(My economics teacher has told the class that we were going to see the movie ‘Wall Street.’)

Teacher: “Of course, I’ll have to skip two scenes.”

Student: “What? Why?”

Teacher: “I don’t want to be responsible for showing you your first set of boobies!”

Me: “What do you mean, their ‘first?'”

(I have said for years that I’m sure when my husband and I have a kid, it will turn out to be twins. We are at a grocery store picking up our bags at the cash register.)

Me: “Here, you take the heavy one. You’d better get used to it, because when we have twins you’re going to be carrying the fat one.”

Husband: “The sad thing is that you’ve already decided there’s going to be a fat one.”

(At the factory where I work, we run eight-hour-shifts, 24 hours a day. We tend to come in ten minutes early on our shifts so the previous shift’s colleagues can ‘hand over’ the shift, along with any points of attention. It is 2 pm, which is the starting time of the shift. In my area, I work with one other colleague. At 2 pm on the dot, I finally see him coming to the room where we work. I approach him.)

Me: “Why do you keep coming in just past 2 pm? We should be here at 1:50.”

Colleague: “They only pay us from 2 pm on, so there’s no need for that.”

Me: “Then why are you leaving at 9:50? They pay you until 10 pm as well you know.”

Colleague: “Well, the colleagues from the next shift are already there then, aren’t they? So there’s no sense in sticking around until that time.”

Me: “So you don’t want to come here 10 minutes early but you expect them to be here?”

Colleague: “Yeah.”

Me: “That is wrong on so many levels…”

(Strangely enough, he didn’t get his temporary contract extended!)

(My roommate and I are doing some shopping at a popular supermarket chain. The employees wear red shirts with white name tags. My roommate works at a day spa and hasn’t changed out of her uniform yet, which is a black dress with a bronze name tag. As we are heading to check out, an elderly woman grabs my friend’s arm.)

Woman: “Can you tell me where the house robes are?”

My Roommate: “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

(The woman is still holding on to my friend’s arm, so my friend gently pulls herself loose.)

Woman: “Excuse me! I asked you a question!”

My Roommate: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I really don’t know where they are. I don’t work here.”

(At this point, a store employee has noticed us and approaches.)

Employee: “Can I help you ladies?”

Woman: “This lady won’t help me find the house robes! She isn’t doing her job. I asked a simple question, and she’s ignoring me to hang out with her little friend instead. I want to speak to a manager.”

Employee: “Ma’am, I don’t believe she works here.”

Me: “She doesn’t.”

Woman: “Well, then why is she wearing a name tag?”

My Roommate: “I work at a day spa down the street and I haven’t had time to change out my uniform yet.”

Woman: “Oh. How was I supposed to know that?”

(She’s being very rude and I’m getting fed up with it.)

Me: “Because her uniform looks absolutely nothing like his?”

Woman: “Excuse me? I won’t be talked to like that.”

Employee: “Ma’am, I apologize for this misunderstanding. If you’ll come with me, I’ll show you the—”

Woman: “No! I want to see a manager! I want both of these girls fired!”

My Roommate: “Neither of us work here!”

(I work as a publisher. I get a visit from a very distraught client.)

Client: “Excuse me. I’m really sorry, but I was told you were the head publisher?”

Me: “Yes, I am. How can I help?”

Client: “Well, I’ve been writing stories my whole life. I’ve even written a couple for my children that they love. I’m really good at it and it’s a great passion of mine. It’s my life-long dream to make a living as a writer, but nobody will even look at my novel because I’m dyslexic. I know the spelling and grammar aren’t great but I’ve had people spell-check it for me. I just need someone to give me a chance. I know my book will be a hit.”

Me: “I’m so sorry to hear how you’ve been treated. Send me the first few pages of your book, the best scene in the book, preferably around the middle, and the last few pages, and I’ll give them a read.”

(The client thanks me, places the ENTIRE book on my desk, and then leaves. I start to read it later that day, only to discover that not only is the spelling and grammar awful, but so is the book itself. I continue reading much more than I usually do, wanting to believe this man is truly the great writer he claims to be. The story gets worse and worse the more I read. I read a couple of pages in the middle. Then, I skip to the end, only to discover he ended the book with the most despised phrase in the literary world: “…and it was all a dream.” Needless to say, I write him a rejection letter. A few days later, I get a message from the receptionist, who is in tears, claiming an enraged man is here screaming about suing us. I tell her to let him in. It is our dyslexic client.)

Client: “What is this?! You told me you were going to publish my book!”

Me: “No, sir. I said I was going to read your book, which I did. I’m sorry, but I do not believe it is suitable to be published.”

Client: “That’s bulls***. My book is brilliant. You have to publish it. There’s no good reason not to.”

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry, but the book’s no good. I can’t publish this.”

Client: “Oh, yeah? Name me five reasons why you can’t publish it.”

Me: “Five?”

Client: “Yeah, five. Otherwise, there’s no reason your editing team can’t sort it out.”

Me: “Okay. First of all, there is next to no characterisation.”

Client: “What the f*** does that mean?”

Me: “It means that your characters don’t develop in any way.”

Client: “That’s complete bulls***. What else?”

Me: “Your main character is supposed to be the protagonist and yet has no fatal flaw. He’s perfect.”

Client: “Main characters are supposed to be perfect. That’s why people love them. Hamlet didn’t have a ‘fatal flaw’.”

Me: “Actually, he did. He procrastinated and it resulted in many deaths.”

Client: “You don’t know what you’re talking about. And that’s only two.”

Me: “I’m not finished. Three, I know you are dyslexic, but almost every sentence needs to be edited. That is too much work for our editor and financially would not be beneficial for the company. Four, you not only use abbreviations in the narration like ‘BTW’ for ‘by the way,’ but you also use words that don’t exist.”

Client: “Like what?”

Me: “Like the word ‘et.’ It does not exist.”

Client: “Yeah, it does. I ‘et’ an apple.”

Me: “Ate, sir. You ate an apple. ‘Et’ is not a word.”

Client: “Fine, but that’s only four.”

Me: “And five, it’s not long enough.”

Client: “How can it not be long enough? It’s well over 100 pages.”

Me: “Sir, the quantity of a book is based on word count, not pages. Your book may be over 100 pages, but with the size of the paper, the size of the font, and the fact that you start a brand new page every time you start a new chapter, it’s too short.”

Client: “Well, how long does it have to be?”

Me: “The average novel is between 80,000 to 120,000 words. Your novel is just over 16,000. I have nothing against people with dyslexia and there are many great writers who have it. You, however, will not be one of those writers. I can continue to list more things wrong with your novel, but I have listed the five you requested. Now, I must ask you to leave my office as I am incredibly busy.”

(The client grabbed his novel from my hands and stormed out. A couple of weeks later, we received a letter from a lawyer suing us for discrimination, claiming that we were not publishing the man’s novel because he was dyslexic. I had our lawyers phone his and explain the true reasons, and I provided proof that our conversation was recorded. We never heard from him after that.)

This story is part of our Writers roundup!

Read the next story in this roundup!

Read the Writers roundup!