My coworker is about average height and rather skinny. He can be loud if he needs to be but is generally fairly soft-spoken. There is a plumber working out in the automotive bay.
Supervisor: “I need someone to guard the door. Someone that’s intimidating and can be mean if necessary.”
Coworker: “I can do it. I used to be a bouncer.”
Supervisor: “Where? Starbucks?”
Some years ago, I met a guy. He was kind of cute and we got along well, and we started dating; you know how it goes. He was into Buddhism and spent at least half an hour every day meditating. Cool, I thought.
He talked a lot about his uncle and his uncle’s master who had taught him for some time, too. He adored his uncle’s master. He was wise and patient and very kind. He knew all there is to know about life and meditation and he could levitate.
Wait, what?
Yes, he confirmed, his uncle’s master could levitate his body by meditating. He could also create fire with his bare hands. What’s more, his uncle’s master’s master could talk to animals.
Surprise, surprise, I didn’t believe him.
He showed me a YouTube video of some guy in Indonesia setting some paper on fire with his hands. You can imagine how convincing it was.
He started digging up more YouTube videos. About reiki practitioners performing miracles. About how there were possibly two suns in our solar system. About aliens having replaced Vladimir Putin with an identical clone. The more absurd the story, the more he got into it.
I drew the line when he tried to replicate an experiment from some self-proclaimed alchemist to create a homunculus by injecting his own sperm into a hen’s egg, then incubating it under a woolly hat in his kitchen.
The whole journey from meditation to aliens took less than two months.
I am waiting to pay for my burrito at a certain well-known Mexican restaurant when an older man walks up to the counter with a plastic ramekin of salsa and hands it to the cashier.
Customer: “Here, I didn’t use all of it.”
He walks away.
Me: *To the cashier* “We have trash cans for a reason. Why did he give it to you?”
Cashier: “I think he thinks maybe someone else will want it?”
Me: “Eww. No one wants your nasty used salsa, dude. What’s wrong with people?”
Cashier: “Yeah, let me just put this back in the dish. No. They do this all the time.”
My wife’s family is French, and we try to get over to visit them a couple of times a year. I love my in-laws, but they can be quite outgoing at times, and as a thirty-eight-year-old Autistic man, I find this a bit tiring.
For Christmas a couple of years ago, we were staying with my wife’s sister, her husband, and their son. My wife likes to keep me informed when we are about to meet people so I can prepare myself mentally and emotionally. I’m usually all right once I meet them; it’s just the thought of meeting new people for the first time that makes me anxious.
On this occasion, my wife told me that her sister’s husband’s brother would be visiting with his wife, and told me a little bit about them so I knew roughly what to expect.
When they arrive, I am in the bathroom, so I am unable to properly say hello. I hear them arrive and go through the typical French greeting of a kiss on each cheek. I finish in the bathroom and go to the room where my wife and I are sleeping to grab something, planning to head for the living room and say hello properly.
I turn to leave the room when I am met by a woman at the door, who I assume is the wife in the couple. The following brief conversation happens, in French:
In-Law: “You must be [My Name]!”
Me: “Yes.”
She tells me her name, but I can’t make it out because she speaks so fast.
In-Law: “Okay, hello.”
She shakes my hand instead of kissing my cheeks.
In-Law: “Was your poo good, then?”
Me: *Utterly mortified* “Uh… yes?”
She grins and walks off. I stay in the bedroom, trying not to cry. In my head, I am thinking, “What the actual h*** is wrong with this woman? WHO ACTUALLY ASKS THAT?!”
I decide not to leave the bedroom and instead lay on the bed, reading. Eventually, my wife comes to see what is wrong. The following conversation happens in English:
Wife: “Here you are, [My Name]!”
Me: “Hi.”
Wife: “Are you coming to say hello?”
Me: “Maybe.”
My wife notices something is wrong.
Wife: “Is everything all right?”
Me: “Yes.”
My wife eventually persuaded me to tell her what was wrong, and tearfully, I told her about my “encounter.” She was disgusted and horrified, and she apologised profusely. I told her that the only person I wanted an apology from was “the stupid b*** in the living room who thinks she’s a f****** comedian!” My wife told me I could stay in the bedroom until the visitors left, so I did. She asked me if I’d like her to tell her sister what happened, but I asked her not to because I was too embarrassed.
I haven’t seen this woman since the incident, but if I ever meet her again I’ll have to bite my tongue because I have a few choice words for her!
I work in the call center of a medical insurance company. The insured are from all over the world. In this particular instance, the caller is from Africa.
Me: “Good morning. [Firm], this is [My Name] speaking. How can I help you?”
Client: “I saw that you used my first date of birth, May 2, 1969, but this should be my second date of birth, August 16, 1971.”
Me: “I’m sorry we got your birth date wrong.”
Client: “No, no, you used my first date of birth; you need to use my second date of birth.”
Me: “What do you mean by your second—”
Client: “August 16, 1971, not May 2, 1969. Have you got that?!”
Me: “I wrote it down, but can you explain to me—”
Client: “You better not mess this up again. You have to use my second date of birth.” *Click*
It’s been over five years, but I still have no idea how someone can be born twice, especially since the dates were nothing alike; it was not like we mistyped a number or had the wrong year.
