(An elderly man from my church has recently passed away. The day after the funeral, a group of us meet at a friend’s house for dinner. We’re playing some board games when some little cakes get brought out for dessert.)

Friend #1: “These are leftovers from [Recently Deceased Man’s] funeral.”

Friend #2: “As long as they’re not leftovers of [Recently Deceased Man].”

Me: “He always was a sweet guy.”

(Everyone laughs.)

Friend #3: *trying to recover from laughing* “That’s awful!”

Me: “Hey, he got his just desserts.”

(When it comes to jokes, dark humour is a piece of cake.)

Related:
Death By Chocolate, Part 7
Death By Chocolate, Part 6
Death By Chocolate, Part 5
Death By Chocolate, Part 4
Death By Chocolate, Part 3

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(The clock has just hit five pm, and a lot of our out-of-uniform stock workers are turning up. To customers, these workers appear as random other customers, as they are simply wearing casual clothes. I am working behind the counter of our printing section, in uniform. A good friend and coworker of mine comes through the counter, out of uniform. There are no customers in line, so my friend and I do a stupid handshake. Thirty seconds later, out of nowhere, a line of about five customers forms. A senior lady who has a medical face mask on approaches me.)

Lady: “That was a cool handshake!”

Me: *realizing she must have seen it, trying to be friendly* “Yeah, I guess you could say that!”

Lady: “Is that how you normally greet your customers? I want one!”

Me: “No, he’s actually a worker here—”

Lady: *cuts me off* “No, no, no… I WANT one. I want that greeting!” *she holds out her fist for a fist-bump while moving closer towards me*

Me: *I can feel the eyes of the customers in line staring, observing this bizarre interaction, so I try play it off politely.* “Ah, sorry, I reserve those greetings for friends.”

(She’s still edging ever-so-slightly forward with her fist out.)

Lady: *by this point, she’s behind the printing counter with me* “Is this how you guys did it?”

Me: *I’m trying to think how to get this lady away from me quickly and quietly, so I decide to give her a fist bump in the hopes she will move along…* “Uh, yes, here you … go?” *fist bump*

(Customers are all watching, like a small crowd.)

Lady: *laughs maniacally* “Ah, that was wonderful, I feel so young!”

Me: *Thinking that that’s enough, and this lady is completely insane.* “Is there something else I can help you with?”

Lady: “No, that will suffice for the day.” *stares into my soul via my eyes*

Me: *hoping she’ll move on out from behind the counter* “Okay, then!”

(I wait for her to move along, but she doesn’t. She moves further into my department.)

Me: “Excuse me, ma’am? You can’t go that way. You’ll need to move out from this area, I’m afraid.”

Lady: “Oh.” *mumbles something I can’t comprehend*

(She finally moves away and I turn to face the line of customers and ask, “Who was next please?” as I try act like nothing strange has happened.)

Next Customer: “What the h*** was that all about…”

(Where I work, we have just had a new chicken cooker installed in our deli department. As someone’s attempt at humour, when the chickens are cooked, the cooker crows like a rooster. It sounds fairly realistic, but after a few times you do get used to it. This day I answer the phone.)

Me: “Good afternoon, this is [Supermarket], this is [My Name] speaking. How can I help you?”

Customer: “Yes, I’d like to speak to someone regarding the live animals you have in your store room.”

(What she’s talking about clicks, and I think this is just a joke call because of the rooster noise. So, I start laughing at her.)

Customer: “I don’t see how it is funny! You are keeping live animals in your back dock. I can clearly hear a rooster crowing behind your deli area!”

Me: “Ma’am, it is just the noise our chicken cooker makes when the cooking cycle is finished. It’s just the maker’s attempt at a joke.”

Customer: “Well, I find it offensive and off-putting, and it makes me not want to shop at your store again.”

Me: “Well, that’s your choice, of course, but it is just a recording. We don’t keep any live animals anywhere in the store.”

(She ranted about the same thing for a few more minutes, until I offered to put her on with the store manager to complain further. She then informed me that if I didn’t change the noise within a week, she wouldn’t shop here ever again. She then hung up on me. To this day, I don’t know if she was just having a lend or was actually serious.)

(I teach third grade, and we are talking about diversity. I ask the following question:)

Me: “Which would you hate more: being stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of your life, or having a birthday on the 29th of February?”

(We’d talked about leap years already, and it hadn’t occurred to them that some people might, perhaps, be born then, meaning a birthday celebration only once every four years! Their consensus? The misery of a birthday only every four years was FAR worse than being confined to a wheelchair; after all, wheelchairs were “COOL!”)

(My dad has decided he is going to invent a board game, so there are papers with ideas lying around the place. Mum has decided to clean up.)

Dad: “Don’t throw those out; that’s the game I’ve invented.”

Mum: “You invented a game, really?”

Dad: “Yes. As soon as I get it completely done, I’m going to sell it to a game company and make a fortune.” *he then describes the game in detail to Mum*

(A few days later Mum goes shopping and brings home a game. She puts it in front of Dad.)

Mum:  “There you go; there’s your game.”

Dad: “What? Someone stole my idea; I’ve been working on that for months!”

Mum: “It’s been out for years. I thought it sounded familiar when you described it to me.”

(For the record, the game was “The Game of Life.”)