(While my enormously large mountain dog looks like an actual teddy bear and is extremely gentle and well-behaved, he likes his personal space and doesn’t care for strangers’ attention. Therefore, I never take him to public places if I can avoid it. On this day, however, I am forced to take a two-hour train ride with him. In an effort to get strangers to keep their distance, I dress my dog in his custom yellow harness that has the words, “DO NOT TOUCH,” written on it in large black letters. Besides that, he has a yellow ribbon – international symbol for “I need space” – tied to his leash. At the train station, we wait calmly in the furthest corner of the platform until the coast is clear. As we make our way toward the pet car, I see faces in a different car pressed against the window, staring at us. I ignore it, get in, and find our designated seats: a normal aisle seat for me, and a low platform where the window seat would normally be for the dog. I spread the dog’s blanket on his seat, and he settles down with his head on my lap. I casually stroke his ears, and as I wait for the ticket inspector, I rest my eyes for a moment. Out of nowhere, I feel air move around me, and the warm weight of my dog’s head on my lap is suddenly gone. I open my eyes to see a mother with two young children, one of who is eagerly trying to reach the dog over my lap.)

Me: *blocking the access to the dog much as I can with my body* “Whoa, hey! Don’t do that.”

Strange Mother: “My kids want to pet the dog.”

Me: “Sorry, he doesn’t like to be touched by str—”

Strange Mother: *scoffs* “That’s not true. I saw you petting him just now.”

Me: “As I was saying, he doesn’t like to be approached or touched by strangers. I’m sure you can see the large text on his harness and that he has pulled as far away from you as possible.”

Strange Mother: “Nonsense. All dogs like to be petted. I don’t understand why you’re being like this. My kids have a long trip ahead of them! Just let them pet the dog already!”

Me: *thinking to myself, “Are you for real?!” but trying to avoid a conflict and making a scene* “He does not want strangers to touch him. Many dogs don’t. I’m afraid you’ll need to find something else to do to pass the time.”

Strange Child: “Muuuuum, I want to cuddle the doggy!”

Me: “Sorry, sweetie, you can’t.”

Strange Mother: ”Yes, you can. Just call for the dog like this.”

(The mother suddenly lunges at my dog, almost punching me in the process, and starts going, “Here, doggy, doggy,” aggressively at him. The dog lets out a startled growl. The mother shrieks and jumps back. Her children start crying. Everyone is now staring at us.)

Me: *in complete disbelief* “What the h*** are you doing?”

Strange Mother: “The dog tried to bite me!”

Me: “He certainly did not.”

Strange Mother: “Liar! That dog is vicious! How could you bring such a beast on public transport?!”

Me: *getting mad despite myself* “Are you kidding me? The dog was minding his own business when you came here, all entitled, acting like he is some toy for your kids to play with. I asked you way more nicely than you deserved to leave him be. You basically assaulted us both, and now you think you’re the victim because you got growled at? Most other dogs would have taken a bite out of you for doing something that stupid!”

Strange Mother: “You can’t talk to me like that!”

Me: “I can, and I will. You need to leave.”

(The mother threw a few insults at me, and then finally grabbed her wailing children and left the car. It took a good ten minutes of distractions and several treats for my dog to stop panting anxiously and to calm down, but thankfully the rest of our journey was uneventful. I’d had my share of people overly eager to pet my dog before, but never someone who wouldn’t take a polite no for an answer. Even though my dog seems unscarred by the incident, these days I am even more reluctant to take him out in public. The thing that gets me the most about the whole thing, though, is the idea that a mother would insist on letting her small children approach a large, unfamiliar dog when specifically warned the dog was not friendly.)

I’m playing a phone game where you can create a “guild.” Aside from the group chat, there really isn’t much interaction. You each set up a team of your own warriors to fight the boss, and you “collaborate” by each being able to attack the boss twice over 24 hours. The boss doesn’t heal, but it also doesn’t give out a reward until it is dead. Everyone who fights gets a reward, but whoever does the most damage to the boss gets the highest one.

In most of these guilds, the members don’t even speak the same language. The game doesn’t have servers by country. The guilds show up and dissolve without much reason. People get kicked from them if they’re inactive, if they’re doing too much damage and the leader’s jealous, or if the guild is full and the leader’s friends want a slot. It’s not a very social or coherent thing.

I’ve joined the latest guild, and I actually speak the leader’s language — English! As per usual, the group chat is empty except a reminder to fight the boss and upgrade your team. We get some Spanish-only speakers, who I can understand but the leader can’t.

About a week later, the leader quits and gives the guild to one of the Spanish speakers. The new guild description says this:

“I quit because there are too many foreigners here!”

The Spanish speaker leaves that up, and says (translated):

“Hi, everyone! I was appointed guild leader. Let’s all have fun!”

I’m still not sure if I should tell them.

(I’m on a date with my partner. We’re waiting at a bus stop when a guy hands each of us a small booklet with the title, “How Well Do You Know God?” and, both of us being atheists and transgender pansexual, we giggle a little.)

Me: *to my partner, in reference to the booklet title* “Well, we’re not exactly bros.”

(I’m seventeen years old and I have my hair dyed an unnatural color, as well has having the typical “butch” haircut. I walk into the [Retailer] by my school to buy some coffee and breakfast. The instant the door greeter sees me, her face lights up with righteous anger.)

Door Greeter: “Miss, you’re so pretty; why the h*** would you put that green in your hair?!”

(My hair is blue.)

Me: *taken aback* “Um, because it’s my favorite color?”

Door Greeter: *splutters in disbelief and scorn*

(I quickly walked into the store before she regained her composure, and made sure to exit through the doors on the opposite side. The kicker? She had the brassiest, fakest bleached-blonde hair I’ve ever seen.)

(I am sat outside a restaurant, waiting for my friend. I notice a guy in his 50s walking up to a car. He tries to open the passenger door, but it is locked. He then looks inside, and tries the door again. Again, he has no luck opening the door. I’m wondering if he owns the car or if he is trying to break into it. He then tries to open the driver’s door, and it opens. He only opens it a couple of inches and then closes it. He does this three more times, and then his wife comes out.)

Man: “Do you have the keys?”

Woman: “No, where are they?”

Man: *checking his pockets* “I don’t have them. The driver’s door is unlocked, and the car won’t let you lock it if the keys are still in it.”

Woman: “Well, they must be in the car. Did you look?” *on the passenger side* “I can see them; they are still in the ignition.”

Man: “Oh, I didn’t think to look there.”

(They got in the car and drove off, leaving me to wonder if he should have been driving at all, if he A: couldn’t remember to take his keys out of the car, and B: didn’t think to look in the ignition, knowing the door wouldn’t lock if the keys were in.)