(I’m in eighth grade. At our school, everyone has a free period that lasts about half an hour. During this time, you can have a study hall period or join a club. I join an art club. I walk into the room and see an older male sub sitting at the teacher’s desk. We all settle down and wait for instruction.)

Substitute Teacher: *being totally serious* “So, [Regular Teacher] is out today, in case you couldn’t tell. I am not [Regular Teacher], because she is a young, married lady. I am not any of those things.”

(My friends and I are looking at each other and trying not to laugh.)

Substitute Teacher: *still being serious* “She didn’t leave any plans, and I don’t feel like thinking, so you can have a study hall. Do homework, play computer games, nap, meditate…”

(By now, the whole class is giggling. We try to hide it to be respectful.)

Substitute Teacher: *still serious* “I don’t have roll paper thingy for you guys, so I’m going to pass around a sheet of paper. Please keep the paper in portrait form. Write your names in a list, each one parallel to the prior one. Some people may drop the paper. In this case, the top may become the bottom and the bottom may become the top. If this happens, carefully proceed to pick up the sheet of paper and continue writing your name under everyone else’s. If you drop the paper, it may also flip from portrait to landscape. If this happens, make sure you return the paper to its original position before continuing to write your name.”

Me: “We’re in eighth grade! We should know how to write our names in a list and pick up a sheet of paper by now.”

Substitute Teacher: *flustered* “Well, I didn’t have a good childhood, and I didn’t know, so there’s no need to be disrespectful, young lady.”

(He proceeded to pass around the paper and then meditated throughout the class. My friends and I were laughing so hard. That’s probably the best encounter I’ve ever had with a sub.)

(I answer the phone in our office as part of my daily duties. Every once in a while, we get a call in this vein:)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Office], a part of [Company]. This is [My Name]. How can I help you?”

Caller: “I need to know who you think you are, b****!”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Caller: “WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO GET WITH MY MAN?!”

Me: “I’m sorry. You might have a wrong number. This is an [Office] agency. We sell and administer insurance products from [Company].”

Caller: “Oh, don’t give me that s***. You’re trying to mess with my man. This number comes up on his call list every day for a week. Sometimes more than once! Who are you, and what are you doing with my man?”

Me: “Well, does he have one of our products? Perhaps we’re working with him regarding his coverage.”

Caller: “No! I know you’re just trying to steal my man! And if you call him again, I will find you!”

Me: “We are located on [Street]. Look for the [Company] sign that says [Office]. We sell coverage for homes and vehicles, as well as life and financial products.”

Caller: *hangs up*

(The academy I work in has a sponsor who also owns an obscure chain of carpet shops. One day, he decides to write an autobiography and sends 20 copies to the staff room.)

Coworker: “The note says two of them are for the library. Do the ten-year-olds really want to read them that badly?”

Me: “What are the rest for?”

Coworker: “They’re for staff members to buy.”

Me: “Wait, so, they’re not even a gift?”

Coworker: “No.”

Me: “What are we going to say when we send 18 of them back?”

(I work in a sandwich shop. We’re close to closing, so the line’s glass case doors are covering the meats and vegetables. I open both when the customer arrives.)

Me: “Hello, ma’am. What can I get for you today?”

Customer: “Hi there. I’m vegetarian, so I can’t eat meat.”

Me: “That’s absolutely okay, ma’am. We have egg sandwiches, veggie sandwiches, and salads, and we also have a delicious vegetarian patty sandwich to offer you.”

Customer: “I know what I want, but I need you to clean your hands and the surfaces, because I can’t eat meat at all.”

(I rinse the food surfaces and the cutting knives, I clean my gloves, and I lower the glass case back over the meat since she’s made it clear it won’t be needed.)

Me: “Okay, ma’am. If that’s satisfactory for you, what kind of bread would you like?”

Customer: “Oh, the flatbread, please, half of one.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, and your sandwich choice?”

Customer: “A ham, thanks.”

(I stop in my tracks and I hear my coworker giggling in the back of the store.)

Me: “Uh… A ham, ma’am? We don’t have any vegetarian substitute ham.”

Customer: “No, I mean a regular ham.”

Me: “Ma’am, ham is pork meat. Are you sure that’s the sandwich you want to order?”

Customer: “Positive, thanks! Actually, can I have double meat on that?”

(I double-checked before ringing her up that she knew ham was a meat and unsuitable for vegetarians, and she was perfectly happy with that, apparently.)

Customer: “When did you stop selling fried chicken?”

Me: “Excuse me?” *thinking didn’t hear him correctly*

Customer: “When did you stop selling fried chicken? I know I bought it here.”

Me: “We have never sold fried chicken here; this is a hardware store.”

Customer: “I know, but you use to sell the best fried chicken. I know it’s been a few years, but it was the best.”

Me: “I am sorry, but I have worked here since we opened ten years ago; we have never sold chicken, fried or otherwise.”

Customer: *walks off muttering about how great our chicken was and why we stopped selling it*

Me: *to the manager* “What are we pumping into the air today?”