I’m an animal person, especially with dogs, cats, and farm birds. I own more than a dozen chickens: four Brahmas, five Australorps, three Golden Wyandotte’s, and a Barred Rock.

I am just hanging out with the chickens, sitting on some ‘clean’ grass as they climbed all over me and dug up loose dirt for dust baths. I look up, and see a strange woman outside the chicken run, someone I had never seen before.

Woman: “I love your chickens!”

Me: “Well, thank you.”

I have a soft spot for my girls, so when they get compliments, my pride gets swollen.

Woman: “I wish I had some of my own.”

She enters the run and leans down to pet the social one.

Woman: “Are you open to selling any?”

I’m a little insulted, as they are like my children, but I brush it off.

Me: “No, sorry.”

Woman: *Ticked off* “Why not?”

Me: “I’ve raised them since they were chicks, and they are like family to me.”

Woman: “They’re just chickens! They can’t reciprocate feelings!”

She picks up my social chicken by her neck and tail, which makes her panic and sends another chicken into a frenzy, who proceeds to attack the woman. The social chicken is dropped and runs to me, hopping into my arms to calm down.

Me: “What was that you said about feelings?”

Visibly pissed, she grabs one of the Brahmas and tries to leave.

Me: “Oh, no you don’t!”

With the help of my attacking chicken, I grab the Brahma from her and comfort her.

Woman: “How dare you! I demand that you give me that bird!”

Me: “No. The only thing I should give you is a good punch in the face.”

My anger is leaking into chicken, who purrs angrily and puffs up her feathers.

Woman: *Takes out her phone.* “I’m calling the police!”

Me: “Fine. We’ll see who gets arrested.”

After a few minutes of this woman screaming and my parents asking about the situation, the police arrive. It’s just one officer, but I recognize him from a protest at school last year.

Officer: “What seems to be the problem?”

Woman: “He had his chickens attack me! Look!”

She holds her arm out to show him the marks my chicken made.

Officer: “Uh-huh. Is that true, sir?”

I speak calmly, still comforting my poor Brahma.

Me: “No. She tried to steal my chicken.”

Woman: “That is not true!”

Officer: “Ma’am, I’ll be with you in a moment. I need to talk to him alone.”

She wants to argue, but is scared off by my still-angry, who squawks at her. I give my statement to him, and he asks if I want to press charges since I’m an adult.

Me: “Only if she refuses to never come back.”

He leaves to talk with her, and I soon hear shouting. Something about freedom and rights. However, the silence returns, and I soon hear her car speeding off. The officer returns.

Officer: “She won’t be coming back, but we’ll be keeping an eye on her.”

After a little more talking, he leaves, and I’m able to calm the chickens down. Talk about a crazy afternoon!

It’s Halloween. Our lights are off and we are clearly not giving out candy because my husband and I simply can’t afford to this year. We are in the living room watching TV when we hear the front door creak open. Thinking it’s my sister, I go to greet her, only to realize it’s a couple of kids and some people I don’t know. I scream, and they run back outside.

My husband goes out to talk to them, and it turns out that they thought that simply walking into our house for candy was okay. My husband told them that if they ever did that again, he’d call the security company. They haven’t been back since, but a lot of our neighbors talked to them and finally made them realize that just walking into a house that isn’t yours isn’t okay, even for candy.

I’m an Indigenous person. My mother is white and my father is Indigenous, but I was raised fully understanding my First Nations history and on reserve, too. Because of this mixed heritage, people frequently have a hard time “determining” what I am. I have heard it all; Indian, Lebanese, Iranian, Polish, Japanese, Russian, Brazilian, Spanish, Greek, Mexican… almost anything but what I actually am. This type of interaction happens often. Let it also be noted that I think that I have “resting pleasant face” from far too many years in retail.

Stranger: “What are you?”

Me: “Canadian.”

Stranger: “No, I mean your parents.”

Me: “Yeah, Canadian.”

Stranger: “No, I mean, what is your heritage?”

Me: “Canadian.”

Stranger: “No, I mean…”

Me: “Let me cut you off, ‘cause it goes all the way down.”

I’ve also, unfortunately, been subjected to people that are clearly trying to find a way to insult me and claim that I’m somehow undeserving of the job or opportunity I’ve got. They’ll fish in this same way but get increasingly angry at my inability to play into their game.

Honestly, maybe it’s because I am on the autism spectrum, but as disturbing as I find it, it is equally funny to watch them struggle to claim that I’m taking jobs away from “Real Canadians.”

My “favourite” person finally yelled at me, “Go back to where you came from!” I smiled and said, “You go back to where you came from, white boy. I’ve got a card that proves I was here before you.” People, don’t assume people of colour are not from wherever you are, both by recent history or heritage. All you do is show your own ignorance!

I am standing in line at checkout, minding my own business. Because of social distancing and the length of the line, I am inside one of the aisles. Behind me is a man in his fifties or sixties who only has two items. He comes to stand RIGHT BESIDE ME to look over at the Twenty Items or Less lane. I allow this for about ten seconds before I feel the need to speak up.

Me: “Excuse me, sir?”

Man: “Yeah, I’m just checking the other lane.”

Me: “I figured. Can you please step back?”

Man: *Dismissively* “Oh, I’m fine.”

Me: *Stern* “Please keep six feet away.”

The man glares at me as though I just cursed at him and goes to stand a few feet behind me.

Man: “It’s not a big deal!”

I’m feeling fed up at people not taking this seriously.

Me: “I have asthma. My clients are mostly in their eighties or nineties. It is a big deal.”

Man: “Yeah, well, whatever, go talk to someone else.” *Mutters*

I’m thinking that he’s the one he needs to be spoken to about this, as I turn to face forward.

Me: “Just asked you to respect my space.”

Man: “How about you respect my space?!”

Me: *Incredulously* “YOU WERE THE ONE IN MY SPACE.”

The next few minutes are quiet. Because this store is popular but can only operate every other lane, the lines can be a bit long. I can barely hear customer service yelling for people with fewer than ten items to approach. I figure I’ll be the Mature Adult in this situation.

Me: *Turns around* “Hey, sir? They’re accepting ten items and less up at customer service.”

The man pointedly stares away.

Me: “Sir? You can go to customer service and you don’t have to wait long.” *Pause* “Sir, I’m trying to offer a peace branch; are you seriously ignoring me?” *Pause* “You’re ignoring me.”

I turned back around and just shook my head. I tried to be a Mature Adult, but it’s near impossible when you’re dealing with a Man Child!

I need to pick up some condoms and it’s my first time doing this. I’m looking at them because let’s face it; I never bought them before, I am nervous about that evening, this store is frequented by my classmates and teachers and the woman I am meeting is gonna meet me at the store. So I’m sorta kinda on edge.

I feel a finger tap my shoulder. It’s this typical soccer-mom type and her kid is standing there.

Soccer Mom: “Put that back… go somewhere else.”

Me: *Nervously.* “W-why?”

Soccer Mom: *Loud whisper.* “This is a family store! There are children here!”

Me: “I kinda need these.”

Soccer Mom: “Put those back! You’re like what – sixteen!? God you teenagers! Now put that back or I’m gonna grab a manager and tell him a minor is buying condoms!”

I am of consenting age, but I don’t want to cause a scene so I put them back. She then menaced me as I got other things, but I wanted to stay low key because I was worried and time was running out.

So I did the insane, comical, rational thing.

I bought whipped cream and cherries. Her face goes red when I get the cherries because I stare her down. Yeah, gonna harass me and shame me… well f*** you!

I didn’t get lucky that night but I made a bomb-a** cherry coke cake.