(A friend has been telling us about his trip back to where he was born.)

Friend: “That sounds so sweet. It makes me think of that song, Green, Green Grass of Home.” *starts singing the first verse* “It’s such a lovely song.”

Me: “But that song is about an execution.”

Friend: “Where did you hear that from? No, it’s not; it’s a lovely song. I’ve been singing it for years.”

Me: “Try singing the last verse.”

Friend: *singing* “Then I awake and look around me,

At four grey walls that surround me,

And I realize, yes, I was only dreaming,

For there’s a guard and there’s a sad old padre,

Arm in arm, we’ll walk at daybreak,

Again I touch the green, green grass of home.”

*stops singing*  “What’s wrong with that?”

Me: *internally face-palming* “Four grey walls are a prison cell. A guard and a padre?”

Friend: “That could be anything.”

Me: “Okay, what about the last line?”

Friend: “He’s lying under the old oak tree.”

Me: “They lay him under the grass by the old oak tree.”

Friend: “Holy s***; why didn’t I notice that? I was going to sing this song at the old folks home next week.”

(I am attending the county fair, and I go to use the women’s bathroom. There is only one handicapped stall, and a polite woman using a wheelchair is waiting to use it. She even moves her chair to make sure I can get into an empty stall. Once I am done, she is still waiting, and I notice she is squirming a lot in her chair. I work with disabled individuals, and I know that those with mobility issues, especially those who are paralyzed, can have little to no control over their bladders.)

Me: “Are you all right?”

Woman In Chair: “Yes, it’s just… I’ve been waiting about ten minutes, and it’s getting harder and harder.”

Me: *I knock on the stall door* “Excuse me, are you all right?”

Woman In Stall: “See? I told you to hurry up; people are waiting! We are not leaving this stall until you go potty!”

Child: *also in stall* “I don’t have to go! I told you already!”

Woman In Stall: “I don’t care! We’re not leaving!”

Me: “Ma’am? I’m sorry, but there are people waiting to use this stall.”

Woman In Stall: “We’re in here!”

Woman In Chair: “I can wait, I think. I’m trying.” *squirms more* “Really, I don’t like to cause a scene.”

Me: *to the woman in the stall* “Ma’am, that is the only stall large enough for anyone with a wheelchair to use; you need to move so others can use it.”

Woman In Stall: “I have my daughter with me!”

Child: “I don’t have to go!”

(This goes around for about three minutes. The mother keeps yelling at her daughter to go potty, the daughter says she doesn’t have to, and I try my hardest to figure out how to get a woman who cannot walk at all into a stall that isn’t large enough for her wheelchair. It’s not happening, at all. Even the larger stalls all have tiny doors. The woman in her wheelchair is actually tearing up.)

Woman In Chair: “This is my anniversary trip. I don’t have any spare clothes, or another seat cushion, and I just can’t… I can’t wait.”

Me: *bangs on the stall door*

Woman In Stall: “FINE!”

(She comes out of the stall, revealing that her daughter has to be close to seven years old. They leave, and I move out of the way so the woman in the chair can get in. As I move, an eleven-year-old girl walks over and actually steps over the foot pedals of the woman in the wheelchair!)

Me: “Hey! Wait your turn, please.”

Woman In Chair: “Excuse me. I was next; I’ve been waiting.”

Girl: *stares straight at the woman in the wheelchair as she shoves the door shut and locks it, literally having to push the woman back to do so*

Woman In Chair: *crying* “Please! Please! I can’t hold it any longer. Every other stall is free! Please!”

(The girl ignores us, and a woman comes in and walks straight past us and to the handicapped stall. She begins talking to her daughter through the stall.)

Me: “Ma’am, your daughter pushed this woman aside, who has been waiting!”

Mother: “Oops, sorry about that.” *continues talking to her daughter, notices that the woman in the wheelchair is crying* “[Child], this is actually a very good lesson for you. Look how upset this woman is getting over a bathroom stall. That is ridiculous! You did nothing wrong; it’s stupid to get upset over a stall.”

Me: “Wow! I’d be more upset over the fact you and your daughter are b****es.”

(The mother throws a literal tantrum. Her daughter comes out, and the mother then refuses to move, standing in front of the handicapped stall and trying to get other women in the bathroom to side with her, repeatedly saying, “I don’t have to move if I don’t want to; am I right?” Finally, a woman who has been doing her makeup at the sink turns around and stares the mother down.)

Makeup Woman: “If I were you, I would be beyond embarrassed. First for your daughter’s obvious lack of manners, and then for your own. If you were one of my employees, or if my daughters acted even close to how yours has, I’d be appalled. You are at a community event, and you are a parent. Act like an adult.” *looks at the girl* “As for you, I hope that you do not grow up to act like you are acting now, or how your mother is, because I can assure you it is a mistake.”

(The mother grabbed her daughter’s unwashed hand and stormed out, a bunch of us laughing at her as she did so.)

(I start puberty early, and by the age of ten, I have a well-developed chest, while most of my classmates are still very flat. I was constantly teased long before this, but the other girls have started a loud campaign to convince everyone that my breasts are fake. One day, I am in the girls restroom when the head “mean girl” and her friends surround me.)

Mean Girl: “Look; we all KNOW you’re stuffing. You can’t fool anyone! Just admit it.”

Me: *fed up at this point, I lift up the front of my shirt and flash the entire group* “Trust me; they’re real.”

(I then left without saying another word. While I was still teased for a variety of other reasons, somehow no one ever questioned my breasts again.)

(It is the day before the Cassini space probe is scheduled to finish its mission and dive into Saturn, and some of us have been talking about it at the office, when [Coworker #1] walks by.)

Coworker #1: “It’s finally getting to Saturn? And they’re going to crash right into it?”

Me: “No. It’s been there a long time, taking pictures of the planet and its moons.”

Coworker #2: “It was launched in 1997, arrived at Saturn in 2004, and it’s been orbiting there ever since.”

Coworker #1: *entirely serious* “Oh, right. Gotcha. So… is it manned?”

Everyone In Earshot: *long, incredulous silence*

Coworker #2: “No.”

(I get on a train to travel to meet a friend. A girl who looks like she’s about 17 or 18 gets onto the train at the same time as I do, and stays on her phone for the duration of the 45-minute ride, practically shouting into her hands-free microphone. I can hear her from the other side of the carriage, despite having earbuds in. Eventually, I can’t help but listen in, because she’s so absolutely over-the-top and enthusiastic about everything. Between the sentences are pauses where the other person on the call is speaking.)

Girl: “I was thinking of applying for a job at [Cosmetics Store], because everybody there is so nice.”

Girl: “Well, no. I don’t think it’s even possible to be mean if you’re a vegan. It’s like, against their religion, or something.”

Girl: “Yeah, no. I was thinking that maybe I should convert. My family isn’t very religious, other than Christmas. I reckon their customers are all really nice, too.”

Girl: “My dad said he’s cutting off my allowance, since he had to pay for my new phone.”

Girl: “I know, right? It’s not my fault it got ruined at the pool. Mercury is in retrograde.”

Girl: “No. Mercury.”

Girl: “Mer-cur-y. The planet, you know? Not that Mercury. Anyway, no. I’m not sure what retrograde means, but Sarah says that, because of Mercury, it’s not my fault, so I’m going to ask Mum for my allowance tomorrow if Dad still says no.”

Girl: “Oh. My. God. That would be my dream job, unless I could work at [Clothing Store], because that’s the Holy Grail.”

Girl: “I guess. I’m on my way to work now, but my boss is such an a***hole. He said if I was late again, he’d fire me.”

Girl: “No, I was supposed to be there twenty minutes ago or something, so I was thinking I’d walk in and quit instead.”
Girl: “We’re coming up to my stop, so I should hang up.” *pause* “No, my stop. I’m not at work yet.” *pause* “I can’t be on the phone if I want coffee, and if I’m going to quit today, I want to at least have a mocha.”