I’m asexual demiromantic. I don’t feel sexual attraction, and I only feel romantic attraction if I already have a deep emotional bond with the person. In total, one person knows I’m demiromantic. I told my grandmother, who I thought was a bit homophobic due to bits and pieces of conversation throughout the years, a couple of weeks ago.

[Grandmother] took my sister and me out to eat for lunch, having not seen me in almost a year. While she was dropping me off at my house after lunch, my sister went inside, but I stayed to chat a bit before [Grandmother] left.

My ADHD kicked in and the conversation went from phones to mobile games, to mobile games based on a well-known book series, to said well-known book series, to the rather transphobic author of said book series, to transgender acceptance, to TV shows — all in less than five minutes.

Grandmother: “I just started this new show about a young trans kid that was born one gender but realized they were the other gender at four. And the parents automatically accepted them and helped them dress like the gender they felt, instead of the one they were born as.”

Me: “Really? What show?”

Grandmother: “[Show]. It’s really good; I’m almost done with it. It’s actually why I broke up with [Grandmother’s Ex-Boyfriend].”

I didn’t even know they were dating.

Me: “How come?”

Grandmother: “He kept saying that it’s against God, that the Bible says it’s wrong, and that they are all going to Hell. Same with other people like them. The Bible may say that in some parts, but I just don’t believe that my God would do something like that — would make them like that and then hate them for it.”

Me: *Surprised* “‘Love thy neighbor’ and all that. I have friends that are trans. And all of my friends are part of the LGBTQ+ community.”

I decided to take a chance. She wasn’t as homophobic as I thought. If she was accepting of a TV show character, I hoped she would be accepting of me.

Me: *Hesitantly* “I’m asexual and demiromantic myself.”

Grandmother: *Frowning* “Demiromantic?”

Me: “Essentially, I don’t feel sexual attraction, and only feel romantic attraction if I already have a deep emotional bond.”

Grandmother: *Smiles* “That’s like the main character. They have to already have a bond with the person to have feelings for them.”

The conversation continued, but I honestly kinda did the thing where you say, “Uh-huh,” “Yeah,” and, “Hmm,” to everything. I was happy that someone accepted who I was. If only the rest of my family was as accepting.

In a large store, I walk up to the self-serve registers. From the side, a young cashier speaks up cheerfully.

Cashier: “Sir, I can help you over here.”

I go to her lane.

Me: “Thank you! I was trying to figure out the registers, but I prefer talking to people.”

Cashier: “Good, because I like talking to people, too.”

I pause.

Me: “Just wondering: how long have you been working retail?”

Cashier: “Two weeks.”

I work at a seasonal shop that sells chocolates in one-pound or half-pound bags. The half-pound bags are half the price of the one-pound ones.

One day, a customer comes in and things proceed normally. When I ring him up and expect him to leave, he pulls a very wrinkled-up plastic bag from his pocket and a slip of paper.

There is not a hint of frustration or anger when he speaks.

Customer: “I bought this from you last year. I only got half a pound of chocolates, but I got charged for one pound. Could I get that other half-pound since I paid for it already?”

I get a closer look at the bag and paper he’s holding. The bag indeed is one of our bags for half a pound, as it has our label on it, and I can tell by how wrinkled it is that it has been sitting wadded up somewhere for a long while. The paper he is holding is a receipt for his purchase, dated last year. I’m momentarily stunned by this dedication.

Me: “I… Uh… Yeah, sure. Grab whichever kind you want!”

Customer: “Why, thank you kindly! See you next year!”

I was pleasantly surprised by the respect and politeness shown by someone who was willing to wait a whole year for $5 worth of chocolate. As I wrap up my second year at this job, he is still to this day the ONLY customer I’ve ever seen actually bring something back WITH THE RECEIPT.

I am Hispanic and was born and raised in Texas. I am working the checkout lanes with my manager, who is also Hispanic. I am scanning a customer’s items when our super-old checkout gives me a static shock. I react quickly and shout a quick little Spanish word I learned from my grandmother that is used whenever she stubs her toe.

Almost immediately, my customer bellows at the top of his voice:

Customer: “MANAGERRRRR!”

Me: “I can call a manager for you, sir; there is no need to raise your voice.”

Customer: “MANAGERRRRR!”

My manager, who is one lane over, tries to call out over this customer’s wailing.

Manager: “Sir! I am a manager! How can I help you?!”

Customer: “You are a manager? No, no. I need a real manager! I don’t want anyone here speaking Spanish in my presence! This is America!“

My manager immediately looks at me and starts speaking to me in loud Spanish.

Me: “Oh, si! Si!”

My manager continues throwing copious amounts of Spanish at me, and I keep nodding and responding with, “Si! Si!”

Customer: “Are you trying to piss me off?!”

Manager: *Switching to English* “Well, considering you’re a racist piece of s***, I would be remiss as a human if I wasn’t trying to piss you off.”

Customer: “I’m going to report you both to the store manager!”

The customer goes over to our customer service desk to complain about us. The customer my manager was serving is smiling at both of us.

Manager’s Customer: “That was awesome!”

Manager: “You know what’s better? I can’t actually speak any Spanish.”

Manager’s Customer: “But you just spoke Spanish!”

Manager: “I was quoting my Abuela’s salsa recipe.”

Me: “And you know what’s even better? I can’t speak any Spanish either. I was just nodding and going, ‘Si, Si!'”

The manager’s customer is laughing at this point.

Manager: “But you know what’s best of all?”

Manager’s Customer: “Oh, lord, tell me!”

Manager: “That customer has gone to the customer service desk to complain to the store manager… who is Colombian.”

Related:
Totally Estúpido! Part 26
Totally Estúpido! Part 25
Totally Estúpido! Part 24
Totally Estúpido! Part 23
Totally Estúpido! Part 22

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I work for a famous furniture store that hails from Sweden; we all know the one. In the warehouse section of the store, we have computer terminals for customers to type in the names or item codes of specific items so they can be located in the warehouse. One customer is using one and calls me over.

Customer: “Your computer is broken.”

Me: “Oh, no. Let me take a look at it.”

I take a look and it seems to be working fine.

Me: “I can’t see what the issue is here.”

Customer: “The wording is all off! I’m just looking for a bedside cabinet and I get all these crazy words! Like that! What the f*** is a KNARREVIK?!”

Me: “I see. Since this is a Swedish brand, all the items have Swedish names.”

Customer: “Well, that’s not very American!”

Me: “No, sir, that’s Swedish.”

He opened his mouth to retort but stopped when he realized he had nothing. He bought the KNARREVIK.