(My brother-in-law and I often communicate over text via animal noises. This tends to baffle the rest of the family, but they ignore it because otherwise we mock-fight. I’m talking to my sister over the phone, and can hear my brother-in-law in the background.)

Me: “Oh. Is [Brother-In-Law] home?”

Sister: “Yeah. He’s packing before he heads back out to the bush tomorrow.”

Me: “Can you tell him ‘quack’ for me?”

Sister: “…what?”

Me: “Just tell him ‘quack’ for me.”

Sister: “All right, then.” *to him* “[My Name] says ‘quack’.”

(My brother-in-law replies with a loud and surprisingly realistic ‘moo.’)

Sister: “He says—”

Me: *laughing* “Yeah, I heard him. Anyway—”

(We go back to chatting for a few minutes before my brother-in-law chimes in again with an even louder ‘moo.’)

Sister: “[Brother-in-law]! That is an outside noise!”

(I am seven years old. As part of a Father’s Day assembly our class has painted pictures of our fathers to show. For some reason, however, there was a mix-up with my painting and another girl’s. The girl is ill on the day of the assembly, and I’m given her painting.)

Me: “Mrs. [Teacher], this isn’t mine. This is [Other Girl’s] painting.”

Teacher: “It’s yours. It has your name on it.”

(I turn it over and look. My name is there, but in the teacher’s handwriting.)

Me: “But it’s not mine. That one’s mine.”

(I point to my painting, and go to pick it up. The teacher snatches it away.)

Teacher: “No! That’s not yours to take!”

Me: “But it’s mine!”

(I start to cry; my father has come all the way from his work in London to see this assembly, and I wanted to show him the painting. The teacher, irritated, calls my mum in. After the teacher explains to her what has happened, my mum takes one look at the painting which is supposedly mine.)

Mum: “That’s not her painting.”

Teacher: “Look, being a good parent means understanding that your child isn’t always right—”

Mum: “Yes, but being a good parent also means knowing what my daughter’s artwork is like. I also know this isn’t hers because that is NOT what her father looks like!”

(My mum is right: in this painting, the father has brown hair and a long beard. While my father has brown hair, he is always clean shaven. The kicker is that my teacher has MET my father before, so knows this. She looks stunned.)

Mum: “Furthermore, you have made my daughter cry over YOUR mistake. I’m angry, but pray her father doesn’t hear about this.”

Teacher: “…I apologize.”

(My teacher hurriedly handed me my painting. What’s more, the entire class was watching, and they all immediately spoke up that their paintings have been muddled up, too. They’d been too afraid to speak out. With my mum watching the entire time, the teacher hurriedly solved the problems.)

(A few weeks ago I accidentally stabbed myself in the hand, between my thumb and index finger. Though it has healed, I have a scar, and it still hurts quite a bit if I hit it on anything. A customer has purchased a battery operated device. Store policy is to put batteries in it to make sure it works before they leave. I go to put batteries in but the cap slips out of my hand and manages to hit my scar.)

Me: “Ouch!”

Customer: “What happened?”

Me: “Oh, sorry. The cap hit the scar on my hand.”

Customer: “How’d you get it?”

Me: “Oh, I was at my other job, when I accidentally stabbed my hand. It healed pretty quickly with no infection. So, it’s all better now.”

Customer: “Why would you do that?”

Me: “What?”

Customer: “Why would you stab yourself?”

Me: *joking* “Well, it just seemed like such a good idea at the time.”

Customer: “You shouldn’t do that! You should see someone about your issues right away!”

Me: “Um, it was an accident. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Customer: “You shouldn’t lie to cover up your problems. Here take my card. I’m certified for these kinds of things.”

Me: “No, thank you. It really was an accident. I was just joking earlier.”

Customer: “Nonsense! I demand that we set up an appointment. I’m going to help you. I’m certified for these kinds of things.”

Me: *sigh* “….so you said.”

Customer: “Good. Now, how does meeting me at [address] at 2 pm tomorrow sound?”

(I am defeated, and am just trying to get this customer out of my store.)

Me: “Sure, sounds just fine.”

Customer: “Okay! See you then. And don’t worry, we will help you with your issues. Just don’t do anything too bad before we meet again!”

(The customer walks off smiling. I never went to that meeting, although I did give my boss a heads up if a crazy woman came asking for me.)

(My fiancée and I are e-mailing while I’m at work.)

Me: “Ugh. My knees are acting up today.”

Fiancée: *hugs* “Take drugs?”

Me: “I did, actually. And then I got up and sat back down, and now my back’s killing me.”

Fiancée: “Stupid bodies.”

Me: “Yeah. Can I just be a brain in a jar?”

Fiancée: “…but, but, but– boobies! How do I snuggle a brain in a jar?”

(I work security at a local college. I am currently in what is supposed to be a twelve-hour shift, but daylight saving time has rolled back one hour and made the shift thirteen hours. Coworker #1 and I have just returned to the dispatch after doing a check of the school very early in the morning. Coworker #1 also happens to be a Native American.)

Coworker #1: “Well, that was depressing.”

Coworker #2: “What?”

Me: “We were just in the gymnasium. The clock on the scoreboard hasn’t rolled back automatically. So it told us we were an hour away from our shift’s end, when we are actually two.”

Coworker #2: “Daylight saving is stupid.”

Coworker #1: “I just remember what my elders had said when told about it. ‘Only the white man’s government could believe cutting the top off a blanket and sewing it to the bottom would make the blanket longer.'”

Coworker #2: “Wouldn’t it? I mean now you have those extra stitches in there, blanket might be a bit heavier.”

(The two go back and forth a bit before I speak up again.)

Me: “You do realize that regardless of the blanket’s length, our shift is still 13 hours.”

Coworker #1: “F*** crochet.”

This story is part of our Native-American roundup.

Want to read the first story? Click here!

Want to read the roundup? Click here!