(I am eight years old, and I am walking with a friend to a candy shop that just opened. The shop has pictures of various types of candy painted on the window. Unfortunately, I don’t have any money.)

Me: “Aww, I wish I had some money for candy.”

Friend: “I’ll give you $5.00 if you lick the lollipop on the window.”

Me: “Okay.”

(I lick the lollipop and then see a large piece of it is missing. I realize afterward that it was painted on the outside of the window. A man inside the store, who I assume is the owner, has noticed.)

Owner: “Hey, what did you do?

Me: “He paid me to lick it!”

Owner: “Oh, my God, come inside right now!”

(The owner took me into his office and immediately called poison control. Luckily, the paint was non-toxic. Thirty years after this happened, I visited my hometown and went to the candy shop. It was exactly the same except for a handmade sign which said, “Don’t lick the window.”)

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(I am in a rush, no make up, hair only in a ponytail, wearing a long green wool coat that reaches my knees, black slacks, and snow boots. A lady in the aisle steps in front of me.)

Lady: “You! Do you work here?”

Me: *startled* “Uh… No.”

Lady: “Well, you look like the sort of person who would know this anyway. What kind of cheese goes in French onion soup?” *she waves a can of the soup at me*

Me: “Um… that’s… I don’t really cook, but I’m pretty sure it’s any white cheese. Mozzarella is an American favorite, of course, but provolone might be better if you want a little kick. Swiss maybe? I think it’s really up to what cheese you like, and to stick mostly with the whiter cheeses, since the orange ones are usually pretty thick and would sink in the soup.”

Lady: “Oh! Good! That makes it easier. Thank you! Any bread suggestions?”

Me: “Uh. Traditionally it was anything slightly stale or really hard that wouldn’t be eaten any other way.”

Lady: “So a thick soup bread should work.”

Me: “Probably.”

Lady: *sounding really cheered* “Good! Thanks again!”

(She walked off and I was standing there totally gob-smacked and wondering both how giving her so many different cheese choices helped and also wondering how the heck I “looked like someone who would know.” It sort of made it worse that I did vaguely know, and I really hope I didn’t screw up the soup she was apparently really anxious to make.)

(I am answering phones at the business when my personal cellphone rings. There is no caller ID available, but answer it any way in case it is a customer.)

Me: “Hello?”

Caller: “…”

(There is a long awkward silence.)

Caller: “Yes, hi, hello. I…”

(Silence starts again and you can hear laughing in the background.)

Caller: “Yeah, I just wanted to confirm your order on sixteen strippers”

Me: “Oh, really?”

Caller: “Yeah, I just want to make sure that you still want them.”

Me: “Hmm… no, thanks.”

Caller: “Why not?”

Me: “Because you sound like you are six years old.”

Caller: “…”

(Another long pause.)

Caller: “Actually, I am 15!” *hangs up*

(Salt Lake City has a rather extensive mass transit system that provides a direct link to the University of Utah. While riding one train through the city and heading home from the mall, I happen to see a number of students from the U all pile on. They’re pretty loud, having an obvious good time, right up to the point we near the next stop.)

Student #1: “Hey, he missed our turn!”

Student #2: “What, no way.”

Student #1: “Yeah, the d*** driver didn’t turn back there. Don’t they teach these idiots how to drive?”

Student #2: “Dude, it’s a bus. How smart do you have to be to drive it?”

Me: “Ah, just so you know, this isn’t a bus. It’s a streetcar. You know, a kind of train? They only go where the rails take it. No steering wheels. I wonder how smart you have to be then to get on a train and think it’s a bus. Wait, aren’t you in college?”

(Student #1 and #2 looked very sheepish, shut up and made no sound, and got off at the next stop and took off walking.)

(I am visiting Seattle on a business trip and waiting at the bus stop. While I and three other people are sitting there, a man in a black suit wanders over with a stack of papers.)

Man: “Excuse me, but would you all be willing to sign my petition?”

Me: “Uh… sure, I guess. What’s it for?”

Man: “My petition is to ask the government to send the Space Needle back to Mars where it rightfully belongs.”

(Dead silence from all four of us.)

Woman Next To Me: “What?”

Man: “You know that static that you hear on the radio sometimes? That’s all being filtered in through the radio waves by the Martians! They’re listening in on us as we speak! That atrocity is an antenna meant to spy on us and learn our weak points. We have to send it right back, immediately!”

Me: “And… you know this… how?”

Man: “They told me, of course.”

Me: “They”?

Man: “The movie They. It speaks to me. Look, are you gonna sign or not?

Me: “Uh… no, thanks.”

Man: “Oh, okay. Well, have a nice day!”

(We all watched him walk off whistling to himself. I never did figure out exactly what the heck he was talking about, but to this day, I’m fairly certain I’d just witnessed some sort of initiation rite.)