(There is a man standing at the edge of a parking lot that has three or four fast food places. His clothes are tattered, he looks a little worse for the wear, and he has a cardboard sign that says “hungry” or “need food” or something along those lines. I’m going through the drive-thru to get an iced coffee, so I buy a $5 gift card. I pull up next to the man and give him the gift card in a little envelope with the receipt.)

Man: “Thank you so much.”

Me: “You’re welcome. It’s just a $5 gift card to the coffee place.”

Man: “Oh… I need like $40 to pay my rent.”

Me: “…”

Man: “…”

(He caught me so off guard, I just closed my window and drove away.)

(I have stopped at a department store to buy just a couple of small items, so I don’t grab a basket or cart, but then I also pick up a couple of more things I see that I can use, so my hands are full. I am walking to the register holding my items. I am about to pass a woman pushing a fully-loaded shopping cart in the opposite direction while she is talking with another woman, when she suddenly swerves and turns the cart sideways in the aisle directly in front of me, so close that I have to step back to keep from getting run into. She is directly between two large displays.)

Me: “Excuse me?”

Woman: “Oh, sorry. Excuse me!”

(She then walks away with her friend to look at a display that they have already passed, leaving the cart sideways in front of me blocking the aisle! As my hands are full, I can’t easily move the cart out of the way.)

Me: “Excuse me. Could you please move the cart?”

(The woman glances my way but continues talking with her friend, ignoring me. Using my foot and body to move the heavy cart a bit, I manage to squeeze by to continue to the front of the store. I’ve just taken a few steps.)

Woman: *yelling* “Hey! Why did you move my cart? You didn’t take anything, did you? Hey, I’m talking to you!”

(I glanced at her but kept walking, half expecting her to come after me, but she just stood there, cart still blocking the aisle, and resumed her conversation with her companion, now loudly complaining about rude people.)

Our city has what’s called a “river valley,” which is basically a network of paths either in close proximity to or right along the major river that runs throughout the entire city. It’s a great place to go for a walk, birdwatch, go for a photoshoot, or exercise, because no matter where you live, you don’t have to go far to get away in nature. Some spots are pretty secluded, so you don’t even hear any city or traffic noise.

A few years ago, I was out for a run on one of the many paths and I approached a group of people. A couple of them were carrying a very large black bag with something obviously somewhat heavy inside of it… and it looked like a body bag! As I passed them and glanced behind me, the people carrying the bag were wearing balaclava masks! I thought for sure it was for some film production or something, and I kept glancing at the group to see if I could see cameras or anything. I didn’t, and I carried on with my run, somewhat panicked.

After I turned around and headed back — there was only one way back to where I needed to go — I saw the group again just further up from where I’d first seen them. This time, I could easily see a camera set up on a tripod, and it was clear that the group was working on filming something. I kind of laughed and waved as I passed them, but they all just laughed and laughed at me!

I get how it may have been somewhat amusing to them, but for a 25-year-old female in the middle of a run unable to see the context of the situation at first, it was definitely a bit unnerving.

I take the bus to work, since I don’t have a driver’s license yet and my bike has a flat tire. I’m 23 and female. This morning, a young girl, maybe 13 or 14 years old, sits across from where I am, wearing a Deadpool jacket, jeans with ink-marks, and Harry Potter-like glasses. She minds her business as I mind mine, until four girls around the girl’s age enter the bus.

They start giggling and laughing when they notice the other girl. I hear comments such as, “I bet her clothes get washed once a year,” and, “With hair that short she probably wants to be a boy,”  followed by, “No guy would ever want her, anyway.”

Unaware that I’m listening, they don’t stop until I get up — because I have to get off the bus at the next stop — get closer to them and say, “You know, your makeup might try to make you pretty, but you girls sure have an ugly character.”

The looks on their faces were priceless, but the smile the other girl gave me was worth it.

(My wife and I, while vacationing in Italy, are at the Trevi Fountain among the crowd of tourists. At every tourist site, there are panhandlers and after giving to several beggars I have gotten tired of handing out money. An elderly woman approaches me with her hand out, speaking in Italian, of which I only know a few words. When she sees I am not getting money out she starts her “sales pitch” while giving me a pitiful look.)

Woman: “Bambino ca-a-a-sa.” *drawing out “casa” to sound extra pitiful*

(Shocked that such an elderly woman would have a baby at home, my eyes grow wide.)

Me: *half laughing* “BABINO?”

Woman: *still looking pitiful and holding out her hand with her fingers spread to indicate “five”* “Cinque bambini!”

(I’m even more shocked that such an elderly woman would have FIVE babies at home.)

Me: *laughing* “FIVE BABINI?!”

(She looks mad and leaves. About fifteen minutes later, I am going into a nearby gelato shop and the woman is exiting while eating a double-dip gelato cone. I look at her and hold out my hand with my fingers spread.)

Me: “FIVE BABINI?!”

(She gave me a look like she was going to slap me but turned and walked away.)