My husband works at a greenhouse with multiple ranges. Every so often, workers from one range will finish early and go help a different range with a big harvest. Today, someone he’s never met has joined his range, and my husband is curious. My husband is white, and the coworker is wearing a small turban.

Husband: “So, where are you from?”

The coworker looks directly into my husband’s eyes.

Coworker: “…[Canadian Town]!”

Husband: *Pauses* “I meant, what range are you from? I haven’t met you before.”

Coworker: “Oh! Range 3.”

My husband hadn’t even considered that the guy likely got a lot of casual racism over his religion!

I work at a British tourist destination that happens to be a very old cathedral. Even though it mostly serves tourists, it’s still very much a working church, so a conservative dress code is enforced inside. This includes covering shoulders, and we provide little scarves and shawls for guests that need them.

A family is in line and sees the signs that describe the dress code.

Female Guest #1: “This is ridiculous! I shouldn’t be expected to adhere to such outdated views on modesty!”

Female Guest #2: “Exactly! If these people want our money, we should be able to wear what we want!”

Me: *Overhearing* “Excuse me, ladies, but since this is still a place of worship, the dress code is a requirement. We’d ask you to respect it and leave your complaints quietly and respectfully.”

Female Guest #1: “I’m being respectful! I’m a g**d*** Christian woman, d*** it!”

Female Guest #2: “Don’t tell us how to be respectful in a g**d***ed church!”

Me: “Ah, I see where the confusion is. You think this is a ‘g**d***ed church’. This is, in fact, a g**-und***ed church. Should you wish to find some g**d***ed places, I’m sure there are some satanical churches you can go to and wear whatever you like. But for here and now, you either wear the scarf or you leave politely.”

The two ladies scoffed and turned heel. Their husbands or partners decided to still pay and walk around the church. They took their time while the woman waited outside… in the g**d***ed rain.

We have a small LGBT section in our bookstore. A show about a gay teen romance (“Heartstopper”) is exploding in popularity on Netflix at the moment, so we’re cashing in by stocking the series of graphic novels the show is based on. They’re selling quite well, but as to be expected, there is always that one customer…

Customer: “Do you know what these books are about?! The ladies at my church told me you were selling these, but I simply had to see it for myself!”

Me: *Not giving a f**** “The ladies at your church have good taste! It’s a great book series!”

Customer: “No! It’s about [gay slurs], and what is worse, it’s made to look like a comic so it can turn children gay! You need to remove them, now!”

I call the manager over, who tries to speak to the woman in a calming and polite manner. The customer is still loud enough for me to hear, however.

Customer: “No! You will be removing these books, and if you have any concern for America, you will burn them!”

My manager speaks.

Customer: “Unacceptable! I will be letting everyone at the church know how much disrespect you show for the Lord and for America!”

The customer storms out, and the manager lets me know she needs a moment. I finish my morning and I go to lunch. I come back and find the manager in a flurry of activity, stocking books in our prime advertising spot near the entrance.

Me: “What are you doing?”

Manager: “That customer told me to take the Heartstopper books down, so I did. She never said anything about putting them back up somewhere else.”

I notice that our “newer” LGBT book section has now doubled in size, with a much wider selection of books in it than before. 

Manager: “So, I’m stocking every single LGBT book I can find! This place will be a f****** Pride parade in book form by the time I’m done!”

Every copy of “Heartstopper” we have is now on the shelf, along with the graphic novels dedicated to canonically LGBT superheroes. Books about Harvey Milk and a gay history of the USA share space with studies of gay art in ancient cultures.

By the next week, [Manager] has ordered in even more titles, and even though we can’t keep the new-and-improved LGBT section by the entrance for much longer, it still finds a new area in a prime spot and manages to keep it at its improved size.

A few weeks later, the manager tells me in passing:

Manager: “If they complain again, I will tell them that every complaint gets an extra shelf space added to the LGBT section.”

I have since left the store, but the section is still there and healthy every time I go in to browse the books.

Also, that customer made me look into — and buy — every volume of “Heartstopper”! Thanks for the recommendation, lady!

Customer: “Is chicken meat?”

Me: “Yeeees? What did you think it was?”

Customer: “Well, my mom lets me eat it during Lent, so I didn’t think it was meat.”

I work at a record store. (Yes, they still exist.) A customer comes in, and I can only describe her as a stereotypical Sunday church Black woman. 

Customer: “I’m looking for that song — it goes like, ‘Jeeeeeeesus, Jeeeeeesus!'”

She sings with no specific melody or any other lyrics. 

Me: “That could be a lot of different gospel songs, ma’am.”

Customer: “Yeah, but it goes like, ‘Jeeeeeeesus, Jeeeeeesus!'”

Me: “I’m afraid I can’t find the song based on that… snippet, ma’am.”

Customer: “Big store like this?! Lord knows you should have it!”

Me: “Maybe you could try asking Him?”

I thought I would get into trouble, but she actually nodded and started walking around the gospel section saying, “Jeeeeeesus, Jeeeeeesus,” like a game of hide-and-seek.