They Remind You Of The Babe

, , , , | Friendly | October 6, 2017

(I’m working with two coworkers who are several years older than I. Both start singing and quoting a movie back and forth.)

Me: “I have absolutely no idea what you two are on about.”

Coworker #1: “You aren’t that young, are you?”

Coworker #2: “Yeah, it’s from Labyrinth.”

Me: “Oh, yeah. I watched that years ago. That’s the one where David Bowie is a—”

(All three of us simultaneously:)

Me: “Paedophile.”

Coworker #1: “Hot guy!”

Coworker #2: “Goblin king!”

Me: “Hmmm, guess we all took something different away from that film.”

Everything He Says Is True

, , , | Friendly | October 5, 2017

(I work at an upscale garden show and vendors’ market once a year, which is sponsored by an aristocratic family and takes place on the grounds of their manor. On one evening, the head of the house also holds a special VIP event, to which he invites politicians, CEOs, and other aristocrats. They receive a special invitation, which also counts as their ticket to the garden show before the event. Unfortunately, a lot of the VIPs forget their tickets and are the stereotypically arrogant, “Don’t you know who I am?! I don’t NEED a ticket!” kind of people. So far, we’ve had four small altercations with VIPs, and I fear another one coming when I see a quite posh-looking man approach my table from the side.)

Posh Man: “Hello! I have a bit of a problem. My wife and I forgot our invitations to the VIP event. We’re terribly sorry. Is there any way to let us in, or do we have to drive back home?”

Me: *somewhat taken back by his friendly politeness* “Oh, that should be no problem! All I need is your ID or anything else that shows your name, and I can ask the organisers to check the invite list.”

(The wife suddenly begins to giggle while the man is searching for his ID.)

Wife: “You’re not going to believe us, I think.”

Posh Man: “Oh, yes.” *smiling sheepishly* “You probably won’t. We get it a lot.”

(Confused, I take his ID – and see that his title is Baron von Munchausen. I can’t help but laugh. “The Baron von Munchhausen” is a fairly well-known old collection of stories about said Baron, who makes up grand tales and stories of impossible feats about himself, such as riding on a cannon ball, riding a horse that was cut in half, etc.)

Me: *joking* “Oh, lord! Are you sure you got an invite?”

Posh Man: *winks* “I assure you it is not a lie!”

Me: “To be honest, I’d be tempted to let you in even if it was, just for the story!”

(After a quick chat with the organisers, they confirmed that he and his wife were invited, so I let them in. He winked at his wife, saying, “It worked!” loud enough for me to laugh again. He later left a tiny box of chocolate from one of the vendors in the office for “the ticket girl with good humour.” One of the nicest VIP encounters I’ve had in the five years I worked that job.)

The Unoriginal A**hole

, , , , , | Friendly | October 4, 2017

(I’m getting a few small tattoos at a nice parlor that’s doing a $20 special. There’s a pretty big line. The parlor has about 20 sheets with multiple tattoo designs that fall under the special. I have a saying tattooed on my arm: “For something to be fixed, it must first be broken.”)

Friend: “You never said what tattoos you were getting.”

Me: “I want the flower by my ankle, the book on my wrist, and if we have time I want to get the cracked mirror added to this one.” *indicates tattoo on my arm*

Rude Guy: “Wow. What unoriginal tattoos you’re getting.”

Friend: “Uh, you know there’s a finite amount of designs they’re doing today, right?”

Me: “Also, it’s my body, so I can add whatever art I want to it.”

Rude Guy: “Whatever. If you want the crappy tattoos, get them. I’m just some guy and have like fifteen tats already, but what do I know?”

Me: “Okay, we’re ignoring him now. Did you ever decide between those two?”

(A little while later, a tattoo artist grabs me, my friend, and the guy behind us to confirm what designs we want. I decide to get the cracked mirror on top of my other two.)

Rude Guy: *scoffing* “How many chicks got those exact tattoos in those exact places already? How original.”

Artist: “If you have a problem with the art, you can leave. If you wanna be a jackass to people getting tattoos, I ain’t gonna ink you.” *he notices my arm tattoo* “I like the saying. What’s it from?”

Me: “I really don’t know if I heard it somewhere or what, but I got it a few years ago. In the past two years it’s been a reminder that, even though I had cancer and still have lingering medical problems, I’m not broken.”

Friend: “And her last surgeon liked it so much she got permission to take a picture of the tattoo. It’s hanging in her office now.”

(The artist chatted with us and collected our payment. My friend went first because she only wanted one, then the rude guy, who was getting two, then me. Turns out, the tattoo my friend was getting was the same as one of the ones the rude guy wanted, and in the same spot. The rude guy turned bright red and stormed out of the parlor. The artist put the $40 he left behind towards our tattoos. We gave him the original amount as a tip.)

They Can Have Their Pie And Eat It

, , , , , | Friendly | October 4, 2017

(My friend and I are both still at high school and are 15 years old. My mum has a strict ‘no-one round on a school night’ policy, as there will be school/work the next morning. It is a Wednesday, meaning I’m not allowed people over, when this happens)

Mum: “Does [Friend] like pie?”

Me: “Probably. Why?”

Mum: “Well, I’m cooking the pie Grandpa bought for us from the butcher, and I’ve realised it’s too big for just the two of us, so I’m wondering if [Friend] wants to come over?”

Me: “Er… are you telling me to invite [Friend] over for tea? On a Wednesday night?”

Mum: “Yes.”

Me: “We have school tomorrow.”

Mum: “I know. It’s fine.”

(I call my friend up.)

Me: “Hi, [Friend]. I have a couple of weird questions.”

Friend: “Hello! What is it?”

Me: “Have you had tea? And if not, do you like pie?”

Friend: “Er… No, I haven’t, and yes, I do. Why?”

Me: “Mum’s baked a pie that’s too big for the two of us. She wants you to help us eat the pie.”

Friend: *there’s a pause before I hear her shouting to her mum* “Mum, can I go to [My Name]’s for pie? Her mum’s made too much and needs a [Friend’s Family Surname] to help out!” *there’s another pause* “Mum says yes; she’ll drop me there in a few!”

(About five or six years later, this friend is now at uni, and have been having a long conversation on the phone. At an hour, the phone call stops being free, so we agree to hang up and call back. I get the call back quickly, but it’s not what I expect.)

Friend: “You know we said we’d continue this conversation?”

Me: “Yeah?”

Friend: “[Housemate] has just turned up with pie that’s too big for them.”

Me: “Are you needed?”

Friend: “Yes. Yes, I am.”

Me: “I totally understand; you’re the pie eating hero we do not deserve but need.”

Friend: “I knew you’d understand. You and I having an understanding when it comes to pie.”

(Even ten years after the incident, the fact my mum invited my friend over for a pie is still a joke in our household and with our group of friends.)

Pre-Foetal Applications

, , , , | Friendly | October 3, 2017

(One of the women who works in my office is known for not being too bright. She is nice enough, but the ignorance gets to be too much to bear sometimes. She is about six months pregnant when the following conversation happens.)

Pregnant Coworker: “I’m going to take a trip with my daughter to the east coast, to Harvard and Yale, to show her around, so she can see what it takes to be successful.”

Coworker #2: “You mean when she’s older, right?”

Pregnant Coworker: “What? No! Haha! I was planning on going during my maternity leave.”

(Everyone was speechless and didn’t say another word about it.)

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