(This is something I hear while waiting at some traffic lights. There is a preacher standing close to the crossing, and he clocks an elderly woman crossing the road.)

Preacher: “Hello, and how you are today? Would you like to know how you can have immortal life with Jesus? It starts—”

Woman: “Oh, no. I’m hoping I get into Hell, actually.”

Preacher: *gasps* “But why?”

Woman: “Because my brother’s down there for being gay. He died of AIDS in the eighties. I miss him.”

(She continued walking while the preacher stood, dumbstruck.)

(By some miracle, I find myself in a polite, intelligent, and coherent conversation regarding gun control. The topic drifts into people overreacting to seeing the words “gun control” at all, and then on to terrible gun jokes, such as how “AK” and “AR” mean the guns are from Alaska and Arkansas. A new person enters the chat room.)

Me: “That’s why gun control is so important; it keeps geography intact!”

New Person: “Not this f****** conversation again!”

(He promptly exited the chat room as we went back to laughing about people overreacting to seeing the words “gun control” at all.)

For some reason, scammers and beggars see me as a soft touch.

I was standing inside my favorite gas station, chatting with the workers, when I saw a young couple outside having an intense conversation and repeatedly looking in at me. Then, the man nodded to the woman and walked inside. He had some money clenched in his hand.

I stepped back so he could deal with the cashier I’d been chatting with. He dropped the money on the counter and asked for that amount to be prepaid on his pump. He kept glancing at me as he made a point of counting out less than two dollars, asking how much that would buy, and lamenting that it wouldn’t be enough gas to get where he needed to go.

I only smiled at him.

His girlfriend rushed in exclaiming that she’d found thirteen cents in the car. Then, she started giving me sideways glances.

I just smiled.

Finally, they broke down and asked outright if I could help.

I smiled, explained that I don’t carry cash, and had to interrupt his suggestion that I use my credit card to fill their tank to say, “Maybe that twenty hanging out of your pocket could help you out.”

The couple rushed out, leaving their handful of change on the counter. The cashier and I had a good laugh.

(Weed in Canada has recently been legalized. Riding the train home after a lunch date, I see this from across the aisle.)

Guy #1: *produces a mini-bong from one of his pockets and turns to his friend* “Give me my engineering degree!”

Guy #2: *instantly whips out and hands over a plastic straw*

Guy #1: *sticks it on the mini-bong, beams proudly at this engineering achievement, and smiles at his friend* “Thanks!”

(They missed their stop.)

It’s Halloween and I’m walking home from work through a part of town known for its fancy stores.

I’m dressed in surgical scrubs and running shoes, with my work ID on a lanyard around my neck the way hospital employees wear theirs, and sprayed with fake blood.

A random woman, well-dressed and in her forties, stops me, and asks if I’m a surgeon. I tell her no. She then starts to talk to me about her medical problems.

Lady, seriously?