I’m a pretty hairy man; my sister frequently describes me as looking like Santa Claus. We went to dinner the other night, and when I was getting down to mostly done with my meal, I found a hair in it. Now I know it wasn’t there when the server brought the meal, plus it looks very much like one of mine, so obviously I lost one and it wound up on my plate.

No big deal, except that the server was passing by and saw me pull it out and freaked.

Server: “Oh my god, sir, I’m so sorry, I’ll get that replaced right away!”

Sometimes I can get the wisecrack right when I need it, not ten minutes later…

Me: “No, it’s okay… this is mine. I keep them numbered just for such occasions… this is 18537.”

She made some strange noises trying to not laugh and thanked me for being understanding.

For my first studio job out of college, I worked at a high-end video production company doing animation and motion graphics. My coworker and I would go above and beyond, working so much overtime. (And we didn’t get paid for it. If I knew then what I know now…)

Our studio was working on a huge live event, doing multiple giant screen graphics, and we had worked for twenty-four days straight. Twenty-four days. Straight. (Never again.)

The event wrapped, we did solid work, and everyone was happy! I had the audacity to ask for a few days off in the middle of the week for my coworker and me.

Creative Director: “No. Just in case something comes up.”

We literally had no projects on the docket. Then, [Creative Director] came at me.

Creative Director: “I need you to do some motion work for [Video] by tomorrow morning.”

I was a little miffed but got right to work on it. I stayed late to get it done.

The next morning, I went to hand in the file to him. He was nowhere to be seen. 

Me: “Hey, where is [Creative Director]?” 

Other Coworker: “He went snowboarding.”

I had murder in my heart.

My sister gave me a gift card to one of my favorite chain restaurants. It’s one of those places where you can dress up or not, as you choose.

I chose to dress up, wearing my favorite full skirt and a blouse. It’s a good thing I did. We were seated in a little alcove. On the other side of the wall from us was where the manager worked when not in her office — a wait station, I guess.

We ordered, and the waiter brought out our beverages. I ordered a strawberry lemonade, and as he was removing it from the tray, he didn’t lift it far enough. It was almost like watching it in slow motion; I knew it was coming but couldn’t do anything to prevent it. The bottom of the drink caught on the tray and the drink landed on its side, open end toward me. The full beverage, complete with ice, cascaded across the table and poured into my skirt.

I reacted quickly, gathered the front of my skirt, and stood up. I rushed to the bathroom, where I was able to dump the liquid and ice that were still in my skirt into the sink, rinse the front of my skirt, and dry it as well as I could with paper towels. Because I reacted quickly, the drink never penetrated my slip, so under the mess on my skirt, I was perfectly dry and comfortable.

The manager came and apologized and we dismissed it; accidents happen, I was fine, and it was okay. She comped my meal, so that was a plus — now our combined total fit with the gift card we had. The waiter felt so bad that he never came back to our table. A different server brought my freshly-made replacement beverage and our meals. Apparently, the young man who spilled the drink was very new as a waiter and felt so horrible he had to leave the building to pull himself back together. I felt really bad for him.

The funny part came at the end of our meal. We finished and were preparing to leave. While we were getting our check, a busboy was clearing a table in the same alcove. As he was walking to the entrance of the alcove, he tripped, spilling his entire tray. It made a clatter, for sure. The manager whipped around the corner and we could see on her face the priceless look that said, “Oh, no! Not them again?!“

I’m a substitute school bus driver, filling in for my full-time coworkers when they get ill, take a vacation, drive a field trip, or are absent for whatever reason. Most students don’t really care as long as I get them to where they’re supposed to go, and they simply get on without comment beyond perhaps, “Is this [Route]?”

One bright spring day, though, an elementary student got off the bus with a wave and a big, friendly smile.

Student: “Thanks for the ride! Your hair is so pretty! I love it!”

I smiled and thanked her.

Student: “You look like a Ghostbuster!”

Me: *Confused* “Th-thank… you?”

She nodded confidently.

Student: “It’s a compliment.”

I was too confused to ask for further clarification as she skipped down the road to her home.

I’m a white woman with dark, curly/wavy hair and a body type between Sigourney Weaver and Melissa McCarthy, so maybe she meant one of them? I’d be happy with either. I just hope she didn’t mean I look like Dan Aykroyd, Bill Murray, or Harold Ramis.

I’m in the break room at work, having lunch. A coworker is listening to music on her phone. Eartha Kitt’s “Santa Baby” comes up on her playlist. I really dislike the song, but I’m content to say nothing… until she asks for my opinion.

Coworker: “Oh, I just love this song! Don’t you love it?”

Me: “It’s… not my favorite.”

Coworker: “But you like it some, right?”

Me: “Honestly, no. I’m not a fan.”

Coworker: *Scoffs* “That’s so racist.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Coworker: “Just because the singer is black, you don’t like it?”

Me: “No! I don’t like the lyrics. I think they’re trite. Taylor Swift could sing it and I wouldn’t like it. Eartha Kitt had an amazing voice and was a wonderful actress. This particular song isn’t one I like.”

I don’t know if she believed me or not, but I also don’t care that much. She didn’t use logic to reach her conclusion, so I couldn’t very well use logic to convince her otherwise. For whatever it’s worth, both of us are white women, and while I don’t like that one song, she is always the one to vocally complain about our Asian coworker’s “smelly” lunches, while I don’t mind at all.