I have the female ♀ symbol tattooed on two of my fingers. A customer notices as I am checking them out.

Customer: “Isn’t that the symbol for women?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am.”

Customer: “You have it twice.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am.”

Customer: “Does that mean you’re a lesbian?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am.”

Customer: “Oh. Well, you’re fine with me. I choose to hate the sin, not the sinner.”

She beams proudly, as if she’s said something selfless and charitable.

Me: “Oh, I’m the same way, ma’am. I hate the belief, love the believer.”

Her expression soured completely after that…

There’s a gas station/convenience store at the corner of my street, so I’m a regular. I’ve been going in for the past five years, almost every day, for milk on my way home or a coffee on my way to work. The guy who runs it is lovely, and he and I always have a brief exchange of pleasantries – at the right time of year, me wishing him Eid Mubarak, him wishing me a happy Christmas, that type of thing – as he checks me out.

It’s just after Christmas, and I go to get gas and milk on my way home. As I pay…

Me: “Thank you! And Eid Mubarak… er, no, sorry, I mean, happy new year!”

Gas Station Guy: “Actually, neither are right… I am Hindu.”

Me: “Oh no.”

Gas Station Guy: “It is fine! Happy Christmas to you!”

Me: “Actually, I’m Jewish.”

Gas Station Guy: “Oh no…”

Me: “Can we pretend this never happened?”

Gas Station Guy: “We will both pretend the last five years did not happen. See you tomorrow!”

A week earlier, this customer had dug in his pockets for change and started laying out on the counter everything he was carrying. One of the items was a pistol, so I know he carries. 

I’m wearing a pentacle necklace while checking this customer out. He peers at my neck and decides to share his opinion.

Customer: “You worship the devil?”

Me: “Uh, no, sir. There’s no devil in the craft.”

Customer: “Good, because if you did, I’d have to shoot you dead.”

He then leaves like he didn’t threaten my life. I don’t think too much of it at first, until he’s been gone for ten minutes, and then I remember he actually has a gun. My boss tells me to call the police immediately. 

Long story short, he’s the same guy who threatened a Walmart cashier earlier that week, but they didn’t have his name until he checked out with me using his membership card.

He gets a visit from the cops and is banned from my chain of stores nationwide.

All over a necklace.

I work in a Moroccan restaurant. It is a Sunday afternoon, and we get what we call a ‘Jesus table.’ Clean-cut. Beautiful wife and kids. A little too well-dressed. Nothing wrong with that, as long as I get a tip and not a religious tract.

I’m busting my a** this particular Sunday, I’m the lone server at this place known for its five-course Moroccan meal of tagines and fig desserts with the occasional belly dancer. The kids love the belly dancers, and the dads usually do too. It’s like a PG strip club of five-year-olds stuffing bills into the dress of undulating ladies. 

The belly dancer is doing her routine, and I’m rotating six different tables through different parts of the five-course meal while dressed as an extra in Raiders of the Lost Ark when the Jesus table finishes dessert and tips 20% on the card. I see the father of this holy family of five pull out a crisp $20 bill and brandish it aloft while staring at me, not those BS ones with the prayers on them; it’s genuine.

I approach between running a dish and clearing a course to see what’s up. He says:

Customer: “Now, young man, we have already paid and tipped for your wonderful service, but we would like to offer you this bill for a moment of your time.”

I can hear my boss calling for me, but an extra twenty bucks ain’t bad at this spot.

Customer: “We’d like to say a prayer with you.”

I went to catholic school, but am not a big practitioner, but d*** if I didn’t grab their hands and lead them through an Our Father faster than a battlefield chaplain. I snatched the twenty and thanked them, and for once, thanked my parents for sending me off to be taught by nuns.

It’s Christmas Eve, and one of my flakey, lazy coworkers comes over to me.

Coworker: “Yo, can you work my shift tomorrow?”

Me: “Christmas Day? Hard pass.”

Coworker: “But it’s not like you even celebrate Christmas!”

Me: “Huh? What makes you think I don’t celebrate Christmas?”

Coworker: “Aren’t you Muslim?”

Me: “Uh…no? But even if I was, Christmas isn’t all that religious these days anyway.”

Coworker: “Oh… but you look Muslim!”

Me: “Pray tell, [Coworker], what does a Muslim look like?”

Coworker: “Like… brown?”

Me: “That’s a tan, you idiot, and I’m Filipino!”

Coworker: “Oh… Do Filipinos celebrate Christmas?”

Me: “Dude… It’s like one of the most Catholic countries in the world.”

Coworker: “Oh… so about tomorrow’s shift?”

Me: “Are you Christian?”

Coworker: “…uh, sure.”

Me: “Awesome! I’ll see you at the midnight mass at [local church] tonight, then?”

Coworker: “…whatever.”

[Coworker] moves on to trying to get someone else to take his Christmas Day shift.

I’m Filipino, but a suuuuper lapsed Catholic, so I gladly stay home with family that night and sleep in the next morning. My boss calls me asking if I would come in to cover [Coworker], who, shockingly, did not show up for their shift. I gracefully declined, and when I went back to work on the 26^th, I was told that [Coworker] had been fired for too many no-shows.