I’m a server in a small restaurant. I’m also queer, and I usually wear a rainbow bracelet as a signal to other queer folk that they can be themselves around me. A couple comes in and gets seated, and I go to pour water for them and bring them menus.

Me: “Welcome to [Restaurant]! Can I get you anything while you look at the menu?”

The man in the couple sees my bracelet and puts the menu down like he’s afraid he’ll catch something from it.

Customer: “Yes, we’re going to need a different server.”

Me: “It’s still early, and I’m the only server available right now. I’m afraid it’s me or nothing.”

Customer: “Get me your manager!”

That’s not going to end well for him, but okay. I go get my manager, who is also the owner of the restaurant. She’s a no-nonsense middle-aged woman who will stand up for her employees no matter what.

Customer: “We want a different server! You shouldn’t let someone like him work here!”

Manager: “Has [My Name] done anything wrong?”

Customer: “He’s wearing jewelry! He’s clearly one of those homosexuals! I don’t want to look at that while I’m eating!”

Manager: “Were you planning to f*** them?”

The customer turns a very interesting shade of red.

Customer: “EXCUSE ME?!”

Manager: “Their sexual orientation has no impact whatsoever on their ability to take your order and bring you your food. The only situation I can imagine where it would matter is if you were planning to f*** them, and that’s not a service we offer here.”

Thankfully for the customer, that was when his lady friend decided it would be a good idea for them to leave the restaurant. I love my manager.

While I was working in a restaurant, an unkempt, tipsy guy who’d been snickering and pointing at me asked:

Customer: “What the f*** do you got in yer nose?!”

Me: *Trying to lighten the atmosphere* “Oh, it’s a septum ring! I used to have the crescent kind with the nubs at the end, but now I have this closed circle one.”

He stared and then replied really loudly.

Customer: “I bet yer daddy is real proud of you, huh?”

That made my blood boil. I couldn’t believe he said that; it seemed like he did so because I’m obviously queer and he was trying to instigate. I kinda raised my voice.

Me: “He’s actually very proud of me; I make good grades and mind my own business. Is your daddy proud of the grill in your mouth?”

Customer: “Not really.”

Me: “Sucks for you. Mine loves me unconditionally.”

I walked away and later brought food to him and his table like nothing had happened.

The table next to them was apparently listening to the exchange; they tipped me really well and wrote, “Nice burn about his grill! [smiley face]” on the receipt. I was so proud of myself for my little brat moment!

A few months ago, my twenty-two-year-old cat died from old-age-related health issues. With “only” three cats and a dog left, the house felt somewhat empty, and I decided the best way to honor her memory was to give that space in my home to another rescue kitty.

Important to note is that all of my cats are black: I like giving a home to the “less adoptable” animals, and it comes with the bonus of both having at least one color I can wear without the fur showing — and they all look like mini panthers.

I decided to go to my local Humane Society to see the cats they had available. So many kitties, want them all! And then I found my boy.

The shelter had his name listed as “Lucky”. He was four years old, very shy, very scared, skinny, and all black. He was hiding at the back of one of the carriers in one of the cat colony rooms, obviously terrified of all the people visiting the shelter. He hissed at everyone who tried to come near him. He came from a hoarder house and had probably never been properly socialized with humans; in other words, he was still half-feral. Knowing his socialization and fear issues, the shelter listed him as a “spirit cat” — basically a cat that you can adopt but you should not expect them to stop hiding for six-plus months (if ever).

This was the cat that needed me. This was the cat I was going to adopt.

I sat next to the carrier he was hiding in, not invading his space, just staying nearby. After a while, I put my hand in and let him smell me. He growled a little but didn’t try to attack. I grabbed a handful of dry food from one of the bowls nearby and put it in the front of his carrier. He moved forward to eat it. The poor boy was hungry but too scared to come out and eat! I grabbed one of the trays of wet food that were scattered around the room and put it just outside his carrier. He poked his head out to eat the food as I was sitting right next to him! One of the shelter employees saw and commented that she had never seen him stick his head out the whole time he had been there — over a month.

He came home with me that day, and I’m so glad I picked him — or did he pick me?

It took less than a month for him to become confident enough to follow me around the house. Less than six months later, he is sweet, loving, and very pushy when he demands his wet food. He loves (and demands) attention, sleeps on my bed, and screams at me if his dinner is late (AKA not an hour early). The only problem is getting him to stop demanding that I pet him when I’m trying to work!

I set up a direct debit to pay my bill with the electric company, always over and above what the bill would be, so I was well in credit. For some reason, the electricity company decided to disconnect my power — again, even though I was over $1,000 in credit with them.

After over two hours of very frustrating conversation with them, it was worked out that, apparently, when the meter reader came through, the yard looking unkempt and no car in the driveway meant that the house must be empty, even though the meter proved that electricity was being used, so the meter reader had put through a request for the power to be disconnected.

I assured them that, yes, I had indeed been slack in mowing and weeding, but my car being absent clearly just meant that I was at work in the middle of the day, in the middle of the week, but I definitely still lived at the house and kind of needed the electricity that I had well and truly paid for.

Eventually, it was decided that they would reconnect my power.

Employee: “As a courtesy, we won’t charge you the reconnection fee… this time.“

I said that not only would they not be charging me a reconnection fee, but they would also be refunding the disconnection fee. I put a stop to the direct debit, and as soon as I had used all of the credit, I changed to a different power company.

Related:
The Lights Are Out But Somebody’s Home

I’m trying to sell a few items, and I’ve got them listed in a couple of local buy/sell groups as well as the Facebook Marketplace. One day, I get a message from someone regarding one of the items: a flute. They start the message by offering me the amount I’m asking and then asking to pick it up.

Buyer: “Hope in good condition? Where are you located?”

Me: “I’m in [City, State]. It’s still playable. There are a couple of cosmetic issues. There’s some tarnish that should clean up easily, and you might want to get the pads checked.”

Buyer: “When can it be picked up?”

Me: “Where are you located?”

Buyer: “When can it be picked up?”

Me: “Where are you located?”

I don’t meet anyone at my apartment, and while I have a designated place where I like to meet because I know it, if someone is further away, I’m willing to adjust within reason.

Buyer: “When can it be picked up?”

I tried to send another “Where are you located?” message, but the buyer had apparently blocked me or ended the chat. I’m not sure which or how because I was still able to look up the buyer’s profile. But I never got any more “When can it be picked up?” messages. I’m thinking that either they were not that technically savvy, or they were a scammer and I wasn’t falling for it fast enough.