(I work at a small but locally famous family-owned barbeque stand. I manage the front area and prepare the food for orders.)

Customer: “I am very angry! I came here from [local town that is not far away] to get some of your sausage, and you’re sold out!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry. The sausage is a specialty item because it is home made, so we will usually sell out because we are only open two days per week. We cannot make a lot of it because it won’t keep fresh through next week. It’s also 15 minutes before closing, so we are usually sold out of everything by now, but you can try our chopped pork if you would like!”

Customer: “Well, that’s stupid! Why are you only open two days a week!? That is so inconvenient for me!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. When we opened, the owner was retired and only wanted to run this for a couple of days per week. It also takes a while to prepare everything by hand.”

Customer: “What a lazy a**! Let me talk to the owner now! I want to tell him to his face that he needs to think of the customers before himself!”

Me: “Well, ma’am, our owner passed away earlier this year from leukemia. It was in the local news. He kept our hours limited because of his health. You can speak with his widow if you would like; she is in the back.”

Customer: “…I’m so sorry. Uh, I’ll just come back next week…”

(I’m in my ninth grade Honors English class, and my teacher is explaining why she hates when students get 89% for their grade.)

Teacher: “When you have an 89, you’ve tried really hard and you’re obviously really good, so I feel bad about not giving you the A. Now, if you got a 79, I have less sympathy because you’ve clearly been sucking on some of the work. And if you have 69, you’ve obviously been doing a lot of sucking—”

(She breaks off and the whole class is in tears with laughter.)

Teacher: “ONE OF YOU COULD HAVE STOPPED ME BEFORE I SAID THAT!”

(My husband and I have just finished watching ‘Titanic.’)

Me: “Why do I get the feeling that if we were Jack and Rose, I’d be the one in the water, and you’d be the one on the iceberg?”

Husband: “Well, you are a better floater than me.”

(My boyfriend and I are eating dinner and chatting. My nose is running a little, and I explain to him that this is something that happens when I eat food that’s too hot.)

Boyfriend: “That’s weird. You’re WEIRD. I’m telling!”

Me: “What? Telling who?”

Boyfriend: “…your MOM!”

Me: “Okay.”

(I pull out my phone and call my mother.)

Me: “Mom, [boyfriend] is calling me weird!”

Mom: “Tell him he’s a poopy-head!”

Me: *to boyfriend* “Mom says you’re a poopy-head.”

Boyfriend: *yelling into phone* “YOU’RE weird, too!”

(I am about two years old. I fall and hit my head, ending up with a rather large gash on my face. I am a very serious young child.)

Mom’s Friend: “Oh! I see [my name] had an accident!”

(She turns to me, and speaks in a baby voice.)

Mom’s Friend: “Did oo fall and get a boo-boo?”

Me: “No. It’s a cut.”