A new store manager is going through staff scheduling with the floor managers. It’s his first time managing a store in a small town with just one high school where a lot of people know each other.

Store Manager: “Who is Milton? Why is he only ever scheduled to work the back?”

Checkout Manager: “Milton? Oh, you mean Milk. Yeah, he’s no good on checkout. We tried, but that didn’t work out.”

Store Manager: “Milk?”

Me: “Nickname.”

Store Manager: “Why is his nickname Milk?”

Me: “He got 2% on his final math test in high school, and since then, everyone’s called him Milk.”

Store Manager: “Okay, so no checkout. Got it.”

I had a client send me an email asking if I could turn a 35″-by-11″ banner I’d done for them into a small square ad for print. 

Client: “Thanks, but I don’t think you understand. We don’t want it to change at all; we just want you to shrink it into a square. Don’t move anything.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but no matter how small I shrink a rectangle, it won’t turn into a square. If you want a square ad, I can keep the same components but they will have to be re-arranged.”

Client: “We don’t want anything moved. Just the same ad, but a square.”

I sent them the square, with the rectangular ad in the center and two giant white gaps above and below it. Two weeks later (and without a reply from my client), I saw the version I had sent them in a newspaper.

CONTENT WARNING: Dead Animals (Taxidermy)

My aunt used to do free presentations using taxidermy specimens from the college where she worked. I’d help. These specimens had tags saying the dates they’d been stuffed — some back to the early 1900s. (The oldest I recall was a bear cub from 1903.)

The kids understood that the animals were dead and stuffed. On multiple occasions, we had parents ask what kind of drugs we had given the animals to keep them so quiet and docile.

THEY’RE DEAD!

I went into the post office some years ago, needing stamps.

Me: “I’d like to buy half a dozen stamps, please.”

Clerk: “We don’t sell things in dozens or half-dozens. Your choices are six or twelve.”

Me: “…Six.”

The clerk gave me the requested stamps.

Clerk: “I don’t know why you people make weird and stupid requests like that.”

Me: “A dozen is twelve. Half a dozen is six.”

Clerk: “Now you’re just lying to seem smarter than me.”

Me: “No, ma’am, I would never try to seem smarter than you.”

I left, shaking my head and wondering if maybe, just maybe, we made one too many budget cuts to our education system.

We are a small, independent store, and the owner is conscious of the environment. As a result, we have switched entirely to paper bags. They are good quality and can handle heavy groceries, and most importantly, we don’t charge any more for them than we did for the plastic bags.

Customer: “It’s so cool that you’ve done away with the plastic. I love shopping here for that.” 

Me: “Yes, it’s certainly better for the environment.” 

The customer behind my current customer in line sneers and scoffs.

Other Customer: “All that climate change bulls*** is just big corporations trying to make money by making you use paper bags that will dissolve.”

Me: “You’re welcome to bring in your own plastic bags to carry your groceries, sir.”

Other Customer: “I’m just saying, climate change isn’t real.” 

Customer: “Chill, dude.”

Other Customer: “What? There’s no real science to prove climate change, and these paper bags are expensive. Coincidence?” 

Customer: “I wasn’t looking for a debate. I was just saying I like the paper bags.”

Other Customer: “I’m just playing devil’s advocate!”

Customer: “It’s not devil’s advocate if you’re just a moron.” 

Mr. Climate Change Denier was blissfully silent (albeit glaring) for the rest of his time in the line.