(The drinking age in the UK is eighteen; you’ll sometimes get an establishment with its own over-twenty-one rule, but this is rare. My friends and I — all age twenty — head to a gig and afterward fancy a pub visit. We head to a pub in an area I’ve never been to before. It’s completely empty for a Friday night and the bartender looks like he’s about twelve years old.)

Bartender: *aggressively* “IDs, guys!”

(We all hand them over.)

Bartender: “No, no, strictly over twenty-five only! GET OUT!”

Me: “Are you serious? The age here is eighteen; there’s not even anyone else here.”

Bartender: “NO! Strictly over twenty-five and we can refuse service. F*** OFF OUT!”

(Knowing that establishments are fully within their rights to refuse service to people for any reason regardless of how nonsensical it is in a business sense, we decide not to argue and leave to find somewhere else, but before we leave…)

Me: *to Bartender* “Just out of curiosity, are you able to drink here?”

Bartender: “Yes, of course. All employees can.”

Me: “How old are you?”

Bartender: “Fifteen.”

Me: “Huh…”

(It is highly illegal to serve alcohol as a minor, as he was so rude I ended up reporting the pub. We came back for another gig a month later and the pub had closed down. Not sure if it was because of the illegal activities or cash flows, but good riddance.)

(It’s the day of my office’s holiday party. My father died at the beginning of the year, and it’s been a struggle every day, let alone with the first birthdays and holidays without him. Weeks prior to the party, there are signup sheets for people who were interested in participating. I can’t bring myself to sign up, because I just can’t get into the spirit. It is also important to note that I am not Christian, and am a polytheist; I don’t advertise this, but I don’t deny it if someone asks.)

Coworker: “You missed a great party! Why didn’t you come and join us?”

Me: *explains that I’m having a hard time after losing my dad*

Coworker: “Oh, no, no, no! You can’t think like that! You have to think about what a great Christmas your dad is having; he’s truly getting to celebrate the reason for the season.”

Me: “…”

Coworker: “I listen to this Revelations preacher every day, and he says that you can’t think of the dead as truly dead. They are only sleeping until the soul and body are resurrected!”

Me: *glancing over at the paperweight on my desk that contains some of my dad’s ashes* “Okay, I’ll take your word for it.”

Coworker: “And just like I tell my wife, buck up, buttercup!” *slaps my back and walks away*

(I was seething with anger for the rest of the day and could barely focus. I told my other Pagan and atheist friends about what happened and eventually shook it off. With my friends, I decided to not say anything for now to the higher-ups, but if he does it again, to report it next time.)

(I’m new at this job. My supervisor is away on a business trip, and I’m finishing up a call with our shipping warehouse contact, a woman who’s been working with my company for years.)

Me: “And don’t worry, [Supervisor] will be back in the office tomorrow, so it won’t just be me flailing around over here.”

Warehouse: “Oh, you’re not alone in the flailing, trust me. I do my fair share of it here, too!”

Me: “We can flail together, then. We’ll be flail experts!”

Warehouse: “We’ll start the Noodleympics!”

(I am at a used car market which is basically a free-for-all, buy-at-your-own-risk affair. I am an ethnic Chinese woman, and it looks like there are no other people of East Asian descent or women shopping alone. This is a collection of some of the characters.)

Me: “Can I start the car and see how it runs?”

Old White Guy: “Why?”

(Another instance:)

Me: “Would you take R55,000 for this?”

Guy: “No, but can I have your number?”

(Another instance:)

Old Indian Guy: “My son is a dealer. I’ll give you his address. Don’t buy cars from black guys; a lot of them are stolen.”

(Another instance:)

(The reaction of multiple guys when I ask about maintenance issues:)

Them: “Do you have a husband/brother/father at home?”

(Another instance:)

Young Indian Guy: “Hey! Over here! I have the perfect car for you!” *points at a tiny, ugly, subcompact of an unfamiliar make I have to Google*

Me: “Do you think I’m going to buy some random China car just because I’m Chinese?”

(My grandpa once told me a story from when he delivered pizza. One night, he had an especially big order to a house in the suburbs. When he arrived, there was a party in full swing and lots of talking and music. After he knocked on the door, this happened.)

Grandpa: “Hello, order of pizza!”

Drunk Man #1: “Oh, [Someone Else] has the money! Hold on!”

([Drunk Man #1] stumbles away, leaving the door open. As [Grandpa] stands there waiting, another drunk guy wanders by.)

Drunk Man #2: “Oh, you the pizza guy?”

Grandpa: “Yep.”

([Drunk Man #2] pulls out a twenty and hands it to him, then wanders off. Unsure what to do, Grandpa stands there, waiting for the rest of the money. Then, another drunk guy walks past.)

Drunk Man #3: “Oh, pizza’s here!”

(Grandpa gets another twenty and [Drunk Man #3] wanders off. Still waiting, more drunk men wander past the open door, some more than once, and each time they hand him money. Not wanting to get into it with the drunks, Grandpa just politely takes the money. Finally, the first guy gets back.)

Drunk Man #1: “Okay! Here’s the money for the pizza and here’s a tip!”

(He hands Grandpa two twenties for the tip.)

Grandpa: “Oh, actually…”

(The guy slammed the door shut. After a minute, Grandpa just got back in the car and counted out all the “tips.” It totaled almost $300!)