(My grandmother has Alzheimer’s disease. My uncle’s wife helps to take care of her while my grandfather is ill. My aunt is in her 40s. My grandma is in her 70s, but often believes herself to be in her 20s still.)

Aunt: “Alright, [Grandma’s name]. Time for your shower! Let’s go.”

Gran: “Oh, alright. I don’t know why you want me to shower in the middle of the day, but if it’ll stop you from nagging…”

Aunt: “It’s only eight! What do you mean the middle of the day?”

Gran: “I’ve been up for hours. Eight is the middle of the day.”

(They go into the bathroom together, bantering away. My grandma just stares at my aunt for several moments without doing or saying anything.)

Aunt: “What’s the matter? Do you need help getting undressed?”

Gran: “No, but I want my privacy!”

Aunt: “You know I can’t do that; not since you slipped.”

Gran: “Oh, fine. But turn away.”

Aunt: “You’re shy now? Wait’ll I tell Pop!”

Gran: “It’s just that– Well. I’m getting a little fat, is all. I don’t want you to see how awful my tummy is now.”

Aunt: “You’ve got nothing on me!”

(My aunt lifts her shirt to reveal her stomach.)

Aunt: “Look at that!”

Gran: “Yes, but that’s because you’re old and have kids already. I don’t have any such excuse.”

(I’m in art history. We’re doing a unit on art in architecture.)

Professor: “And those there are… Okay. I’m gonna say it once. I want you all to get it out of your system right now, because after today I won’t tolerate laughter.”

(The class is silent in anticipation.)

Professor: “These are… flying buttresses.”

(Everyone bursts out laughing. The professor just calmly stands there waiting. Finally, we’ve all calmed down and stopped laughing.)

Professor: “I’ve been teaching this course for 10 years. Every single time the class laughs at ‘flying buttresses.’ After a while I’ve learned to just let you all get one big laugh out before I proceed with the lesson.”

(My fair-trade, non-profit store is rather on the small side. We have no stockroom, meaning that all of our available merchandise is on the sales floor. One night I am working alone when new customers come in. The wife is very pleasant, but the husband decides that he’s going to do everything in his power to mess with me. After about twenty minutes of his questioning my store’s mission, whether we really qualify as a non-profit, and why he should care about the people who make the products we sell, he and his wife decide on a silk lamp. We have only one available.)

Customer: “How much is the lamp?”

Me: “That is [price].”

Customer: “I mean after my discount. You’re going to give me a discount because I’m buying the floor model.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t have a back room. Everything we sell is the ‘floor model.’ It’s going to be [price].”

Customer: “Oh, come on! You gotta give me some kind of discount!”

Customer’s Wife: “Honey, stop talking before I tell her to add on a bonus charge for having to put up with you.”

(My boyfriend and I are lounging on the couch in my living room. I decide to try something I read on Not Always Romantic to change or avoid the conversation.)

Boyfriend: “What do you want for Christmas?”

Me: “Socks.”

(I immediately latch onto my boyfriend.)

Me: “I’m a seatbelt. You can thank me later for saving your life.”

Boyfriend: *lurches violently forward* “That was a pretty forceful crash. I don’t think even a seatbelt can save me now.”

(My boyfriend tries to roll off the couch, but I squeeze tighter.)

Me: “Seatbelts are incredibly well made nowadays.”

Boyfriend: “The crash sent the couch rolling into a lake. Now it’s rapidly filling with water! The seatbelt is preventing me from escaping!”

Me: “Seatbelt performs its duty no matter the circumstances.”

Boyfriend: “But I’m going to drown now.”

(He makes gurgling noises. He closes his eyes and goes limp.)

Me: “Job well done, seatbelt.”

Boyfriend: “It’s my dying wish to know what you want for Christmas.”

Me: *covering his face with my hand* “Shh. Hush now, dead person. The ambulance will be here soon to take you to the morgue…”

(I am 12 years old and female. My best friend is a 13-year-old male. I am at his house and am supposed to be home by 10 o’clock.)

Friend’s Mom: “Son, time for bed! Shut off the game.”

Friend: “Why?”

Friend’s Mom: “It’s 2 am!”

(I get up and silently walk into the living room from his room.)

Friend’s Mom: “Whoa, [My Name]. You’re still here?”

Me: *rubs head* “We lost track of time. See ya later!”

(I leave and go home, which is just across the street. I find that everyone is asleep, and didn’t even realize that I missed my curfew… by four hours.)