(I’m the writer of [https://notalwaysright.com/so-thats-what-he-did-after-the-bible/102540/]. I’m at my parent’s house to collect some stuff from the attic, and I’m going through/clearing out my phone while Mum makes dinner. I come across a document I had no idea I had.)

Me: “For some reason, I have a document called ‘Bible-quiz’. No idea why.”
Mum: “Probably from your time at the youth club. You’ve made a lot of quizzes.”
Me: “‘My time’? I’m still there. Besides, I didn’t write this.”

(I decide to ask Mum some of the questions. The first few are pretty simple. (‘who recieved the ten commandments’, ‘where was Jesus born’ etc.))

Me: “‘How many diciples did Jesus have’?”
Mum: “Seven.”
Me: “What? Really, Mum?”
Mum: “No, ten.”
Me: “Mum! It’s 12!”
(We’re both laughing at this point.)
Me: “‘Jesus and the seven diciples’. That just sounds wrong.”
Mum: “Jesus and the seven Dwarves!”
(I can’t get the image out of my head now!)

I am legally handicapped. I have sinus tarsi syndrome, which means there are days when the nerves in my ankle get inflamed and I cannot walk unassisted. My husband will help me on these days, but it has been frequently making him 15 to 30 minutes late to his job at the university where we both work (about once a week on average). I have no control over these flare ups and I cannot predict them. They make it extremely difficult to get ready in the morning. The parking situation at the university is so bad that even a handicap sticker does not help most days and most handicapped parking is still a quarter mile from my office. We have asked for a later start time for my husband so he won’t be late to work on these days, but his boss and HR refuse. We meet with the HR personnel to discuss options.

Me: “There are days where I literally cannot walk without my husband’s help and my walker. We are doing well to only run behind 15 minutes when this happens.”

HR Person: “I get that we all have days where we end up behind a school bus or the car won’t start, but it is your responsibility to make sure you get up in plenty of time to get to work even with your disability.”

Me: “I am not trying to be difficult, but I cannot predict these days. My disability is similar to unpredictable events like you described. They just happen more frequently.”

HR Person: *awkward pause* “Let’s see if we can get you access to the teacher lots so you can find parking easier.”

It’s my turn to sing in a karaoke bar.

“And here comes (Name) with ‘Smile Like You Mean It’ by The Killers!”

Sexist Friend: Hah, you know The Killers? I didn’t know Directioners liked bands like The Killers!”

Me: Oh, sure, be judgmental.

Sexist Friend: Oh, I’m not judgmental, just telling the truth.

Me: Oh, yeah, acting like a pig, really classy. I’m singing this song, and I’m going to nail it!

I go up to the karaoke machine and start singing the song. I don’t fumble over the words, I get the melody right, the tones and keys are perfect, and I pretty much nail the song.

Sexist Friend (as I come back): Hey, I’m really sorry. That was good. Do you want to grab dinner with me or something?

Me: Sorry, I don’t date pigs.

Sexist Friend: I deserved that. Can we at least still be friends?

Me: After tonight? I don’t think so.

I took a separate cab home.

A lady isn’t wanting help with anything in the store and keeps turning employees away when we asked if she needed help.
Came up to the checkout/jewelry counter and started looking at a local jewelry we carry. I started telling her about. Told her it was made in *insert town* and she got mad at me cause the sign had a different town on it and I told her that the company picked the biggest city closest so people would have a better idea of where they are from. She got mad and said well my son lives in *town*, I live here, and I know where *big city* is so I definitely know *town where jewelry is made* . Proceed to get mad about different town name and then stormed out of the store

When I was seventeen, my bra size was a C. I’ve always had big breasts, and developed before all the other girls in my class. One day, my brother, his friends, and I are in the pool in our backyard. My brother is twelve at the time, and so are his friends.

Brother’s Friend 1: Hey, [My Name], (Friend 2) said that you’re a size C.

Me: Excuse me?

Brother’s Friend 1: He said that you’re a size C.

I later told my mom about it, and she said that (Brother’s Friend 2) had also assaulted the first friend on a neighbor’s trampoline and talked about pooping. I still don’t know how the little brat knew, and I’m no less disturbed by it today, even though I’m 25.