(A security guard comes up to me on the train. I’m wearing my Santa hat.)
Guard: “Are you one of Santa’s helpers?”
Me: “Yeah, sure. Why not?”
Guard: “Can you tell him to get me a Ferrari for Christmas?”
Me: “I’ll see what I can do.”
Other Passenger: “Can you get me a dirty blonde?”
Me: “Hey, I wanted one of those!”
(It is October. I’m heading home for Thanksgiving and have a four hour wait between trains.)
Man: “Excuse me, do you have any change?”
Me: “No, sorry.”
Man: “See, I work on a farm and I need to get back. My bag was stolen and I’m $2 short for a bus ticket.”
Me: “Sorry, I don’t carry cash when I’m travelling.”
(Fast forward to December when I’m on my way home for winter break.)
Man: “Excuse me, do you have any change?”
Me: “No, sorry.”
Man: “See, I work on a farm and I need to get back. My bag was stolen and I’m $2 short for a bus ticket.”
Me: “”Sorry, I don’t carry cash when I’m travelling.
(And again in February when I’m going home for reading week:)
Man: “Excuse me, do you have any change?”
Me: “No, sorry.”
Man: “See, I work on a farm and I need to get back. My bag was stolen and I’m $2 short for a bus ticket.”
Me: “Buddy, you’ve told me the exact same story word for word twice in the past six months so I’m going to give you the same response I gave you last time word for word: Sorry, I don’t carry cash when I travel.”
(This happened every time I was in that train station for my four years of university regardless of time of year: always the same guy, always the same story word for word.)
(I’m taking public transit and listening to my MP3 and reading, when the guy in the aisle across from me randomly reaches over and smacks the edge of my seat with his hand. I look up and he’s gesturing like he’s trying to write something, so I pause my music.)
Me: “What?”
Guy: “I want your phone number.”
Me: *stunned* “What?”
Guy: “Well, you’re cute, and you seem nice, and—”
Me: *cutting him off* “I’m sorry, I don’t give out my phone number to men who don’t ask me my name first.”
(Both he and another guy tried asking me my name but I turned my music back on and ignored them until I reached my stop.)
(I’ve been dating my boyfriend for a few months. I am checking my phone while we ride the train into the city. My phone case is green and has a monster face on it.)
Boyfriend: “Didn’t you have a pink phone case?”
Me: “No… I’ve had this one since I met you. That must be your other girlfriend.”
Boyfriend: “Oh, right. I should call her… Can I use your phone?”
(I’m waiting at the bus stop, alone, when an older man smelling strongly of whiskey arrives and leers at me. I’m a white, redheaded female, and I am, in fact, English.)
Old Man: “Well, don’t you look like a nice piece of a**? Ooh, I’d love to get into you. Nice to see a good looking white girl in this country, not like any of them bloody foreigners coming around here. Bloody b******s taking all our jobs, eh?”
Me: *smiles vaguely* “Parlez-vous Francais, s’il vous plait, Monsieur?” *mock French accent* “No… English?”
(It was very difficult not to find myself laughing at his resulting racist rant, about how he could have been attracted to a foreigner, for the next 15 minutes until the bus arrived.)
