(I do sewing commissions part-time, but I often answer questions on how I did something if someone wants to try making it themselves. Usually, all I need to do is point them in the right direction — where I bought a certain fabric, what pattern I modified, top-stitch v. ironing, etc.– but then there are clueless people like this one I encountered online.)

Stranger: “Hey, I love your costume. Can you tell me how you made it?”

(I look at the link she gives me and it’s one of my “closet costumes,” something one puts together with stuff from their closet. I did it as a last-minute thing for a party. The picture’s caption says so.)

Me: “Oh, I didn’t make anything. That’s just parts of my old work uniform, some shades, and a prop sword. You can get most of it from [Major Retailer] if you don’t have it already.”

Stranger: “What brand are the pants?”

Me: “They were pants from a work uniform. Unless you work for [Company], you won’t get those exact pants. But any men’s black slacks will give you the same look.”

Stranger: “What about the shirt? What brand?”

Me: “Same company as the pants. Just pick up a men’s dress shirt and you’re good.”

Stranger: “What brand is the tie?”

Me: *thinking I’m being trolled.* “Just get a black clip-on from anywhere.”

Stranger: “Well, you have to know the brand the blazer is!”

Me: “Nope. That thing is over ten years old. Don’t even remember where I got it.”

Stranger: “THE SHADES! WHAT BRAND ARE THE SHADES?! YOU HAVE TO KNOW THEIR BRAND!”

Me: “I got those at a gas station forever ago and don’t have them anymore. If you take five minutes to do a Google search, I’m sure you’ll find something similar.”

Stranger: “But you can at least tell me the brand!”

(Sigh. Block.)

It is Election Day many years ago. I stop by my polling place after work to place my vote. The lines are long, it is late, I haven’t had dinner yet, and everyone looks tired and miserable. One person pokes his head out of the curtain at the voting booth, asking the volunteers for help. He then goes back behind the curtain. There is more than one booth for my district, but it’s going slow and I notice this guy has been in his booth for what seems like forever.

After a long while, he steps out. He is beaming, and he looks around at the unsmiling, waiting faces.  

“I have an announcement to make! Today, for the first time, I voted as an American citizen! Congratulate me!”

Smiles appear on everyone’s faces and congratulations pour in from all around. And, yes, everyone really does clap! I walk home much happier.

(I’ve always had a weight problem. I have a history of diabetes type 1 and 2 in the family and I often flirt between normal and pre-diabetic. As a result, I try to keep my weight down, but it isn’t easy, particularly belly weight which is the worst for diabetics. I take up running, and at first, I lose a lot of weight. Then, I rebound and my weight is higher than ever. I’m still running and mixing in different exercises to try to regain control. I often run through a local park. The neighborhood is rather diverse, but there is a large population of people of a particular nationality that wear traditional garb. The men congregate at the benches, and one day they flag me down.)

Man #1: “We noticed that you are out here a lot.”

Me: “Yeah, I’m trying to lose some weight.”

Man #1: “You are overweight.”

Me: *laughs nervously*

(I jog away, chalking it up to cultural differences. But yeah, that’s why I’m out here! I’m out there again on a different day, and I run into a different guy at the same park. He is on a bike and he stops me.)

Man #2: “You are always out here!”

Me: “Yeah.”

Man #2: “How far?”

Me: “Oh, three or four miles today.”

Man #2: *nods like that’s good* “How old are you?”

(Odd question, but okay.)

Me: “Thirty-three.”

Man #2: “You have babies?”

Me: “Nope, just a cat.”

Man #2: “No husband?”

Me: *starting to wonder* “No?”

Man #2: *nods again and pedals away*

(I think this is weird, and now I’m wondering if I’m being set up. This last encounter happens at the same park but on a different day with a different guy.)

Man #3: “You losing weight?”

Me: “A little bit, but not as much as I’d like to.”

Man #3: “You need to lose more.”

(Maybe I should stop running through the park.)

I was enjoying a beer with my husband at a local pub near a well-respected university when we overheard two local, college-age girls discussing languages. One girl was from Israel and her American friend was asking which dialect of Hebrew she spoke. The Israeli said, “Just Hebrew.” Her friend kept repeating her question and went on to explain how folks in different countries, like Mexico, have different dialects. My favorite example she gave was the “Guacamolans” and how they speak differently from other Mexicans. It took everything we had not to laugh out loud.

About one weekend a month, I do archery competitions where I walk with a group of four through the forest, shooting foam animals along a path. It’s idyllic, and it’s great to keep up with my archery friends.

One such weekend, the first target to shoot was a deer. We were standing 15 meters from it, one of us aiming, when a woman came screaming from her car which was haphazardly stopped at the side of the road.

Astonished, my friend quickly un-nocked his arrow as she lept between us and the target. We were shocked at her ranting until we deciphered that she was under the impression that our target was a real deer and it was tied in place. We tried to explain and to tell her to turn and look, but she was having none of it.

With other archers coming out of the woods to see what was going on, I slipped past her — a feat in itself because she was still desperate to protect this “poor animal” — and pulled the removable head off the deer.

Rendered speechless for a really long time, she then snapped out of it, yelling at us for shooting at tied-up animals as she stormed back to her car.

The people putting on the shoot traded out the deer — the only target visible from the road — for a two-meter-tall cobra that had been further down the path. No one bothered us about shooting at that thing.