to say hi.)