(I’m waiting for a bus with several other people. There is a lesbian couple who are getting quite affectionate while they wait. They have a young girl with them in a stroller. I notice the young girl break loose from the belt and climb out of the stroller, with the intent of petting a dog who belongs to another person waiting. As she climbs down, she manages to unlock the brake and the stroller starts rolling away from us and down the hill. There is a busy road at the bottom. I decide to tell the couple.)

Me: *tapping one of them on the shoulder* “Excuse me, your—“

Woman #1: *turn looking disgruntled* “Do you mind? We’re BUSY!” *turning back*

Me: “I just thought—“

Woman #1: *turning around again* “You just thought you’d try and stop us? Well, it’s not going to work. It’s a free country, and if I want to snog my girlfriend, I can. You just have to sit there and take it.” *flips me off*

Woman #2: “Yeah, f*** off, you homophobe!”

(They turn back to each other and start getting really into their session, to the point of mimicking orgasms. My friend, who has said nothing at this point, decides to intervene after we see the stroller get run over by a bus. Had the girl been in there, she probably would have been killed.)

Friend: “EXCUSE ME!”

Woman #1: “Another gay hater! Well, you can fu—“

Friend: “We just thought you’d like to know that your stroller, the one with your daughter in it, the one you should’ve been paying attention to, has just been driven over by a bus!”

(Both the women look to the spot where their stroller was and turn pale.)

Woman #1: “Oh, no!”

Me: “Your daughter’s fine; she climbed out before it rolled the hill.” *pointing to the girl and the dog*

Both Women: “WHY THE F*** DIDN’T YOU TELL US?!”

Me: “I tried—“

Woman #1: “No, you didn’t! I bet you wanted to see my poor girl die, just because I’m a lesbian! You make me f****** sick!”

Me: “What?!”

Woman #1: *getting out her phone and dialing 999* “F*** YOU!”

(My friend then grabs my head and smacks his lips against mine. I’m a guy, too, and neither of us is gay. He holds my hand after he stops. The women stare at us, dumbfounded, and we can hear the emergency operator trying to get their attention on the phone.)

Friend: “No, he didn’t. He was trying to be a nice guy. But you decided to s*** all over him with your vitriol.”

(Both women stare in horror at realising that we must be together before grabbing their daughter and fleeing down the hill after the stroller, which has now attracted quite a crowd. I turn to my friend. We’re still holding hands.)

Me: “I suppose that was one way to deal with the situation.”

(He let go of my hand and caressed my cheek before winking seductively. We then burst out laughing at how awkward it was.)

(I’m at a church for a school band concert. This occurs in the bathroom as I’m washing my hands.)

Pre-Teen Girl: “Grandma, there’s a boy in the girl’s bathroom.”

(I’m dressed quite masculine for the event, in an all-black button-down and bow tie, but my face and other key areas are prominently feminine. However, this happens quite often, so I’m not surprised.)

Grandma: *loudly* “THAT’S NOT A BOY! IT HAS TITS!”

(I almost hit my head, I laughed so hard. Finally, someone has figured it out.)

(I’m doing a grocery run with my ten-month-old daughter, and a middle-aged woman takes a peek at her sitting in the stroller. I also have a babyface.)

Middle-Aged Woman: “Oh, what a cutie! And look at those little shoes!”

Me: “Yep, Grandma has good taste!”

(I head to the ice cream aisle to find my husband and the woman catches up to me again.)

Middle-Aged Woman: “Excuse me, did you say the baby is your grandchild?”

Me: “Oh, no, she’s my daughter. Her grandmother that bought her shoes lives near Boston.”

Middle-Aged Woman: *visibly relieved* “Oh! I was thinking you would have to have gotten pregnant at twelve for her to be your grandchild!”

Me: “Well, I’m almost forty, so I’m technically old enough to have grandkids.”

(The woman gave me the biggest deer-in-headlights look and beat a hasty retreat.)

I’m at a center that celebrates Polynesian culture. Everything is awesome until I have to use the restroom. It’s a busy day and all eight stalls are full with a line out the door. It should be noted that I’m in a wheelchair and there is only one disabled stall.

Things are going pretty quickly and I’m almost at the front; only one person is ahead of me. The disabled stall opens up. The person in front takes it.

I sit there for five minutes, saying, while getting progressively louder, “You can go ahead of me. I can only use the disabled stall.” At least a dozen people skip me until finally — finally! — that lady emerges. She won’t look at me and just walks out of the bathroom without washing her hands.

It isn’t that I wanted to jump to the front of the line, but when you have seven other stalls and I only have one, can’t you please just take the next one?

(When I was around four or five, my parents, my grandparents, and I are on a small trip through Canada. When we decide to stop at a steakhouse restaurant for lunch, my grandmother quietly complains about everyone smoking inside, despite the fact that there are “NO SMOKING” signs everywhere. This was nearly 20 years ago, so I assume the smoking laws — even in Canada — were not as strict. She doesn’t kick up a fuss or bother anyone about it, but she does continue muttering about it while she looks at the menu. Being a rule follower myself — and having smokers for parents who are very strict about smoking areas — this bothers me, as well. I ask to be excused from the table. My family allows it, thinking that I am just going to go play at the arcade. Nope. I approach one of the tables where an older couple is smoking, and I point at the “NO SMOKING” sign hanging on the wall. Mind you, we are placed pretty much in the middle of the restaurant. A little American girl in a white, frilly dress approaching a table of strangers is very noticeable.)

Me: *in a loud voice* “Excuse me, but isn’t that a ‘No Smoking’ sign on the wall?”

(Conversations go silent. The man frowns while the woman awkwardly laughs and says:)

Woman: “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Me: “Then why are you smoking?”

(The couple looked at me, then at each other, and then doused their cigarettes on a plate they were using as an ashtray. The rest of the patrons followed suit, and I happily thanked the couple before going back to my table. My grandmother was super proud and my grandpa snickered. My parents, on the other hand, decided that we needed to eat quickly and leave because it was hunting season.)