(I’m at a gay bar with some friends, and we’re talking to some people we’ve never met before. I’m a trans guy.)

Girl #1: “Who do we have here? [Friend #1], [Friend #2], and…” *points to me*

Me: “[My Name].”

Girl #2: “That’s a guy’s name.”

Me: “Yeah… I’m a guy. I’m trans.”

Girl #2: “That’s stupid.”

Me: “What?”

Girl #2: “You’re not trans. You’re just gay and can’t admit it, because you’ve been raised in such a homophobic world. Just admit your love for women as a lesbian.”

Me: “Uh… I’m queer. I like people: men, women, whatever. I’m not ashamed of that.”

Girl #2: “Pfft, whatever. Call me when this trans thing is over; you’re cute.”

(My friends and I are speechless as the girl leaves. The first girl watches her leave and turns to us.)

Girl #1: “So, she’s dead to me. Shall I buy the next round?”

(I am about seven years old, and it is Christmas Eve. My parents convince me to go to bed hours before, but out of excitement I’ve not gone to sleep yet. I hear my dad head into the attic.)

Me: “Daddy?”

Dad: *clearly surprised to hear me calling so late* “You should be asleep!”

Me: “I know, but, Daddy?”

Dad: “What?”

Me: “Are you getting your Santa uniform?”

(I still believed in Santa… because I was convinced my dad was Santa! A few years later, when my best friend told me the truth, I realised I hadn’t been too far off the mark!)

(I have started a new job, and after I get chatting with my new coworkers, I politely ask what the manager was like.)

Coworker: “Oh… she’s okay, but a bit odd. You’ll see.”

(I am pretty worried about this, especially when the manager in question calls everyone into a meeting.)

Manager: “Morning, folks. Some minor bad news, I’m afraid. I’ve just had instruction from the head office that I’ve got to perform random locker checks every week.”

(Various people groan or roll their eyes.)

Manager: “Yeah, I know. Now, I want you to know that I trust you all, and I’m only doing this because the head office insists. I think it’s ridiculous and insulting, to be honest. So, I’ve decided we can have a bit of fun with it.”

(She gives a wicked grin.)

Manager: “Every week, I want you to hide the silliest things you can think of in your lockers. The person who makes me laugh the most will get a prize; bar of chocolate or a beer, depending on which they prefer.”

(Alas, I didn’t win the prize that week. My coworker won a beer after she found a well-filled sack with a sign saying “Totally not stolen goods” in his locker. However, I won the week after, thanks to a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs! The competition continued for about six months, before the head office decided to stop the locker checks. It was a shame; a coworker and I had just got hold of some prank springy snakes. So much wasted potential…)

(We have a fairly strict policy about not serving drunk people. One tactic we have in place is a blanket ban on groups; i.e., if one person is unfit for us to serve, we knock back the whole group until the drunk person leaves. On Sunday, two drunk guys come in, so I say, very nicely:)

Me: “Sorry, chaps, not tonight. Another night perhaps, but not tonight.”

(They take it fine, but one of them tries to get my colleague to serve them. He says no, obviously, so the shorter of the two guys heads over to me.)

Man: “So, how come you’re saying no?”

Me: “Truthfully, you’re friend looks really unsteady on his feet, and he’s clearly slurring his speech, but as you came in together, it’s our policy to refuse the group. It’s not personal, but it’s not something I’m going to change.”

(He seems to think that was fair enough, but keeps asking for just a drink for him, asking me to explain myself again, and telling me that it is just his friend, not him. I am polite and firm, but am getting tired of this discussion.)

Man: “Besides, he’s only had three pints!”

Me: “Only three pints? All that proves is that your friend can’t drink, if that’s the state of him after three pints!”

(Luckily, he found it funny that I was making fun of his friend, shook my hand, and left. Not my most professional moment, but it worked!)

(It is coming to the end of our lesson, and our teacher makes this big deal about us all leaving in silence, in one uniform line. He literally barricades the door with his body until we conform. We also have a new girl, who has been waddling for a couple of minutes.)

Student: “I can’t take this.”

(She leaves the line and goes to the teacher.)

Student: “Excuse me.”

Teacher: “BACK IN LINE!”

Student: “I can’t wait any longer. I’m—”

Teacher: “BACK. IN. LINE! YOU AREN’T GOING ANYWHERE UNTIL YOU GET BACK IN LINE!”

(She huffs, opens her bag, and goes around one of the tables.)

Student: “Everyone turn around.”

(She crouches down, and it instantly becomes obvious to the girls that she’s using a sanitary item. Some of the boys don’t clock on, including the teacher.)

Teacher: “YOU ARE NOT RELIEVING YOURSELF IN MY CLASSROOM!”

Student: “I’m putting a tampon in, you idiot.”

Teacher: “HOW DARE YOU EXPOSE YOURSELF TO ME!”

Student: *standing back up* “My period just started. I can already feel it’s a heavy flow, and I’m wearing a skirt. Either you move, or I do it here. Your choice.”

(The teacher blushed and excused everyone. He reported the new girl, and she was suspended, but after everyone found out why, a lot of our parents tore the staff a new one, and she was brought back. The teacher was suspended instead. When he came back, he wouldn’t teach our class, but we also learned he didn’t do his routine anymore, either.)