I am working the registers at my store and the phone happens to ring when there are no customers waiting to be rung out. It is a male customer on the phone that sounds as though he must be at least thirty.

Me: “Thank you for calling [Lingerie store, Location]. This is [My Name]; how may I help you?”

Customer: “Yes, hi, I was wondering what sort of stuff you carry?”

Me: “Well, we carry a range of items from cotton sleepwear, to lingerie, to bras and panties.”

Customer: “Do you carry anything for younger girls?”

Me: “Uh, well our main line is geared towards women in their twenties and older, but we do have the PINK line that some of the younger girls tend to like.”

Customer: “See, I was looking for some lingerie type thing. Could you tell me what you have?”

Me: “Well, sir, unfortunately, I can’t describe all of our options to you over the phone, but you are more than welcome to come in and take a look and one of the associates will be happy to help you.”

Customer: “All right, what’s your name?”

I’m more than a little bit creeped out so I give him a fake name. He decides he wants to come in to look, but he wants my help. When he hangs up, I get on the headset.

Me: “If anyone comes in asking for [Fake Name], they’re looking for me, but please let me know so I can go hide in the back. Thanks!”

My four-year-old daughter turns to me with a question.

Daughter: “Papa, what do butterflies eat?”

Me: “Nectar.”

Daughter: “How about grasshoppers?”

Me: “Plants.”

Daughter: “How about…” *pause* “…nightmares?”

Me: “…”

That escalated quickly.

My brother and I have a very good joking relationship where we make fun of each other in both English and occasionally our second language, Russian.

This occurs when I call him to ask him for some help with my garden.

Me: “Hey, Baranovich—” *Affectionate name for a sheep* “—I sent you a photo of my lemon tree looking a bit s***. Can you help?”

Brother: “Yeah, hang on.” *Looks at the photo* “Look, Durak—” *Idiot* “—go to [Store] and get the white oil with chili and lemon.”

Me: “Okay, so I just spray that on?”

Brother: “So, first you sacrifice a duck, then face west, hold it up, and yell, ‘Ayayayaya!’, and then throw it at your neighbour, and the oil will work.”

Me: “So, do I wear the bucket on my left foot or my right foot?”

Brother: “Nah, on your head.”

Me: “Okay, thanks, little bro. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

We’re both in our thirties and I don’t think we’ll ever change.

A friend of mine was appointed executor of their mother’s will. Not knowing what to do, they asked my help. There were a few issues that needed addressing: a joint savings account naming [Friend] and their late mother, a bequest to friends of the late mother, and a brother of my friend who had not been named as a beneficiary, any of which alone would have been too complex for [Friend] to deal with without legal representation.

I asked my attorney, who had drafted my will, how to proceed. My attorney doesn’t do estate law, so they referred me to a colleague.

After some preliminary conversations by phone with [Colleague], my friend and I visited their office and were greeted by their assistant. We waited and waited and waited until finally [Colleague], who’d been on the phone all that time, came in looking somewhat bemused.

It seems that, about the time we’d arrived at [Colleague]’s office, [Brother] had phoned [Colleague] for a free phone consultation — in response to [Colleague]’s advertising, we presume — and was looking to employ [Colleague] on his behalf. [Colleague] had spoken to him seriously about his case until it became obvious that he was referring to exactly the same mother and will that [Colleague] was present to consult about, and that there would be a serious conflict of interest if [Colleague] accepted [Brother]’s case!

A couple of years after the fact, [Attorney] mentioned that they still marveled over that coincidence.

My senior year of high school, I have two study hall periods. About a week into the school year, one of the guidance counselors approaches me during study hall.

Counselor: “[My Name], why haven’t you been attending cooking class?”

Me: “Because I’m not taking cooking class?”

Counselor: “You’re on the class roster and you’ve been marked absent every day.”

Me: “That’s weird. It’s not on my course schedule.”

Counselor: “Huh. Did you sign up for it?”

Me: “No. I signed up freshman year, but I switched classes a couple of weeks in, and I definitely didn’t sign up for it this year.”

Counselor: “Do you want to take it?”

Me: “No.”

Counselor: “Okay, I guess we’ll remove you from the class, then.”

It was admittedly unusual for a student to have two Study Halls, and I initially assumed that the cooking class took place during one of my two study halls, but I later learned that it actually shared the same time block as my AP Calculus class. Apparently, I was supposed to be in two places at once. Very strange.