I spent ten years conducting English-speaking tours of the Colosseum in Rome, Italy. This was the one question I got from a tourist that stumped me in all that time:

Tourist: “Is this where Jesus fought the lions?”

Me: “I… uh… no.”

Tourist: *Disappointed.* “Oh.”

The tourist’s spouse then chastised her:

Tourist’s Spouse: “Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone knows that happened in Jerusalem.”

Tourist: “Oh yeah!”

Some of the other tourists are chuckling at the interaction. One of the teenage boys says:

Teenage Boy Tourist: “That sounds like a bad-a** movie!”

I couldn’t help but agree!

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.