One time, I was going to visit my grandpa. We had a set time I’d be at his house. I was going to call to say I’d be about half an hour late due to traffic, but my phone had died.

I grab my wife’s phone and dial his number. I say:

Me: “Hey, it’s [My Name]. I’ll be about half an hour late.”

Grandpa: “Oh, so you won’t be at [Restaurant in the next town over]?”

I said I was going to his house, and didn’t know about the plans to meet at a restaurant. We both were confused.

Me: “Am I talking to [Grandpa’s Name]?”

Grandpa: “Yes.”

Me: “Are you supposed to meet [My Name]?”

Grandpa: “Yes.”

Me: “I must have the wrong number. Bye.”

I hang up and stop to look at my phone. I had dialed one number wrong on the phone.

I had ended up with someone with the same name as my grandpa, meeting someone with the same name as me, at the same time, just a few miles apart.

He even sounded like my grandpa, too.

CONTENT WARNING: Mention of gun violence

I am a forty-year-old woman maintenance assistant for a city. There are not many females on my team, but we are crucial for parts of the job (liability stuff). I also dye my hair with henna. In the sunlight, it often glows bright like copper. I don’t know what compelled a random man old enough to be my father to approach me, but my hair is often the reason. I’ve been hit on many times before, and it likely won’t be the last. This time, however, is by far the strangest interaction I’ve ever had.

Today, I was asked to meet several of my leads on a repair job in a heavily homeless-populated area. My team never cleans there because it’s unsafe, but a pipe burst, and it was an emergency. And we were understaffed that day. So, my boss trusted me to drive four blocks to the repair site. The moment I get out of the truck, ZOOM!

Some random, old man in an American flag hat has snuck up behind me, positioning his scooter between my truck’s driver door and me, but not between my leads’ truck. There in the truck sat three of my leads (tall, dark, bearded men wearing the same uniform as me). I was safe.

First, assuming this was a man looking for directions or assistance, I don my customer service, always-be-polite-to-the-public state of mind.

The dialogue that follows is an approximation of our interaction.

Me: “Can I help you?”

Him: “Come here often?”

Me: “No. This is my first time here.”

Him: “Oh. So, you’re here to clear out these bums.”

Me: “That’s not my job.”

Him: “What is your job?”

Me: *Gesturing to my leads behind me.* “We are maintenance.”

Him: “So, you can do something about the holes in the fence? Those bums are cutting holes there. There. There.”

Me: “That is an excellent observation. I’ll be sure to pass it along.”

Him: “While you’re at it, you should take a shotgun and blow their heads off.”

Me: “…I’m sorry, but we as city employees cannot condone violence.”

Him: “Fine. Maybe, I’ll do it.”

Me: “Just don’t do it in front of me. I’ll be obligated to report it.”

After he scootered off, I turn to my leads.

Me: “Will one of you ride with me. I suddenly don’t want to drive alone.”

I was walking with some friends along a crowded road. In front of me comes a couple of women, quite attractive if I may say so.

From the other side of the road, two guys slowly zig-zagging on a scooter see them and start catcalling. At first, the women ignore them, until the guy riding the scooter shouts:

Catcaller: “Hey sis, what an amazing rack you got! Is it all yours?”

One of the two women turns around and shouts back, loud enough for everyone to hear:

Woman: “Why, do you share custody of your nuts with your father?”

The guy’s passenger almost fell from the scooter from the laughter and shock, and both quickly rode away between two wings of laughing bystanders.

My friend and I are leaving the mall.

Friend: “Wait, I need to run into [Store] to get one more thing.”

Me: *Pointing to the big mall clock.* “You can’t.”

Friend: “Huh?”

Me: “The mall closed a minute ago. That’s why we’re leaving!”

Friend: “Don’t talk like that! I didn’t know!”

Me: “The clock is huge, dude.”

Friend: “You know I can’t read stick time!”

I have just spent a long weekend away with the boys. It’s been a great time, and we’re all talking about doing it again in six months or so. Before we all start driving back to our home cities:

Friend #1: “Okay, just a quick little thing. I sent three questions to the group chat. If y’all could answer them before you get home, it would be great.”

Me: *Reading the message.* “Any updates about our marriage? Any updates about our kids? Any updates about our jobs?”

We all look up, confused.

Friend #2: “Why do you want to know any of this?”

Friend #1: “I don’t! I don’t give a crap about any of it. But the last time I got home from a boys’ trip, my wife asked all these questions, and I just told her I don’t know. She didn’t believe me when I told her we spent all weekend talking about our favorite levels in Mario and Halo, and trying to figure out the differences between crocodiles and alligators. She thought I was having an affair or something.”

It then dawned on me that we’d spent this weekend ranking different fast-food fries, coming up with updated rules for calling “shotgun” in a car, and trying to figure out how much an adult male gorilla could bench press.

Me: “Yeah, I think all our wives think we’re cheating at this point. Better answer all the questions, guys!”