I work for a food delivery app. One Friday afternoon, a request comes in for a delivery at a local college. I get there and see several signs advertising a gay pride event in one of the buildings on that day.

There is a group of people walking back and forth across the crosswalk that serves as the main entrance to the campus, basically making it impossible to get in. I see that they have large posters saying things like, “GAY SEX IS A SIN,” and, “ADAM AND EVE, NOT ADAM AND STEVE.” There are also a few posters about the immorality of abortions, which makes me laugh because… well… I would think gay couples are the least likely to need abortions.

I sit there waiting politely, but they just keep going back and forth. I honk a few times, but they only turn their disgusting signs toward my car and continue to circle. There is a line of people behind me now, all honking.

Finally, a police officer arrives and blocks their path on one side so I can get through. One of the protesters decides the best course of action is to throw her drink at my car as I pass. I pull over immediately and get out. 

Me: “What the h*** is wrong with you?”

Protester: “It is our right to protest peacefully. Jesus, our Lord and Savior, will—”

Me: “It’s not peaceful if you’re throwing s***!”

The woman breaks away from the group and comes toward me. The officer reaches for her, but he has his hands full with the other five still screaming about abortions and religion.

Protester: “Child of God, let me lay hands on you and pray so that you may gain the Lord’s wisdom!”

She is less than a foot away when she tries to grab my head. I dodge and pull my keys from my pocket.

Me: “If you lay a finger on me, I will pepper spray you.” 

Protester: “She just threatened to assault me!”

Officer: “I have had twelve complaints about you guys today. You cannot block the college. You cannot harass people who do not want to listen to you.”

Protester: “But—”

Officer: “If I get one more call, I’m arresting every single person here.”

Protester: “She—”

Officer: “The judge isn’t in until Tuesday. Choose wisely.”

The protester spat at my feet before walking away.

I got in my car and completed my order. The customer was understanding and tipped me an extra $10 for the trouble.

When I returned, the group was on both curbs, leaning out as far as they could. The woman who spat at me started to cross the street when I came up, I suppose thinking I would stop for her. 

I did not. She had to quickly backpedal to avoid becoming my new hood decoration.

I am a caretaker/handyman/groundskeeper at a local church in a town in Sweden. I am mending a snow-damaged light fixture when a very, very troubled young man, around twenty years old, approaches me. He speaks in a small, uneasy tone as if he is truly afraid of something.

Man: “Excuse me. Are you a priest? I urgently need to talk to one about the nature of the divine.”

Me: “No, but let me take you to the vicar. She knows most things about the divine.”

Man: “The vicar? Oh, no, I am far too unimportant. But… maybe you can answer my question? I am really scared.”

Me: “Um, probably not, but you can ask it and we’ll see if I can answer?”

Man: “Does the Almighty have black leather rubber Wellington boots, fashioned from the skin of Satan?”

Yes, he said, “…leather rubber Wellingtons.” (Lädergummistövlar.)

Me: “…”

Man: “Like it says in the Gospel of Exterminations?”

Me: “Where, you said?”

Man: “The Book of Annihilations, the sixth book that Moses wrote?”

Me: “You know, let’s go to the vicar.”

Man: “No, I can’t. She’s probably, like, busy!”

Me: “Let’s go! Come now!”

We go to the vicar and the man — who seems terrified of the wide-smiled woman in a knitted, rainbow-patterned sweater — begs me to stay, so I do. The man asks his question again, with a lot more details about the passage from the gospel that doesn’t exist.

Vicar: “Who told you this?”

Man: “Well, a… friend… heard in a dream that he had while being awake that if you didn’t do the right thing at any one time in your life, then the Almighty would stomp on you for all eternity in Hell. And the Wellingtons are from the skin of the… one down there… since it is really painful for humans to touch, and… and I am really worried! I don’t want the Almighty to stomp on me!”

Vicar: “I understand, and that sounds like a terrifying image in your mind. I have read the entire Good Book. The Lord does not need to make shoes out of anyone, and he doesn’t stomp on anyone. If you are worried, just try to live your best life.”

Man: *Relaxing visibly* “Thank you. How?”

Vicar: “Well, we have a volunteer group for helping the mobility impaired, and… well, we’ll go to the bulletin board in the hallway to have a look. And don’t be worried. God will not punish you for trying to be a good person; we are fallible and that is how He made us. And since your… your… friend… makes you troubled by these dreams, we should help him or her to get to a nice doctor who will make those dreams go away.”

And so, we got a very enthusiastic volunteer for most of our programs, like helping the elderly get groceries or reading stories for preschoolers. 

Oh, and “his friend” stopped having the awake-dreams not long after the man had a short stay at the psychiatric ward.

Like most retail employees, I start wishing customers happy holidays come December first. Near the Christmastime rush, I check a gentleman out.

Me: “And you’re all set! Happy… birthday. Oh. Well, I guess that’s for Jesus, isn’t it?”

The man gave me a wry smile and turned to leave without another word. And that was when I noticed his clerical collar.

When I was preparing for my Bat Mitzvah (the Jewish coming-of-age ceremony, for those unfamiliar), part of the preparations involved performing an act of charity — something larger than just a random act of kindness. In my case, I organized a school supply drive for a local girls’ group home. It went well, and the group home wanted to thank me, so they invited me for dinner.

Everyone was very nice, and as we sat down to dinner, the staff member in charge announced that they were going to say Grace. Everyone bowed their heads and went quiet, so I followed suit.

I would like to reiterate here that I was and am Jewish, and at thirteen, I had never in my life done the whole “saying Grace” thing before, though I was at least aware that the practice existed. I assumed that there would be some sort of signal that we should lift our heads again and start eating.

After a minute or two, I felt like this was going on for an awfully long time, so I peeked up, only to find that everyone at the table was staring at me. One of the girls piped up.

Girl: “So… are you done?”

It turned out there was not a signal.

Being a young teen, I was mortified.

Me: “Oh! I’ve never said Grace before. I thought someone would say something when it was time to eat!”

Then, the staff member had a lightbulb moment and clapped a hand to her forehead.

Staff Member: “Oh, duh! That’s the whole reason you’re here!“

The dinner from that point was very nice, and everyone happily forgave my faux pas as they realized that they should have explained first… but I still can’t make homemade tacos without thinking about the time I learned how saying Grace worked!

I am a waiter in a restaurant where every table gets a free loaf of bread to share. One busy night, we are running out of fresh bread and only have a couple of loaves left. I exclaim:

Me: “Quick, someone call Jesus!”

One of the waitresses storms off in a huff.

Waitress: “How dare you use my Savior for a joke?!”

She complains to the manager and says she can’t finish her shift because of a hostile work environment. Later, when the shift has calmed down, I am called into the office and told to “not make religious jokes” anymore. I agree and think that will be it.

A few days later, I’m discussing my weekend with another coworker. [Waitress] walks past as I say:

Me: “Yeah, it was a crazy bar mitzvah. I’m not Jewish or anything, but man, those guys know how to throw a party!

[Waitress] suddenly turns toward us.

Waitress: “You just can’t go a day without being so offensive, can you?!”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Waitress: “First you curse out my Lord, and now you’re shouting about how you party with his oppressors! And I bet you timed that comment for when I walked past just to rub it in!”

Me: “I think you’re overthinking this—”

Nope. She’s out again. She can’t finish the shift due to “a hostile work environment and religious persecution”. Once again, I’m in front of the manager in his office.

Manager: “So, apparently, you were being all ‘Jewwy’ in her face.”

Me: “Wow, she said that?”

Manager: “Yes.”

Me: “How can she be so sensitive and easily offended and think it’s okay to say something like that?”

Manager: “Yeah, I’m not sure what we’re going to do about her, but maybe just don’t say anything around her that’s not work-related until we can figure it out, okay?”

Me: “Sorry, but no. I work with friends here, and I understand not cracking Jesus jokes, but I am allowed to discuss my weekends in a polite and inoffensive manner.”

Manager: “Look, just be tolerant until—”

Me: “Tolerant? Actually, no. I’ll be just like her. She referred to my Jewish friends in an offensive manner. That is creating a toxic and discriminatory workplace environment, and I simply need to go home right this instant to calm down.”

Manager: “I see what you’re doing, but—”

Me: “But nothing. Either she stops being so offended by every little thing, or I don’t come back in. Not worth it.”

I kept the job. [Waitress] stuck around another week but eventually quit when it all became “too much” for her.