(I have third-grade twins: a boy and a girl. My daughter has always been a straight-A student, but year after year we struggle with my son. We dread parent/teacher conferences because they’re almost always negative. My wife and I are sitting down with his third-grade teacher for the first time.)

Teacher: “Well, where to start with [Son]…”

Wife: “Yes. We’ve heard a lot of things from his teachers in the past, so just tell us what you think is important.”

Teacher: “Oh, yes. Okay. For starters, I wish I had a class full of students just like him!”

(We pause, stunned.)

Me: “Are you sure you’re talking about [Son]? We’ve had teacher after teacher complain every year.”

Teacher: “But why? We struggle so much to get students to participate and ask questions in class. Your son asks more questions than anyone else in class, and he participates in every lesson enthusiastically.”

Wife: “We get told every year that he acts up and disrupts class. He’s constantly getting in trouble.”

Teacher: “I don’t know what his previous teachers are talking about. If I had more students like him, the class would teach itself.”

(We thank her and any other teacher that finds ways to take “problem students” and turn them into a blessing!)

This story is part of our Parent-Teacher-Conference Roundup!

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(It is about 11 pm in a grocery store. I am the supervisor on duty. It is just me, cleaning the customer service counter, and one cashier working a register. An elderly customer ambles up to the checkout lane.)

Cashier: “Hey, ma’am. How are you tonight?”

Customer: “Oh, I’m just- AHHHHHHHH!” *waves her arms dramatically and hops backwards.* “Oh, my gosh, honey. There’s a HUGE puddle of water there! Oh, I slipped. I think I hurt something! Oh, my hip!”

Cashier: “Really? Are you okay?”

Customer: “Oww, my hip! Oh, I think I strained something! Get me your manager right now!”

(The cashier pages the manager to the register.)

Manager: “Oh, my goodness, ma’am. What happened?!”

Customer: “There was a huge puddle of water! I slipped and I hurt my back! Oh, gosh. It hurts!”

Manager: *to cashier, who is wiping the floor with paper towels that are remaining suspiciously dry* “Ring up her groceries for me, please.” *to the customer* “Here, ma’am. Have a seat. Please, tell me exactly what happened.”

Customer: “Oh, there was all this water, and I slipped like this.”

(The customer makes exaggerated lunges, trying to demonstrate how she fell.)

Customer: “Oh, it was awful. My hip hurts! Oh, I threw out my back! Oh, it hurts!”

(The customer makes more movements an injured person would be quite incapable of making.)

Customer: “I’ll be contacting my lawyer!”

Manager: “I see. Here’s my store and my personal information. Please give me yours as well, and we’ll be in touch. I’m terribly sorry about this. I hope you make it home alright.”

(The customer ambles out to her car, shouting ‘oh, my back!’ the entire way.)

Manager: “I need written statements from both of you. Good thing we have this on camera.”

Cashier: “Do you think she’ll sue?”

Manager: “I hope so. I’m putting her a** in jail if she does.”

(I have been ‘assigned’ to put up the Christmas decorations at my mother’s house.)

Mother: “What are you doing?”

Me: “You said to put up the decorations that were in the garage.”

(My mom keeps decorations for almost everything, and always a lot of them. Halloween, Xmas, Easter, you name it. I’ve put ALL of them up.)

Mother: “But, it’s CHRISTMAS.”

Me: *packing the boxes away* “I know.”

Mother: “Why is all the other stuff up?”

Me: *pulling my car keys out of my pocket* “Because you said the stuff in the garage. That was inclusive of everything in there that’s decorations. I figured you just wanted to have some fun.”

Mother: “But… But… It’s Christmas!”

Me: “Yeah. And?”

Mother: “Can you put away the non-Christmas stuff?”

Me: “Nope. I’ve got a 12-hour shift at work to get to. I’ll see if I can get to it, or you can. Bye.”

(Three months later, in February, everything was still up. The neighbors were complaining about it looking ‘tacky.’)

(Shortly after moving in with my boyfriend, I experienced a severe illness. I was basically bedridden, getting up only to vomit. After that, he gets extremely concerned when I have even the slightest bit of an upset stomach. I inform him that I feel a little queasy. After I take an anti-nausea pill, he hugs me, looking worried.)

Boyfriend: “Are you gonna be okay?”

Me: “Yeah, I’m just a little ‘urpy.’”

Boyfriend: “Why?”

Me: “Probably because I ate all that chocolate.”

Boyfriend: “Why?”

Me: “Because it was GOOD.”

Boyfriend: “Why?”

Me: “Because it was DARK chocolate!”

Boyfriend: “Why?”

Me: “Don’t make me slap you.”

Boyfriend: “Why?”

Me: “Well, if you want me to, I will!”

Boyfriend: “Why?”

(I lightly pat his cheek.)

Boyfriend: *clutching his face and reeling dramatically* “Whyyy!?”

(The credits are rolling after “Thor: The Dark World.” One post-credits scene has already played, but there has been word that there is another. Half of the theater seems to be unaware and begins filing out. The patron in front of me begins to shout.)

Patron: “There’s one more!”

(People continue filing out.)

Patron’s Friend: “That was my ear!”

Patron: “Well, get your ear out of the way! Really, there’s one more!”

(Those who have decided to leave continue to do so.)

Patron: “Seriously, I’m not Loki! There’s ONE MORE!”

(People are still leaving.)

Patron: “ENJOY IT ON YOUTUBE!”

(Sure enough, there is one more cut scene after the credits. Sir, thank you for your valiant efforts to warn the masses!)