(I am filling my car up at a local petrol station. This station is completely self service, and uses the card payments only. I see another car pull up. It’s quite an expensive make and model. A woman gets out and stares at the machine for the entire time I fill up. She then turns and walks over to me.)

Woman: “Are you the attendant?”

Me: “No, just a customer.”

Woman: “Fill my car. I also need it washed and valeted.”

Me: “No.”

Woman: “EXCUSE ME!?”

Me: “I said no. I don’t work here.”

Woman: “I don’t care. There is always an attendant present, and since you’re present, then it is your duty to fulfil that responsibility.”

Me: “The answer is still no.”

(She pouts at and turns for a moment. When she turns back she has readjusted her top to show considerably more cleavage.)

Woman: “Won’t you reconsider? I’ll let you play with these.”

Me: “Not even if I was straight.”

(I took my receipt and got in my car. I heard her scream homophobic slurs before stomping back to the machine. I drove away and saw her start kicking the entire pump. I went back a week later, and it was out of order, with the card reader and display heavily vandalised.)

(I and my mum have just watched a rerun of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (for the book’s 20th anniversary) at the cinema. This is her first time seeing it.)

Me: “What did you make of it?”

Mum: “It was good. A bit childish, but fun.”

Me: “Did you like any character in particular?”

Mum: “No, but I didn’t like that ginger family. They looked scruffy and poor.”

Me: “Well, they sort of are. There’s a reason for it, though. They’re probably the most moral characters in the series.”

Mum: “Well, they still looked bad. Harry should’ve gone with the blonde boy.”

Me: “After seeing the entire film, you think she should have been friends with Draco?”

Mum: “You can’t judge a book by its cover, [My Name]. He might be a very nice boy in the end.”

(She didn’t see the irony.)

(During puberty I had terrible issues with my throat, which some doctors attribute to issues I had as a child that led to my tonsils needing removed. I had infections pretty much every other week, but most weren’t too bad and could easily be remedied with few painkillers. There was only one time where I had completely lost my voice over the course of the day, and needed my mum to phone in sick at work for me.)

Mum: “Hi, this is [My Name]’s mother. I’m just calling to let you know that he can’t come in today as he has a sore throat and lost his voice. We’re going to the doctor later this afternoon.”

Manager: “We really need [My Name] to phone in and tell us.”

Mum: “But he’s lost his voice. How is he meant to tell you?”

Manager: “We can’t accept a sick notice unless he notifies us personally.”

Mum: “HE CAN’T SPEAK, as in there is literally nothing coming out of this mouth! [My Name], you try…”

(I grab the phone, but only a hoarse rasp escapes…)

Manager: “[My Name], if you can’t confirm that you’re sick—”

Mum: “Is she f****** stupid?” *shouts* “HE CAN’T F****** SPEAK!”

Manager: “We’ll see about it when you’re next in…”

(Before my next shift I had a disciplinary hearing. The manager whom my mum spoke to went on a tirade about how it was the worst faking of illness she’d ever heard. I showed her my doctor’s note which said I was suffering from bronchitis, laryngitis, and oral thrush. That shut the b**** up faster than my diseased throat ever could!)

(I am a fraternal twin. I am a girl, and my brother is a boy. This shouldn’t be important, but for my family, it is. Over the past year or so I have been slowly realising that I am trans and want to start transitioning. My brother already knows, and often calls me by my chosen name in private, and even makes this big deal about changing my name in his phone and sending me screenshots of before and after, all in the middle of a school lesson. I decide to tell my parents. I tell my dad before he goes offshore for work, with the promise that he won’t tell mum. He is fine with it and is happy for me. A week later I tell my mum.)

Me: “Mum, I’ve got something important to tell you. I’m trans, a man, and I want—”

Mum: “Oh, I know.”

Me: “I thought you might. Anyway, I want to start—”

Mum: “I mean, there had to be some reason I gave birth to a SON and DAUGHTER.”

Me: “…right.”

(Bearing in mind my mum is also a fraternal twin, boy and girl, this doesn’t make much sense, and starts to make me wonder if she believes her brother is secretly trans.)

Me: “Anyway, I want to start transitioning.”

Mum: “Oh, of course! Now, names!”

Me: “Yeah, I’ve already chosen—”

Mum: “I think Kris!”

Me: “You want me to have the same name at my brother?”

Mum: “No! Not Chris! Kris! Like Kris Jenner!”

(I suppose in terms of good to bad reactions, it was pretty good, but she’s gone completely insane. She continually calls me Kris, despite repeated attempts for her to accept the name I have chosen, which is really confusing my brother. She has also arranged a family “outing” for me and made an extra special effort to invite her brother, literally letting him pick the day. I’m hoping she doesn’t do anything stupid, but I know in my heart she will.)

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(As a child, my little cousin was an unpleasant little brat. Frequently he would annoy people with his loud antics and then throw tantrums when told to stop. He was also known to tell lies and get others in trouble. The family has grown weary of his behaviour and he is universally loathed by us. By now, my aunt has started noticing his behaviour and is starting coming down hard on him. We have family visiting from overseas and my uncle and cousin are reading in the living room at my grandma’s place. Suddenly my cousin comes in being really noisy and irritating.)

Uncle: “HEY! Cut it out, now!”

Cousin: “YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! YOU’RE NOT MY MUMMY!”

Uncle: “Well, I’m the adult here and I’m telling you to be quiet. We’re trying to read. Now, either play quietly or get out!”

(My cousin glares at him but obeys. Minutes later, while my older cousin is reading, the younger cousin knocks the book out of his hands and starts giggling.)

Older Cousin: “KNOCK IT OFF!”

(The younger cousin then proceeds to do it again a few minutes later, laughing hysterically. My uncle immediately grabs him by the ear and pulls him out the room. Right away my cousin runs to his mother crying about ‘being bullied’ and makes her come with him to the living room. As she enters, he has a really smug look on his face as if everyone is in big trouble.)

Aunt: “So, [Uncle], what did [Cousin] do this time?”

Cousin: “MUMMY!”

Aunt: “Be quiet; now, what did he do?”

Uncle: “Oh, we told him to be play quietly and instead he thought it would be great fun to keep knocking [Older Cousin]’s book out of his hand.”

Aunt: “Well, I’m very sorry about that; seems he has few hard lessons to be learned.”

Cousin: “YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE ME!”

Aunt: “Oh, am I? Well, isn’t it funny how this ‘being bullied’ stuff has been occurring an awful lot lately? Like when you pushed that other kid over in the playground at school and hurt him because you were ‘being bullied’ and it turned out you were just mad he beat you at some game? Or the other time recently when you broke [Friend]’s new toy because you were ‘being bullied’ and his mother then told me it was because you were jealous you didn’t have the same toy? Big coincidence that everyone is picking on you these days, isn’t it? Now, why don’t try telling me the truth for a change?”

(My cousin proceeded to throw a massive tantrum to try and get out of trouble. My aunt, unfazed by this, sent him to his room without supper. He later got grounded for two weeks with no TV after he was caught trying to sneak downstairs. Thankfully, my aunt’s ‘hard lessons’ she taught him have really paid off and he has grown into a more mature and responsible young man. It took a great deal of work, though.)