I’m a pharmacy tech who works in a retail setting with lots of non-English-speaking customers. Most of the techs I work with can speak more than two languages. I only speak English. I can understand Chinese but can’t speak or read it, but I know how it looks compared with Japanese or Korean. One day, a customer comes up to me with a list written in Chinese and starts communicating with me. I pull out my phone to translate to her that I don’t know how to help her since I don’t know what exactly she is looking for. She walks away.

Five minutes later, she comes back with one of the assistant managers.

Assistant Manager: “[My Name], do you understand Asian handwriting?”

She shows me the list again.

Me: “Asian handwriting?”

Assistant Manager: “Yes, you know handwriting that comes from Asian?”

Me: “No, I don’t understand Asian handwriting!”

They both walked away and I was left standing there wondering what had just happened.

Related:
Don’t You Speak Asian?, Part 3
Don’t You Speak Asian?, Part 2
Don’t You Speak Asian?

I’m almost eighteen. I need a replacement ID, so I go to the DMV. My dad comes with me since I’m still a minor.

Employee: “I see you’ll be eighteen soon. Since we’re getting you a new ID today, we can also register you to vote. Interested?”

Me: “Really? Yes, that would be great!” 

The employee smiles broadly.

Employee: “Awesome! It’s great to see a young person like you excited about voting. I just need to confirm some information first.”

He confirms my personal information and gets to the last question.

Employee: “Political party affiliation?”

My extended family is split when it comes to political views. As a result, I’ve done a lot of research on both parties and have picked the one that fits my personal beliefs the best.

Me: “[Party].”

The employee’s face falls.

Employee: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yes.”

Employee: “You know, you can also pick Independent.”

Me: “Noted. [Party], please.”

Employee: *To my dad* “Sir, your daughter is registering as a [Party].”

Me: “Seriously?!”

My dad, who has been quietly standing off to the side, gives the employee a confused look.

Dad: “I know. She’s old enough to have her own views.”

Employee: “But—”

Me: “My views are my business. Just register me.”

Employee: “[Party] it is. You can always change it later, dear.”

Me: “Do you hassle everyone like this or just people who select [Party]?”

Employee: “Oh, look at that. You’re all set!”

I collect my new ID and all assorted documents. My dad can’t resist one final parting shot, just loud enough for the employee to hear.

Dad: “Finally, another [Party] in the family! I’m so proud.”

The employee stared at us in horror as we exited. Somehow, I was registered properly and voted in the next election with no issues.

When I was in college, we had a very attractive girl in our dorm who in today’s world would have been a social media star. Since things like Instagram, TikTok, and Snapchat didn’t exist back then, she would set up her personal video camera and record herself and then store the tapes for future viewing. She was extremely athletic and knew it, and thus she would often wear tight Spandex while filming herself.

One day, as she was recording herself, one of the guys in the dorm walked up to her and started trying to chat her up. She literally didn’t acknowledge his presence in any way, and that upset him. He reached out and grabbed her chest. Without missing a beat, she shoved his hand away. He then grabbed her butt, and she again shoved his hand away. He threw a punch at her, and she casually lifted her hand, grabbed his incoming fist, and shoved him to the side. He stomped off.

Two days later, it was revealed to us that the guy was “transferring,” effective immediately. Apparently, the girl had taken the recording to the dean and let her watch.

Me: “Hello, [Company Acronym].”

Caller: “Hello, is this [Electrical Supplier #1]?”

Me: “No, this is [Electrical Supplier #2] in [Town].”

Caller: “Oh… so, you sell electrical supplies?”

Me: “Yes, we do.”

Caller: “Great, that’s what I’m looking for! Do you sell [item]? I’ve got a job at a hotel in [Town]…”

Me: “Let me transfer you to sales.”

An unconventional way to acquire a customer, but I’m not complaining!

I’m an imagery analyst for a government-funded agency, which is a polite way of saying I’m a spy for the CIA.

One day, my dad calls me and says that there is a family emergency, so I rush home from work.

Dad: “Your younger brother’s phone got stolen at school. Can you find it?”

First off, it’s an ancient phone model. It’s worthless. Second, my brother has three phones — hand-me-downs from the rest of the family — so losing one is no biggie.

Me: “You kidding me?”

Dad: “No. You’re a spy. You’re supposed to be good at tracking things down, so I want you to go use your fancy government surveillance gizmos, find me that phone, and send the perp who did this to your torture rooms.”

Let’s ignore everything else he said. My brother is TEN. I ain’t torturing no schoolmates of his.

Me: “Can’t you find it by yourself?”

Dad: “Nope. Already searched the school for it. It’s not there. Now go do your job.”

In short, he’s too lazy. I curse under my breath in Cantonese. One hour later, I plop the phone down on the table.

Dad: *To my brother* “See?! I told you that your brother could do it! Good thing he’s a spy, eh?”

Brother: “Cool! How did you do it?”

Dad: “He’s a spy! He’s got access to all of the government surveillance gizmos and s***.”

Me: “No, I didn’t use that.”

Dad: “Oh, then what? Did you go to the school and find out who stole it and then gave him the old one-two?”

Me: “No. I used the [Phone Finder] app to find the d*** phone. It was on the soccer field. He forgot to bring it home.”

Word of advice, kids: don’t become a spy. James Bond lied about how exciting it is, and everyone that knows you’re one thinks you’re either their personal sniffer dog or hitman.