(My four-year-old daughter comes up to me while she is playing.)

Daughter: “I’ve got something in my pants!”

Me: “Er, what is it?”

Daughter: “LEGO!”

(My younger sister is going to graduate high school at 16, having a late birthday and having skipped a grade. She’s at an interview for her first choice college, and she texts me.)

Sister: “[COLLEGE] HAS A QUIDDITCH TEAM!”

Me: “Are you going to be a chaser, keeper, beater, or seeker?”

Sister: “Youngest seeker in a generation…”

(This story takes place when iGoogle is still active. I come in to work one morning to see my computer has contracted a virus. Following company protocol, I call the IT department to fix it. The IT technician comes down to my computer, and I start showing the problem.)

Technician: “Whoa! Stop right there! What’s that?”

Me: “That’s just iGoogle.”

Technician: “STEP AWAY FROM YOUR COMPUTER NOW!”

Me: “What? What? What’s going on?”

Technician: “I’ve never seen a virus do this before.”

Me: “What’s it doing?”

Technician: “Somehow, the virus has hacked your browser, and it’s directing you to its own Google knock-off called ‘iGoogle.'”

Me: “No. What iGoogle is—”

Technician: “Don’t panic, sir! I’ve got this completely under control. You’d better go get a coffee or something; this could take me a few hours. Wow, seeing a virus direct you away from Google like that. This is something new…”

(Confused, I walk away and let the technician get to work. A few hours later, I return to a very exhausted IT guy.)

Technician: “It took some doing, but your computer doesn’t direct to iGoogle anymore! What I had to do was create a completely new user account, and transfer all your information into the new user account! Hopefully, the virus is contained in the old user account!”

Me: “Why didn’t you just run the anti-virus software?”

Technician: “The what now?”

(My husband and I are members at a local museum, and I subscribe to their email newsletter. Our membership entitles us to $5 off the ticket price for performances, which is stated in the signup information, as well as every email they send about performances. We are at the ticket counter.)

Me: “We’d like two tickets for [dance performance]. I also have this email that says we get $5 off per ticket; can I show you on my phone?”

Clerk: “Um… I don’t think I can honor that.”

(The clerk flags down the manager, who is nearby and has heard the transaction thus far.)

Manager: “What is this about you wanting a discount?”

Me: “I have this email that says we’re entitled to $5 off per ticket—”

Manager: *accusatorily* “Oh, really? I’d just LOVE to see where you got that!”

Me: “I have this email that came directly from [Museum], see?”

(I show her the email on my phone.)

Manager: *to the clerk* “Give them the discount, and I’m going to make sure we don’t put that in our emails anymore!”

(I work for a wholesaler. Basically, the customers come in and order from catalogs from merchandisers. The catalogs are very hard to understand and confusing, and the merchandisers all have a no-return policies. My manager is oblivious to this.)

Manager: “What is with all these wrong orders? Why can’t you do anything right?”

Me: “I’m sorry; it’s just that those catalogs are so hard to understand.”

Manager: “Nonsense. Even a moron can put in right orders. Are you stupid? Are you in fifth grade?”

(She continues to berate me, scoffing at the thought of the catalogs being too confusing. A few weeks later…)

Me: “What’s that ugly couch doing in our front window?”

Coworker: “The manager accidentally ordered it for a customer. Now she’s trying to sell it since she can’t return it!”

(The couch itself is a neon green with hideous zebra pillows.)

Me: “Ha! It looks like the couch for a pimp!”

(The manager left me alone after that!)