(I am the hospital’s pharmacist. Occasionally, a patient is admitted to the hospital who brings in medications from home, often in a plastic baggie or other unlabeled container. One day, a nurse calls me ahead of sending down the pills.)

Nurse: “I’m sending down some pills to be identified, but they smell funny… like bad breath or poop or something.”

Me: “Uh, okay.”

(About 10 pills arrive in the pneumatic tube system. They look funny, are irregularly shaped and have no imprint codes stamped on them. The brown outer coating is sloughing off. I think they are perhaps an herbal product. When I open the baggie, the stench nearly knocks me off my feet. I put on a pair of gloves and spend a few minutes gagging, but nonetheless trying to figure out what they are. Defeated, I call the nurse back.)

Me: “Where did you say they patient got these pills from?”

Nurse: “Oh, the gastroenterologist is here, and he dug 40 of them out of the patient’s rectum.”

Me: “…Say WHAT?! Listen, for future reference, that would have been nice to know before I opened the package and nearly threw up!”

Nurse: “Consider yourself lucky: the unit secretary touched them with her bare hands!”

(The “pills” were indeed several weeks’ worth of tablets that had been the cause of the patient’s severe constipation!)

(I am at my mother’s helping her put up her Christmas decorations.)

Son: “Daddy, how come you got a fake tree?”

Me: “So it won’t make a mess, and grandma can use it again.”

Son: “Well, that’s not nice. Jesus would want a real tree.”

Grandma: “Well, grandma doesn’t want a real nice mess.”

Son: *yelling* “Why won’t you buy Jesus nice things?!”

(My boss is lunching with one of our biggest clients. As a nice Christmas gesture, he wants to give them a gift and sends me out to see what the local winery has. Once there, I spy a four bottle box set of very nice Italian vintages and take it to the register. Note: this happens on December 21st which is slated to be a potential date for the end of the world.)

Cashier: “Oh man, you’re going for the good stuff, aren’t you? Quite a party you’ll have with these!”

Me: “I wish! They’re actually for a client of ours.”

Cashier: “Oh, right.” *winks* “Don’t worry, I’m planning to welcome the apocalypse in a similar way.”

Me: “Uh, no… seriously, I’m buying this for a customer of my boss.”

Cashier: “Yeah I get ya.” *winks again* “Just a suggestion? Grab yourself some high strength painkillers as well. A few handfuls mixed in with these and you’ll be so out of your head you won’t care the world is ending!”

Me: *quietly takes the wine and walks out*

(I am about 10 years old, and around the holidays I walk up to my mom.)

Me: “Mom, is Santa real?”

Mom: “Do you want presents for Christmas?”

Me: “Yes.”

Mom: “Then Santa’s real.”

(To this day I have never questioned the existence of Santa in front of my mom, and I am now 23!)

(A customer is singing ‘Call Me Maybe’ really loud and obnoxiously while unloading items. I’m in line behind her. People behind me are complaining. The owner sneaks up behind her.)

Customer: “Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy…”

Owner: “…but you’re in my store, so SHUT UP MAYBE!”

(I will shop there for the rest of my life!)