I’m a Caucasian woman, and I’m rather lazily eating sushi and reading on my phone in a food court while waiting for a movie. Suddenly, a woman storms up to me, demanding angrily:

Woman: “Who are you trying to impress?”

Me: “I— What? No one.”

Woman: “Everyone can eat with chopsticks.”

Me: “Oh. Okay. Well, I’m just eating sushi. I’m not trying to impress anyone.”

Woman: “Yeah. ‘Cause everyone can eat with chopsticks.”

Me: “Okay. If everyone can use chopsticks, then how would I be trying to impress anyone?”

Woman: “You’re using your left hand!”

Me: “What? I’m left-handed.”

Woman: “That’s ridiculous.”

Me: “What?”

Woman: “Left-handed is for writing.”

Me: *Pause* “What?”

Woman: “Just because you write with your left hand, it doesn’t mean you have to show off.”

Me: “Seriously? I do everything with my left hand. I’m left-handed.”

Woman: “Left-handed people write with their left hand. You can do everything else normally. You shouldn’t show off.”

Me: “I— I’m sorry you think I’m showing off, but I really can’t use chopsticks with my right hand any more than you can with your left.”

She was so upset that I put my chopsticks and phone down and ate the last few pieces with my right-hand fingers.

I have a coworker who is just gross. He is an old fashioned good-ol-boy who makes crude jokes to the men in the office and asks the women inappropriate questions, guffawing at the discomfort he causes.

He comes to me at my desk one afternoon. I am overwhelmed with a sudden quick deadline and a headache growing above my eyes. As he starts his leading question, I jam my hand out at him, palm up, and bark:

Me: “Pay me!”

Gross Coworker: *Startled pause* “What?”

Me: “If you’re going to treat me like a whore, pay me.”

The whole bullpen of six women and two men freezes, all eyes on us.

Gross Coworker: “I’m not… What?”

Me: “A dollar a word; ‘a’ and ‘the’ count as words. Numbers count as words, too.”

I am laying the rules out off the top of my head, hand out and never wavering.

Gross Coworker: “I wasn’t—”

Me: “Okay, then, what?”

Gross Coworker: “Well, nothing now.”

He storms away.

Two days later, [Gross Coworker] comes to me to ask if I know why the printer isn’t printing his work. It’s a legitimate question, as I’m the coordinator of the department where the printer is located, even though it is used by many departments, including [Gross Coworker]’s. As he talks, I’m mouthing numbers.

Gross Coworker: “What are you doing?!”

Me: “I’m counting words.”

Gross Coworker: “What? No! This is work-related.”

Me: “I’ll decide what’s work-related and deduct it.”

[Gross Coworker] stormed away, back down the hallway. I went over to check the printer; it was out of paper, so I refilled it and it hummed back to life.

The next week, our floor was pulled into an HR meeting about creating a hostile work environment. I stood up after the presentation, when the floor was opened for questions, and thanked them for their concern but explained that the hostile work environment had died down the week before; heads nodded around the table along with murmured agreement.

Weeks later, [Gross Coworker] was gone but only from our floor. He’d been promoted to a higher floor where he would no longer be interacting with us — well, me, mainly, I guess.

Putting up with him for years, we got nothing but a hatred of gross men. He then squeaked his wheel and moved up the ladder.

Since almost the beginning of the global health crisis, I’ve been volunteer grocery-shopping for the elderly and vulnerable through a secular local charity. As the winter holidays approach, my volunteer leader reaches out to me asking my availability over the break.

Me: “Oh, I can shop anytime. I’m not going anywhere and I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

Volunteer Leader: “You’re Jewish?”

Me: “What? No. I’m atheist.”

Volunteer Leader: “Wait… Why are you volunteering?”

Me: “Excuse me?! I’m shopping for these elderly people because it’s too dangerous for them to go out right now. I’m helping because there’s a need.”

Volunteer Leader: “All right. Okay. Sorry. I just don’t see the reason you’re volunteering.”

Me: “Seriously?! Okay. So, why are you volunteering?”

Volunteer Leader: “I help in the name of God.”

Me: “Oh. To get in his good graces.”

Volunteer Leader: “No. To get the word out of his goodness.”

Me: “To proselytize.”

Volunteer Leader: “Well… no.”

Me: “Look, your questioning my reason to help others means you don’t grasp doing something good for its own sake.”

Volunteer Leader: “What? No. Goodness starts and stops with God. That’s why I am here to help. Why would you volunteer if it wasn’t for Him?”

Me: “Because it’s the right thing to do. How do you explain my volunteering?”

Volunteer Leader: “God’s making you do it.”

Me: *Sighs* “Just give me the info of the people who need their shopping done over the holidays; I can help whoever needs it.”

I’m not going to ask for a different volunteer leader, but he might ask to not oversee me anymore; I’m not sure. I know that, as the months go on, volunteers are dropping out and those of us sticking with it as our lives get busy again are more and more valuable to the charity. Hopefully, next year, our services will no longer be needed and the elderly and vulnerable can get back to the lives they had before.

This story is part of our Volunteer roundup!

Read the next Volunteer roundup story!

Read the Volunteer roundup!

It’s around the holiday season, and my regional manager and I are standing near the back of the store talking about some plans for the store. We happen to be near a display of Star Wars toys, and I notice a plastic lightsaber that’s new. They are the type that when you flick it, the coloured plastic shoots out to turn the lightsaber “on.” I grab one off the shelf to try it out, but nothing happens. It’s a blue lightsaber, meant for a Jedi.

Regional Manager: “Let me try.”

It works with one swing.

Me: “I’ve always leaned more toward the dark side anyway.”

I took one of the red lightsabers off the hook and tried it out. It worked perfectly. I tried the blue lightsaber again later. It still didn’t work for me.

This story is part of the Star Wars Day: May The Fourth roundup!

Read the next Star Wars Day: May The Fourth roundup story!

Read the Star Wars Day: May The Fourth roundup!

My husband and I have flown to Vancouver for a vacation. I booked a car for us online. My last name is commonly misspelled because it sounds the same as a famous product. Let’s say that my last name is “Shampaine,” which sounds like “Champagne”.

Me: “Hello! I’ve reserved a car.”

Clerk: “Last name?”

Me: “Shampaine.”

Clerk: *Checking computer* “Your reservation isn’t here.”

Me: “Oh, this happens quite a bit. Let me spell my name for you.”

Clerk: “I told you, it’s not here.”

Me: “My name is spelled S-H-A—”

Clerk: *Not touching her computer* “It’s not here.”

Me: *Giving up* “Tell you what. Here’s my confirmation number.”

Clerk: *Checks the computer* “Oh! Here it is. I see the problem: your last name is spelled wrong.” *Laughs*

Me: “It’s not spelled wrong.”

Clerk: “Uh, yeah, it is.”

Me: “I entered all my details myself online when I made the reservation. Are you saying that I don’t know how to spell my own name?”

Clerk: “…”

Husband: *Tugging my sleeve* “Let’s go.”

I wish I could say that was a rare event, but it happens a LOT.