(I am a white teenage girl, just admitted to a ward and I am asleep. The nurse saw me come in with a t-shirt and jeans even though now I’m in a normal hospital gown.)

Dad: “Can my daughter get special meals?”

Nurse: “What kind? Is it an allergy?”

Dad: “She’s Muslim and needs halal food.”

Nurse: *odd look* “Muslim?”

Dad: “Yes.”

Nurse: “That’s ridiculous. She didn’t wear a hijab.”

Dad: “She rarely does, but she is Muslim.”

Nurse: “Then she isn’t really Muslim. She just plays dress up and has a fad diet like all teenagers.” *starts leaving*

Dad: “Oi! She is Muslim and needs halal food. She’s strict about that.”

Nurse: “Yeah, right.”

(My dad gave up and found another nurse who understood and made sure I got halal meals. It could have been much worse.)

I went to a Catholic school, and in sixth and seventh grade I had a religion teacher who was nice enough, but a bit strict when it came to religious beliefs. One day, she told us a story about a young student whose dog had died the previous night. He told her about it while crying, and ended it by saying, “At least I’ll see him in Heaven.”

Her response? “Dogs don’t go to Heaven. Heaven is only for those with souls, and animals don’t have souls.” Cue a renewed bout of crying.

She told us this story to highlight the idea that his parents should have told him the truth, rather than let him falsely believe something that wasn’t true. Even then, I found it a bit cruel to tell a grieving eight-year-old that they’ll never see their beloved pet again, and I found it difficult to believe that animals have no souls. Today, I attribute a lot of my experiences at that school to my current semi-agnostic stance on religion.

(I’m out picking a few things up at the local supermarket when I begin to hear a woman ranting loudly at an employee. After about a minute of yelling, I go to investigate.)

Customer: “You’re going straight to Hell for wearing that kind of thing! Satanist! SATANIST!”

(The employee looks to be about 16, and is stocking some shelves. Her protests go unheard, but she is soldiering on, even though I can tell she is about to cry.)

Customer: “It’s witch-scum like you who are calling the devil into our city. You make me sick, wearing a pentagram! Devil w****! DEVIL W****!”

Employee: “Ma’am, for the last—”

(She is cut off by another burst of ranting. I start to walk over. The employee turns to me and I see that her necklace is not, in fact, a pentagram at all.)

Me: “Ma’am, that is enough. Leave this poor girl alone. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

Customer: *sneering* “And what are you? Her witch-lord? Going to cast a spell on a good Christian woman like me? DEMONSPAWN!”

Me: “Ma’am, I am not a ‘witch-lord.’ I’m someone who can tell the difference between a pentagram and a STAR OF DAVID, which you, apparently, cannot!”

(The customer went white as a sheet and reexamined the necklace. She left, running. The employee was still near tears, but kept it together.)

(I am a teenage girl working at a popular restaurant in downtown. Nearby, there is a Baptist church. People regularly come to the restaurant straight after church, which is the one of the reasons why it is so popular in the first place. A woman enters and immediately comes to the front of the line.)

Customer: “I am starving! I just came from church and the service took super long. Let me go in front of these other people. They are not as f****** hungry as I am!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we cannot let you go first; these people have been waiting for a very long time. The wait will be approximately 35 minutes. Would you like to reserve a spot in line?”

Customer: “WHAT?! This is unacceptable. Jesus said to us, ‘The first will be last and the last shall be first.’ You should let me in front!”

Me: “I am sorry, but—”

Customer: “NO BUTS! Let me in front, you little b****! I bet you are an atheist! You’re going to Hell!”

Me: *clearly shaken but full of rage* “Ma’am, I understand the irritation, but there is no reason for you to ever treat me like you just did. Jesus also said to treat others as we would like to be treated. How would you like it if someone barged in and cut in line after you had patiently waited? I certainly wouldn’t.”

Customer: *silence*

Me: “If you think that is following what Jesus wants, you are clearly mistaken.”

Customer: “Fine! I’ll go to [Competitor]! Little b****!”

Me: “Please do so, and good luck being a Christian! And by the way, I don’t think I’m going to Hell anytime soon. I’m Catholic.”

Customer: *storms out*

(Everyone in the restaurant cheered for me and one gentleman bought me some cannoli!)

(I’m a male server and nearly all of my direct coworkers are women. I’m also a Christian and this is no secret to anyone I work with. While at work in the server station at my restaurant, one of my coworkers is discussing plans for a get-together with a few of the other servers. Foolishly, I ask what they’ll be doing.)

Coworker: *with defiance* “I’m hosting a sex toy party.”

(This produces the immediate image in my mind of middle-aged women sitting around in a circle, sharing and discussing various dildos. It’s such an unsettling picture that I guess I noticeably wince.)

Coworker: *reacting* “You know what, Church Boy? There’s nothing wrong with sex! It’s what people do! Maybe if you’d bother taking that Jesus stick out of your a** you’d learn some things about life!”

(A defensive argument could have ensued but I kept responses to myself and went back to work.)