One of my friends had a girlfriend who was, to put it lightly, difficult to handle. To put it less lightly, she was vain, controlling, belittling, and the kind of narcissist who honestly believed that the world would simply change because she wanted it to.

My friend finally decided that he was going to break up with her. I saw him the day after and asked him how it went.

Friend: “Well, about as well as I could expect.”

Me: “That bad?”

Friend: “She said she’s going to sue me for abusing her by making decisions like this without her consent.”

Because of course, she was the kind of girl who’d expect you to get her permission before you could break up with her.

However, the best part was when my friend got a letter in the mail a couple of weeks later. The return address had the name “US Court System” but actually had his ex’s address below that, and inside was a plain printed letter that said, in short, that “court proceeds” were started against him, but they could be halted if he reversed his “ellipsis of judgment,” among several other completely wrong word choices.

He considered writing back with something like “Nice try,” but ultimately, he just shredded the letter and moved on. It has been three months now, and he hasn’t heard anything else about any “court proceeds.”

A client of mine came into my office to discuss a new site for his business. With him, he brought his young child.

After a few minutes, the boy spoke up to indicate that he had soiled himself. He was not wearing diapers.

Me: “If you’d like to take him to the restroom to change, it’s just down that way.”

The smell was already quite offensive.

Client: *Nonchalantly* “No, thanks.”

The client proceeded with our discussion unaffected. The meeting lasted for another hour and a half.

This is going to sound weird, but I’m working on the set of a science-themed television show for a major network, and we need samples of water from hotdog vendors. We’re filming a segment about the cleanliness of the water the hotdogs are sitting in, so we’re performing a somewhat-scientific test by collecting water from as many carts as possible and running a few simple assays for coliform bacteria and other things you wouldn’t want your hotdog floating in.

Or, at least, that’s the goal. The problem is that no hotdog vendor is willing to give us a sample of their water. Although we’ve assured them that we’re just going to report generally on our findings and not identify or even show any vendors (it’s all filmed in a studio), they’re understandably reluctant to involve themselves in the project.

So, now we have a problem. We have a script, a shooting schedule, and lots of set pieces related to hotdog water, but we didn’t anticipate such difficulty getting the actual hotdog water.

I’m called away to something else, and when I come back a couple of hours later, I see that the production assistants have somehow collected water from something like twenty different carts; before, we had zero! I ask them how they were able to do this, and apparently, the secret was sending an attractive female production assistant to collect the water. From what I understand, most of the interactions went like this.

Production Assistant: “Hi, can I have some of the water from your cart?”

Vendor: “Uh, why?”

Production Assistant: “Because I like it.”

And that was it. Every single vendor she approached gave her a container full of water, no other questions asked.

I’m at home on my computer when my phone rings. Caller ID says it’s from a city a few hours away, but since I’ve had legitimate calls from there before, I pick up.

Automated Voice: “This is a call from [My Cell Provider]. Please stay on the line.”

I’m suspicious, but I stay on the line.

Caller #1: “Hello, this is [Provider]. Can I have your name, please?”

Me: *Still on guard* “[My Name].”

Caller #1: “And what is your [unintelligible] number?”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

The caller repeats himself, but I still don’t understand.

Me: “I’m sorry, I don’t know what that is.”

Caller #1: “Is it [last four digits of my phone number]?”

Me: “Oh, my phone number. Yes, it is.”

Caller #1: “We’re calling about your bill, for [amount].”

I look at the bill I received in the mail a few days ago.

Me: “Yes, it’s due in a couple of weeks.”

Caller #1: “Uh… yes… it’s due on the twenty-sixth.”

Me: “Right.”

Caller #1: “So, how can we help you?”

Me: “I don’t know. You called me.”

Caller #1: “Oh… uh… let me transfer you to someone who can help you.”

Me: “Okay…?”

After a short hold, someone else picks up.

Caller #2: “Hello, can I have your name, please?”

Me: “[My Name].”

Caller #2: “All right, so how can we help you?”

Me: *More amused than angry* “I don’t know. You people called me!”

Caller #2: “Oh. Let me look at your notes real quick…”

Me: “Okay…”

Um, why didn’t they check their notes before calling me?

He returned and explained that they were concerned that I hadn’t used my new phone much. I explained that I don’t make a lot of phone calls, preferring to text or use Internet messaging. He said he saw some calls and texts in my history. And I haven’t used a lot of my data, either, since I mainly connect to my home’s Wi-Fi.

He accepted this and said he’d remove the block on my account (Wait, they blocked my account? When? I got a text from my mom earlier that day. Also, what the h***? They blocked my account because I’m an introvert?) and I wouldn’t be receiving those calls anymore.

Funny how I’ll spend a half-hour preparing what I’m going to say when I have to call someone for even the littlest thing, but these people called me apparently without even checking to see why they’re calling me.

I worked at a big box retailer back in 2009 as a cashier. The belts at the checkouts kind of jarred before they began moving.

In one transaction, this lady had a bottle of champagne. The belt jarred and the bottle fell off the belt onto the floor. It fell in such a way that the bottom of the bottle shattered out and the pressure launched the bottle’s neck and lid up to the ceiling. Suddenly, pieces of glass were raining down from the ceiling.

Then, the neck hit another bottle, knocking it off and causing it to shatter off at the bottom and launch upwards and over, three check lanes over.

The whole thing only took like thirty seconds, but there were glass shards everywhere, along with two bottles’ worth of sticky champagne all over the belt, the floor, the lady’s groceries, and her outfit. It was a mess.