My dad likes to tell me this story of how he took part in Swedish history. Before 1979, Sweden considered homosexuality as a mental disorder. My dad was aware of this but didn’t think too much about it until his boss came into the office angry one day and started shouting at all of them.

Boss: “All of you! If any of you are f****** [gay slurs] or friends with [gay slurs], you’re f****** fired!”

Office Worker: “Are you okay, [Boss]? Where is all this coming from?”

After some cajoling, it was discovered that the boss had just caught his son kissing his boyfriend, and he’d then kicked him out.

Dad: “So… wait, where is he now?”

Boss: “F****** on the streets for all I care! No [gay slur] is a son of mine!”

My dad was very disheartened to see this, and for the first time, he realised what homophobia was and how ugly it could be. My dad is also quite petty and inventive, and he inadvertently got involved with a movement he didn’t realise until later that other Swedes were doing at the time.

In protest to the boss’s behaviour, (he was taking his anger out abusively on all the staff) my dad decided he’d had enough and called in sick, but what he said was:

Dad: “I’m calling in gay.”

Boss: “You’re what?!”

Dad: “I’m calling in gay. You said if anyone was gay, they’re fired.”

Boss: “That’s not funny, [Dad]. I know you just got married.”

Dad: “Yes, but I’m feeling a little gay today. I might be coming down with something.”

The boss played it off as a prank and thought my dad was just hungover and gave him the day off. When my dad didn’t go in the next day:

Boss: “Where are you?”

Dad: “Oh, I’m even gayer than I was yesterday. I don’t think it’s going away any time soon.”

Boss: “Are you trying to get fired?”

Dad: “Of course not, but since you said—”

Boss: “I know what I said, but you’re obviously just trying to make a point, and I don’t appreciate you doing it at my expense! Come in today or you’re fired!”

Dad: “So, just to be clear, you’re firing me because I have what the law calls a mental disorder?”

His boss tried to backpedal but it was laid out clearly that my dad was effectively calling in sick, and the boss was firing him for it, which was illegal. The boss actually tried to apologise, but my dad said it was his son he needed to apologise to.

My dad eventually found a new job after claiming a few months of benefits from social services who had to fork out money because, under their laws, he had a “mental disorder”. Sweden saw the light in 1979 and changed the law so that no one had to “call in gay” anymore.

It wasn’t until decades later that my dad realised he was doing the same thing the Swedish gay movement was doing at the time. He was just trying to prove that his boss was an a**hole and get paid while he looked for another job!

An older gentleman comes into the store with his digital camera.

Customer: “It’s broken; it’s not powering up. Can you repair it for me?” 

Me: “Let me have a look.”

It seems like it’s out of power, so for troubleshooting, I replace the batteries, and it seems to work just fine.

Customer: “Oh! What did you do?”

Me: “It just needed new batteries.”

I play around with it a little and test a few functions.

Me: “I think you’re all set.”

Customer: “Thank you! I was worried because I thought it was broken. How much do I owe you?”

Me: “Nothing, you’re all set. There’s no repair job to pay for.”

He hands me a twenty.

Customer: “Here. Take this, then.” 

Me: “Seriously, no charge.”

Customer: “Son, let me tell you: I am paying you for your expertise. It might have been a simple fix to a young man like you, but to me, that is knowledge that I am willing to pay for. Never undervalue yourself and your knowledge in this world, ya hear me?”

Me: “I hear you, sir.”

Customer: “Good. And if you really need more justification, I’m paying for those nice new batteries you put in my camera!”

And with that, he was gone. My all-time favorite customer.

I’m finishing my shift at the checkout, and my coworker is taking over so that we don’t have to close the lane. I was about to serve an older male regular before my cover arrived.

Coworker: “Have a good night! I can’t wait to see how different you’ll look tomorrow!”

Customer: “What does she mean? How will you look different tomorrow?”

Me: “I’m cutting all my hair off tonight! Going for a new look!”

Customer: “Oh. Men don’t like very short hair on girls.”

Me: “Well, I am a woman, and I’m not doing it for men.”

Customer: “Oh. Well, I don’t like very short hair on girls.”

Me: “And I don’t like very short guys, but I’ve managed to not be an a**hole to you about it for the last few years.”

Customer: *Angrily* “I’m 5’7″!”

Me: “Honey, you’re 5’5″ on a good day, and I can see that you’re wearing elevator shoes. Okay, byeeeeee!”

The customer complained, but my manager said I was off the clock the moment my cover arrived, so there was nothing he could do. My new hair came out great, by the way!

I didn’t want to take an advanced language arts class for my senior year of high school, so I signed up for the standard English 12. I immediately knew I wouldn’t like the class as, in the first week, the teacher started a unit on basic spelling rules.

My classmates and I all knew each other reasonably well, even if we weren’t all friends. One classmate had a slightly unusual name. For this story, I’ll call her Stella, and I’ll call the teacher Mrs. Hale (rhymes with “rail”).

On the first day, Mrs. Hale called the roll.

Mrs. Hale: “Estelle?” (Pronounced “eh-STELL”)

Stella: “Here, but my name is Stella.” (Pronounced “STEL-uh”)

Mrs. Hale: “Oh, all right. I’ll make a note.”

On the second day, Mrs. Hale called the roll.

Mrs. Hale: “Estelle?”

Stella: “It’s Stella.”

On the third day…

Mrs. Hale: “Estelle?”

Stella & Her Friends: “It’s Stella!”

On the fourth day…

Mrs. Hale: “Estelle?”

Most Of The Class: “It’s STELLA!”

This went on through the whole second week until we all kind of gave up, figuring Mrs. Hale would keep mispronouncing Stella’s name no matter what we did. All except me, that is.

At the beginning of the third week, Mrs. Hale explained something to us and wrote examples on the dry-erase board. I raised my hand to point out a minor mistake she had made. She looked at it and insisted she was correct. I showed her information in the textbook to prove otherwise. She just glared at me in an “Are you finished yet?” kind of way. Clearly, I wasn’t going to win that battle, and as a student against a teacher, I was essentially powerless, but I wanted revenge anyway.

Me: “Never mind, Mrs. Hally.” (Rhymes with “rally”)

Mrs. Hale: “My name is Mrs. Hale.”

Me: “I know that, Mrs. Hally.”

Mrs. Hale: “Why are you saying my name like that?”

Me: “Because you refuse to pronounce Stella’s name correctly, even though we have all corrected you several times. So, until you can get my friend’s name right, I will intentionally say your name wrong.”

She glared at me for about a minute and then went on with her lesson (mistakes and all) as if my interruption had never happened.

I called her Mrs. Hally the entire semester. She never got my friend’s name right.

Customer: “Oh, I have a raincheck.”

Me: “I can’t accept this raincheck.”

Customer: “Why not?”

Me: “It’s over a year old.”

She takes a deep breath and then bellows:

Customer: “MANAGERRRRRR!”

The manager comes over and reluctantly accepts the raincheck.

Me: *After the customer is gone* “Why did you accept the raincheck? It’s so old.”

Manager: “She would just complain to corporate and get a bunch of freebies, and I would get a slap on the wrist from some CEO somewhere. Trust me, it’s not worth it.”

Sadly, he was half-right. Even with the raincheck accepted, the customer complained anyway, stating, “It took too long,” and she was “distressed when initially told no.” She got a $50 voucher as an apology. F*** corporate.