Me: “Hi, I’m here to pick up my prescription.”

Pharmacist: “What’s the name?”

Me: “[Name], that’s [N-A-M-E].”

Pharmacist: “[N-A-M-E]?”

Me: “Yes.”

Pharmacist: “We don’t have a prescription under that name.”

Me: “Could you look again? It should have been sent over from [School] this morning.”

Pharmacist: *without checking* “We don’t have it.”

Me: “Could you check your computers to see if you got the order?”

Pharmacist: *checks computer* “Oh! Yeah, we got the order. [Medicine] has been backordered for weeks, so no one has it.”

Me: “I see. So, you just didn’t fill the order?”

Pharmacist: “Yeah. We couldn’t.”

Me: “And you didn’t call the number in my file or my doctor to let them know the medication wasn’t available?”

Pharmacist: “We can’t just call EVERY person who orders this! That would take forever!”

Me: “So it’s better that EVERY person who needed that medication should come all the way down here just to hear that their prescription can’t be filled?”

Pharmacist: “Yeah.”

Me: *furious*

(I go to a specific gas station almost every day because I like their prices, coffee, and staff. Today, five of their gas pumps are all down at once, causing a huge line of cars.)

Me: “Is everything okay? I noticed a lot of gas pumps with the ‘out of order’ bag over them.”

Cashier #1: “Gee, I don’t know. There’s a HUGE gas truck out in the parking lot, and several pumps are down. Hmmm…”

(I notice she’s being overly sarcastic, as if the answer is obvious.)

Cashier #1: “Maybe it’s because we’re low on gas and people swarm here and guzzle it all down? Did you ever think of that?! UGH!”

(She leaves to go have a cigarette, and I turn to the other cashier.)

Me: “Long morning?”

Cashier #2: “You have NO idea!”

(When I was ten, I needed to get shots for school, as my family had a knowledge of my disdain for needles. This day, though, I was feeling brave.)

Nurse: “Would you like the gas, or can I just inject you while you’re awake?”

Me: “I’ll take the needle.”

Nurse & My Mom: “Good job!”

(The nurse takes her first move towards me, and I have my arm as still as I can manage it.)

Nurse: “Alright, just one clean stab and you should be good to—drat, missed the vein. Alright, second try—nope, third time’s the charm? No—how about the fourth time?”

(At this point my arm has become a pin cushion. I start crying aloud, and I cut her off before she can make the fifth attempt. There has been a solid break of about a minute while she repositions each time, and after the first time, which I presume I flinched on, she has been holding my arm rather tightly.)

Me: “Maybe we should switch to the gas?”

Nurse: “Okay. What flavor?”

Me: “Root Beer…”

(I wake up an hour and a half later. I was informed it took 21 attempts for her to get the needle in correctly by my mom!)

(Note: I am a female to male transgender person. My voice is very masculine, but companies can be slow to process my name change.)

Me: “Hi there, I can’t seem to connect to my internet.”

Tech: “Can I have the name on the account, please?”

Me: “It’s [My Name].”

Tech: “That is not the name on the account. Can I speak to the account holder?”

Me: “Speaking. You must not have processed my name change yet. I used to be [Birth Name].”

Tech: “But [Birth Name] is a girl’s name.”

Me: “Yes, I’m a female to male transgender person.”

Tech: “What? What’s that?”

Me: “Well, I was assigned female at birth, but I transitioned so I’m male now.”

Tech: “What you’re describing is impossible.”

Me: “Right… well… can I get some help with my internet or not?”

Tech: “Not unless I can speak to the account holder.”

Me: “Okay, can I speak to someone again to get my name changed on the system?”

Tech: “Not unless I can speak to the account holder.”

Me: *sighs*

This story is part of the Transgender-themed roundup!

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Read the Transgender-themed roundup!

(Note: I am black, while my mother is white.)

Me: “Two to see [R-rated movie].”

Cashier: “You have to be at least 17 or have a parent to see R-rated movies.”

Me: “Well, I’m 19 and this is my mom.”

Cashier: “That isn’t your mom! She’s white and you aren’t!”

Me: “What?”

Cashier: “White women can’t have black children.”

Me: “I’m adopted, you insensitive buttwipe! Now give me the tickets or I’ll take this up with the manager!”

(The cashier turns red and quickly finishes our transaction without making eye contact. My mother and I go to the theater and sit down.)

Mom: “…Buttwipe?”

Me: “Well, yeah. I’m not going to curse in front of my mother.”

Mom: “You make your mother proud.”