I’m teaching a video-making summer camp with seven- to ten-year-olds. On the last day, I decide to bring in board games and things from my house for them to play with, since they have all mostly finished their videos and need to wait for me to edit them.

One of the things I bring is “Truth or Dare” Jenga. I only kind of glance at the box, and tell the kids they don’t need to do the Truth or Dare part, just the Jenga part.

After a few minutes, I see one of the kids kiss a girl’s hand and ask what they’re doing, and they say they’re doing the dares on the Truth or Dare Jenga. I decide to investigate and look more closely at the Jenga pieces. Turns out, they are Truth or Dare Jenga pieces for adults to use in the bedroom. I take them away and give the kids a different game to play after that, but thank goodness I looked!

(I work two different jobs, one through the week, the other only on the weekends. I have just had a minor surgery on my upper right arm. After the procedure, I am told that I am not allowed to lift more than ten pounds for the next two weeks, in order to fully recover. This is fine; my first job as a librarian allows me to sit at a computer and doesn’t often require me to carry heavy objects. My second job as a cashier, however, requires me to lift 24-packs of water, 30-packs of beer, etc., because customers often place these on the belt. I let both jobs know ahead of time that I would be having surgery, and made sure to get a note from my doctor saying I wasn’t allowed to lift more than ten pounds. I go into my second job early to hand them the note and see if I can work at the self-check lanes for my shift, which is only four hours long. There is one person who never works register, because they complain that it “hurts their back” to check for a long period of time, and they happen to be working at this time.)

Me: “Hey, [Coworker #1], I had surgery the other day, and I have a doctor’s note here saying that I can’t lift more than 10 pounds. I see that [Coworker #2] is on the self-check; do you think they’ll let me switch them?”

Coworker #1: “Probably not, but we can go over and ask, anyway.”

(We walk over to [Coworker #2]. I have a noticeable bandage on my right arm.)

Coworker #1: “[My Name] has a doctor’s note saying she can’t lift more than ten pounds. Would it be okay if you moved over to a regular lane?”

Coworker #2: *takes a brief glance at my bandaged arm and sighs* “Well, my back’s been bothering me today, and I really don’t feel like checking right now.”

Me: “But I just had surgery the other day, and I have a note that says I am not allowed to lift a certain amount; it could tear the stitches.”

Coworker #2: “Well, I guess, but my back has been hurting.”

Me: *cuts in, slightly annoyed* “Look: I have an official doctor’s note, and I think that it’s a little more valid than you just saying that your back is hurting.”

Coworker #2: *huffs* “Fine, but if my back starts bothering me, I want to switch back.”

(They stalked away to the regular checkout lanes, and I took my place at the self-check. The entire time we worked, they apparently talked about me to our other coworkers, and occasionally they shot me dirty looks. They did ask what I had surgery for, as if the bandage wasn’t enough proof. Shockingly, they never did ask to switch, so I guess their back wasn’t hurting them as much as they thought!)

(In retail, there are a few “jokes” that everyone overuses and aren’t funny anymore, but being a cashier means you fake a laugh and send the customers on their way. And then, there’s this.)

Me: “Okay, sir. Your total is [total].”

Customer: *hands me a hundred-dollar bill, and I start to check if it’s real* “Don’t worry; it’s real! Made it myself!”

Me: *fake laughs*

Customer: *pauses, suddenly serious* “They didn’t laugh when I said that at the bank this morning.”

Me: *bursts into actual laughter*

(My nieces call my mother “Nana.” They also love the movie “Sing,” which has a character named Nana. This usually prompts us to say the character’s full name, but once I forget, and this happens.)

Me: “Do you like Nana?”

Niece: “Yeah.”

Me: *to niece as we hear the garage door open* “Nana’s home!”

Niece: *points at iPad, where she’s watching ‘Sing’* “Nana here.”

Me: “No, Nana, not Nana Noodleman!”

Niece: *forcefully* “Nana HERE!”

(Since then, I’m careful to call the character Nana Noodleman at all times.)

(I am 16 and a sophomore, working my first job at a very popular fast food chain. I am working as the front-end cashier and have a short line of customers. One of the customers is a black woman in her 30s or 40s. I am white.)

Me: “Good afternoon, miss. How may I serve you today?”

Customer: “Yeah, I want a—” *gives me all the orders but forgets to tell me the size*

Me: “I’m sorry, miss; what sizes were you wanting for the meal with the drink and fries?”

Customer: “What sizes are there?”

Me: “We have small, medium, and large.”

Customer: “What sizes?”

Me: *thinking I must have said it too quietly or quickly to understand, knowing that the customer has no hearing aids and she is one of two customers in the place* “Small, medium, and large!”

Customer: *starting to get really irritated* “TELL ME THE SIZES, NOW!”

(I start getting worried and none of the managers are bothering to help me.)

Me: “I… I’m sorry, miss. I thought I had said—”

Customer: *cutting me off* “TELL ME THE SIZES NOW, YOU STUPID B****!”

(By this point I am close to tears, and I look to my coworkers for help. One coworker comes over and asks what is going on. He is the same race as the woman.)

Coworker: “What’s going on?”

Customer: *yelling at him before I can answer him* THIS C*** WON’T TELL ME YOUR CUP AND FRIES SIZES!”

Coworker: “Ma’am, the sizes are small, medium, and large.”

Customer: “Oh. Then why didn’t you say so in the first place?! No wonder you have a job at [Fast Food Restaurant], since you dropped out of school!”

Coworker: “Ma’am, she has been working here for two weeks now, and it’s Sunday. She goes to the same high school as most of the workers here. Now that’ll be [price].”

(I have never seen someone look so ashamed of themselves, and I thanked that coworker by buying him a meal. I left the restaurant after two months and found a better place to work.)