(Most of you will be too young to remember the days when someone could go to jail if they had a birth certificate that said, “Male,” and they were caught wearing female clothing. Consequently, Hallowe’en is a HUGE party day for the gay community, which, of course, is very underground at this time. But many people want a special dress for the ball that is held annually, and if you can’t afford a dressmaker, what are you to do? I have some gay friends, so I am familiar with the lifestyle and trials of the times. I also work in the young women’s department. This happens on the weekend before Hallowe’en.)

Me: “Hello, sir, can I help you with something?”

Male Customer: “My sister is going to a semi-formal event, and I wanted to buy her dress for her as a surprise. She’s the same size as I am, pretty much.”

Me: “Let me show you what we have in stock.”

(After showing several dresses, which he looks at in great detail, trying to glimpse himself in the mirror with the dress held in front of him…)

Male Customer: “I think this one is nice. Maybe I’ll take it. What do you think?”

Me: “I’d vote against it, sir. The colour doesn’t suit your complexion at all.”

(The customer kind of ducks his head and blushes when he realises that I know what the story is.)

Me: “What I’d suggest for your sister is either this one or one of these two.”

(He decided to take one of the dresses I’d recommended and came back later to tell me he’d had a great time and loved the dress. I was so pleased to be able to make even just one night easier for someone who basically had to live a life of serious pretense in order to stay out of jail or not be beaten up. It isn’t perfect yet, but we have come a long way.)

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(A customer who doesn’t speak English well comes into the copy shop where I work and needs help emailing something from the self-serve computer.)

Customer: “I don’t know how to send. Help send email.”

Me: “Okay, go to the Internet here, and then type in the website you use for your email.”

(Like most people who need help emailing, he types his entire email address in the search bar.)

Me: “No, not your actual address, just the website you use.”

Customer: “What? Huh? This is my email.”

Me: “What is the last part?”

(The customer says his email address, so I tell him what to type in. Once he finally gets logged into his email, I see that he has it set up in his native language.)

Customer: “Now what?”

Me: “You need to open a new email.”

Customer: “Where?”

Me: “I don’t know; it’s not in English.”

Customer: “Where?! Where?!”

Me: “I don’t know; I can’t read any of that. It should say, ‘new,’ or, ‘compose,’ or something.”

Customer: “No! Not there! Where?”

Me: “I don’t know. I can’t read any of that. Is there a button that says, ‘new’?”

Customer: “Yeah.”

Me: “Okay, click on that.”

(I help him attach the file, and then I figure out which button is the “send” button because it looks like a button. But then he goes somewhere else on his email page.)

Customer: “Did it work? Does this mean it worked?”

Me: “I don’t know; like I said, I can’t read that because it’s not in English.”

(Later on the customer, comes to me with his phone, still in his native language, asking where to go to forward his email.)

Me: “It would be this arrow button here.”

(When he clicks the arrow button, three options in his language come up.)

Customer: “Which one?”

Me: “I don’t know. I can’t read that.”

(This went on for FAR too long.)

(I work for a civil division small claims court, where you sue people for smallish amounts of money and represent yourself in court. An older man comes in the office and up to the service counter with a wheelbarrow. In the wheelbarrow is a burlap sack full of… something.)

Defendant: *after ranting about the case he was involved in with a neighbour/ex-friend and the judgment rendered against him* “I am here to pay my judgment BUT I am paying it in PENNIES! If [Plaintiff] wants his money, FINE, but he’s going to have to work for it!”

Me: *looking at burlap bag and realizing what’s in it* “Um, I’m sorry sir but we cannot accept that here.” *IN MY HEAD: “Never mind the fact that WE would be the ones ‘working’ for it, not the plaintiff!”

Me: “If you wish to bring them to the plaintiff directly you can see if he will accept them.”

(After grumbling a bit more, the defendant leaves. The judgement was $800 so it would have been 80,000 pennies, weighing around 50 pounds. About 30 minutes later I answer the phone and immediately know who I am talking to:)

Plaintiff: “[Defendant] just showed up at my door with a bag full of pennies! Do I have to accept them?”

Me: “Well, sir, you can refuse it but then you will have to take further proceedings to collect on your judgment, such as a garnishment, which will take time and cost money. Monies paid out for further proceedings are recoverable and added onto the judgment, but seeing as the courts are not a guarantee that you will get your money it might be in your best interests to take the pennies.”

Plaintiff: *lots of swearing and ranting about [Defendant] and the case in general*

(In the end the plaintiff took the pennies and had to roll them all by hand because change sorting/rolling machines had not yet been invented for the casual user. I thought to myself then, and still think now, that if I ever got sued and had a judgment against me, that’s exactly the way I would pay it, too!)

I’m donating blood for the first time. I made an attempt a few years ago, but was rejected because I weighed too little. Since then, I’ve been trying to keep my weight at a healthy level, waiting for an opportunity to try again, but not really making it a top priority.

While I’m waiting to get called in for evaluation, I notice an elderly man walking around talking to the other donors. He eventually comes up and starts talking to me. It turns out that this man has bone cancer, and is dependent on blood donations every three weeks for his health. He is making it his personal mission to thank all of us, because it is people like us that made sure he could live to see his two grandsons’ birthdays.

I get through the rest of it with a smile on my face, thinking about giving what I have to someone who needs it. It’s nice to be able to help people, but to see what exactly a simple blood donation can do really gives me a warm fuzzy feeling. Rest assured, I’ll be back to do it again when the 56-day rest period between shots ends.

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(This conversation is over the phone.)

Customer: “Yeah, I hooked my printer up, but it won’t work! And when I go to select the printer, there are two of them there!”

Me: “Do they both have the same name?”

Customer: “Yes, but one has the number two after it in brackets.”

Me: “Have you tried printing to each of them?”

Customer: “No, just the first one.”

Me: “Okay, why don’t you try to print to the one with the two in the name, and see if that works, before we go any further?”

Customer: “No, I don’t think that’s the problem. It’s not working.”

Me: “Did you try printing to the second printer?”

Customer: “Why don’t you just transfer me to someone else who can help better?”

(I figure this comment was made because I’m a girl, and it happens a lot, which is annoying. I transfer him to an associate who is a guy. After he hangs up, I ask him if they customer got it working.)

Coworker: “Yeah, I just told him to try printing to the second one, and it worked.”

Me: “Did he question you about it?”

Coworker: “No.”

Me: “But that’s exactly what I said to do!”