I am disabled, on benefits, and living in affordable housing. As a result, I have a caseworker. I am also transgender and have to give myself a hormone shot every week. I keep all of my shot supplies in a basket, but I don’t make any effort to conceal it because A, I have nothing to hide, and B, I practically never have anyone over.

Caseworker: “So, where do you go for your injections?”

Me: “Oh, I do them myself.”

Caseworker: “Okay, but, who prescribes it?”

Me: “Oh, it’s [Doctor].”

A few months later, my caseworker is in my home and points to my safe needle deposit box.

Caseworker: “Umm, [My Name], what is this?” 

Me: “Oh, that’s for my hormone injection needles.”

Caseworker: “You do that yourself?!“

Me: “Uh… yeah? I told you that months ago.”

My girlfriend also once had a worried friend ask about my box, but they reassured her that we were most definitely NOT using intravenous drugs and it was for entirely medical reasons.

I use my bus pass as a bookmark, figuring that with how much I love reading there would be no possible way I could ever lose it. One day, I am distracted while getting off, and only while it is pulling away do I realize I left my book on the bus. Since there isn’t really anything I can do about it, I just walk to the exchange stop, and when the next bus I need to catch pulls in, I approach the driver.

Me: “Are you able to contact the other buses?”

Driver: *Immediately hostile* “WHY?”

Me: *Startled pause* “Well, I left my bus pass on the #3.”

Driver: “No, I can’t contact the other buses. Do you have any idea how many there are on the roads at one time? Now, there are other people wanting to get on, so…”

He makes a dismissive shooing motion.

Me: “But… I also need to get home.”

Driver: “Where’s home?“

Me: “[Area he’s headed to].”

The driver sighs and waves me along. I take my seat and settle in for the hour-long trip. After maybe thirty minutes, we get to another hub and the driver comes up to me.

Driver: “Hey, I’m sorry about how I acted. I just get a lot of people trying to pull s***, so… here. This is a temporary pass that’ll let you ride for the next three days. Hopefully, you’ll be able to get your card back from the lost and found before it runs out.”

Unfortunately, it took over a week before the lost and found people recovered my book and pass, resulting in me spending a significant amount of money on tickets. But in the end, I was finally able to finish the story, and now I have one of my own I can tell people.

My friend, [Friend #1], has an ex whom she still talks to. I’ve been fairly straightforward about saying that I will not be friendly to him, which has annoyed the friend and other people in our social circle, who push me to make nice. Things come to a head one day with another friend, [Friend #2].

Friend #2: “I don’t get why you can’t just let bygones be bygones. She’s forgiven him; you should, too.”

Me: “When they were together, he tried to get her pregnant without her consent and threatened to kill himself if she left him. Excuse me for thinking that makes him an abuser and that she’d be better off with him completely out of her life.”

Friend #2: “I don’t see what good it does to demonize him.”

Me: “I’m not ‘demonizing’. I’m stating a fact. People who do what he did are abusive.”

Friend #2: “It’s not healthy to hold a grudge like this, you know.”

Me: “Um, not to point fingers here, but you still refuse to go to parties if that one woman from our writing workshop is going to be there.”

Friend #2: “Well, she’s a b****.”

Me: “She gave you some slightly harsh feedback that one time. Years ago.”

Friend #2: “I was really sensitive back then! I cried about it for hours!”

Me: “So, a psychologically manipulative b*****d who nearly ruined our friend’s life can be forgiven, but someone who wasn’t completely diplomatic about saying she didn’t like your poetry is beyond redemption?”

Friend #2: “I felt really strongly about that poem.”

I have since begun to distance myself from this person, and life is less stressful.

(I run a fresh produce stall every Sunday at a local market. Everything is homegrown by either my dad or my grandpa. I’ve had people try to haggle on prices but as it’s extremely popular and we usually run out by the end of the day, I refuse.

I’m serving a customer when I see a guy in his fifties pick up a bunch of grapes and walk off, eating them. There’s not much I can do. Fifteen minutes later, I’m just finishing serving a customer when the guy comes back and starts picking through the cherries, eating the ones he likes, and spitting the seeds back into the box.)

Me: “Excuse me. Please don’t do that.”

Guy: “What? Don’t tell me what to do.”

(As I can no longer sell the cherries, I grab the box, roughly five kilos.)

Me: “Look, you already took a bunch of grapes and now I can’t sell these. You need to either pay for the grapes and the cherries or leave and not come back.”

(The guy turns red with anger.)

Guy: “Listen here, b****. I can do what I want. Since you’re not going to sell them, just give them to me.”

(The guy goes to grab the box.)

Me: “Leave now. And don’t come back; you’re no longer welcome here.”

(He goes to grab me when my previous customer grabs him by the arm.)

Customer: “Mate, I’d leave her alone if I were you, unless you want me to kick you from one end of the carpark to the other.”

(The guy goes to take a swing at him but realises that he’s at least 6’6” and almost all muscle.)

Guy: “It’s all s***, anyway. All you do is buy stuff at the supermarket and mark up the price.”

Me: “You seem to like it, considering you’ve eaten at least $10 worth. Now leave.”

(The muscular customer is still holding the guy by one arm.)

Customer: “Pay the nice lady for what you’ve eaten and made unsellable, and if I ever see you harassing her or anyone else here again, I’ll be using you for footy practice.”

(The guy reached into his pocket, pulled out $20, and threw it at me. The customer let him go and he ran off. I thanked the customer and offered him a refund and extra fruit but he declined. It turned out that his girlfriend was another stall holder, and from then on we always got stalls next to each other. I’m going to be a bridesmaid at their wedding in a few months!)

I have started a new job and am receiving logins for various computer programs. One requires me to provide answers to security questions in case I forget my password.

I pick a question: “What is your favourite colour?” I type, “Blue.”

“Your answer must be at least five characters.” 

So, for a question you’re supposed to give an answer to that you’ll remember, answers including “Red,” “Pink,” or “Blue” are not allowed. Other questions were “Mother’s maiden name” and “Favourite cousin” — let’s hope your favourite isn’t Jane or Max!