One day, after work, I decided to reward myself for surpassing my weekly weight gain goal by splurging on a pizza and ice cream from a couple shops near my workplace. I eat my pizza in the pizza shop without incident, and walk through the parking lot to the ice cream shop, where the following occurs (Note, that I’m 7 1/2 months pregnant at the time. Also, I’m actually underweight for someone of my height and my doctor has threatened bed rest if I don’t gain weight):

Cashier: Hi! What can I get for you today!?
Me: Hi, I’d like two scoops of pumpkin ice cream in a waffle cone, please.
Cashier: Sure, coming right up!

The cashier gets my order, and I notice a somewhat angry man sitting in a booth behind me, with two kids:

Kid1: *whines* But Da-aaaddy, I want ice cream! She got some!
Kid2: *goes from whine to screechy in his request* Yeah, daddy, why can’t we have ice cream? Why do we have to eat this? I want ice cream now too, like her! *points at his small kid’s meal, and then looks at me and pouts*
Man: *angrily, and loudly* Because SOME FAT BITCHES ARE FUCKING CUNTS WHO CAN’T BE BOTHERED TO EAT LUNCH TO GET THEIR DESSERT, OKAY? NOW EAT YOUR DAMN LUNCH. Because if you only ate desserts, you’d be that fat too!

(At this point, I’m thinking “is he seriously talking about me? Like I’m fat? I’m literally skin, bones, and growing new human, so… what the hell.” I get my ice cream, and decide to speak up:)

Me: *whirls around to the man, with my ice cream in hand.* You, sir, are quite rude, and ignorant! I’m not fat, I’m pregnant! *I turned towards the children, and make sure I speak more calmly* I had a pizza at the place down the street. I should have eaten here, it looks like the food’s pretty good, but my son *pats belly* wanted more carbs with his pineapple and ham today. Now, how about y’all eat the few bites of lunch you have left, and THEN ask your father nicely for desserts. Also, just a little tip? *I lean down to the eldest child, my eyes dart towards the front, as I stage-whisper and point* the clerks are always happy to give as many samples as you want, of whatever flavor you want! And they really do have all the flavors on the menu, so if you don’t see it in the case, ask for it!
Kid2: *quickly eats his remaining lunch as I walk away* Daddy? I’m done, can I have ice cream?
Man: Sure, kiddo! *passing my table on the way to the register, looks at me* I… yeah, sorry,
Me: …
Kid1: *from table* Yo, Dad! I finished my food! Can I have ice cream?
Man: Totally! Yeah!

The kids walked up to the ice cream counter, and settled in for the long haul –
asking for as many samples as they could think of, and going through the entire menu of flavors at least twice, as the man becomes more and more impatient. It took them ten full minutes to find their favorite flavors, which they both got two scoops of, “because SHE DID!”

I laughed. I laughed out loud when I heard that, and he said “You know what? Fuck you, fat fuckin’ pig. Fuck. You.” and I laughed even more at his ignorance. On my way out a few minutes later, I got myself a half gallon of pumpkin ice cream to take back to my workplace. I ended up walking past his table, to the exit facing the street, as I left the store.

Kid2: WHOA! They DO sell those? Dad, but you said -!

I exited the store at that point, but I wish I had thought enough to “have problems opening the door” long enough to hear what he said the man said!

(Our Spanish and English classrooms are in the same hallway. Our Spanish teacher always jokes with us in a motherly way. One day in English class, we hear our Spanish teacher yelling (jokingly) at a student down the hall)

Teacher: ….and stop yelling in the hall!

Friend: LOVE YOU TOO MRS. [teacher]!

Teacher: Yeah, shut up, [friend]

(I’m taking a high school class in Mandarin Chinese, in which we often get into groups to make up conversations based on what we’re learning. We were supposed to act as shopkeepers and customers selling or buying clothes, while also discussing the weather. I happened to be working in a group of three. The whole conversation was in Mandarin.)

Me: *acting as a shopkeeper* “Hello, welcome!”

Classmate #1: *acting as a customer* “Hello.”

Me: “We have very nice pants for you to buy.”

Classmate #2: *acting as a shopkeeper* “It’s cold today.”

Me: “No, it’s too hot!”

Classmate #2: “It’s too cold!”

Classmate #1: “I’ll buy those pants.”

Classmate #2: “Here, I have them in black.”

Me: “I have them in blue.”

Classmate #1: “Can I have them in red?”

Me: “We don’t have them in red.”

Classmate #2: “Black.”

Classmate #1: “Can I get them in green?”

Me: “I—”

Classmate #2: “Black.”

Me: *menacingly* “We have them in black and blue. Would you like them in black or blue?”

(At this point the teacher says our time is up, so we never got to finish the conversation.)

I have gone to the GP with recurring dizziness. The doctor is new and we have never met prior to today. I am male.

Doctor: *feeling the underneath of my jaw* How long have you experienced dizziness?

Me: About three weeks. I think it might be an inner ear infection, but I don’t have any other symptoms.

Doctor: I see, and does it…

His eyes narrow onto my chest tattoo.

Doctor: You have tattoos?

Me: Just this one.

Doctor: Hmm, it’s possible this could be HIV and or AIDS.

Me: WHAT?

Doctor: It’s a pretty serious condition which can spread throughout infected needles.

Me: I know what it is, it just surprises me that you think dizziness and a tattoo would make you jump to HIV. This is a 20-odd year old tattoo by the way.

Doctor: Hmm…your medical history shows you have had STI tests before, and with your lifestyle-

Me: My “lifestlye” has nothing to do with this, if I get your meaning (I assume he has seen my ‘next of kin’ as my husband in my records) and I have only had one STI test in my life, which was done as part of a sexual health class when I was at college. Now, HIV usually begins to show signs within 10 years of contracting it. My tattoo is over 20 years old, and my STI test was what, 10 years ago? I do not have HIV.

The doctor begrudgingly agrees with my defence and checks my ears. He finds nothing and arranges a set of tests for me. I go to my appointment with my husband as I’m a little shaken by the experience, and the first thing they ask us is if we have ever sexually active woth each other and how long have I suspected having HIV. The doctor decided to put me down for the test regardless of what I said. Once we explained the situation the nurses apologised, but in the end I agree to take the test to learn more about it. My husband took it too to be a good sport. While stressful, it was a jovial experience.

A week later we both go to our GP to find out our results (mostly mine). We had the same doctor as I had the first time. It turns out I had a potassium deficiency which was causing my blood pressure to fluctuate while I was standing.

Our HIV tests came back negative, but this didn’t stop the doctor belittling us and our “lifestyle” for a good 10 minutes while going over the results. We complained about him and he was gone by my next visit. I later heard he was also judgemental with the minority population, and had submitted more requests for HIV testing than the rest of the practice combined.

(My friends and I are getting food at a [Fast Food franchise]. They’re still in line, so I wait at the side, next to the registers. The kitchen area is in plain view from there, and I notice someone wearing an ‘Assistant Manager’ tag walking around agitatedly while holding a phone.)

Assistant Manager: (into phone): “No, what the f**k is going on? This is bullsh*t!”

(He keeps walking around between counter and kitchen area, alternatingly yelling into his phone and stopping to berate the employees. They all just keep working calmly – it seems they are already used to his tantrums. I shoot them a sympathetic glance, wondering if there is anything I can do.
Suddenly the Assistant Manager stomps back into the kitchen and THROWS his phone, which crashes onto the ground. Several people flinch.)

Assistant Manager: (to one of the male employees): “P**s off, f**ing f*gg*t!”

(My jaw drops. Being a short gay man who has been physically attacked several times and thus reacts badly to open aggression, I just want to get the heck out of the situation, but I still have to wait for my friends who are oblivious to the last comment. Needless to say, my appetite is gone.
I tell my friends later and they are as shocked as I am. I’ve since sent an online complaint detailing the situation and asking for feedback, but so far I haven’t heard back…)