I work at the information desk in a history museum. A flustered-looking guest approaches, dragging a gaggle of children with her.
Guest: “Excuse me. Where are the original Bibles?”
Me: “All our historical Bibles are in the east wing, ma’am.”
Guest: “No, I’ve been there, and they have all these books in Latin and stuff. I need the original Bibles.”
Me: “Well, those are the oldest Bibles we have. You’d have to go to other more famous museums for older manuscripts.”
Guest: “Yeah, but where is the first one written by Jesus?”
Me: “Written… by… Oh, dear.”
Guest: “I need to see the original Bible written in American by Jesus!”
I start looking around for the hidden camera because surely this can’t be real. Thankfully, a coworker jumps in.
Coworker: “Sorry, ma’am, we don’t have any copies of the original American Bibles. You’ll want to go to some of the museums in Salt Lake City for those.”
Guest: “Hmph! They shouldn’t be translating the Bible into all these foreign languages, anyway!”
With that, she trots off with her brood while I just stare at my coworker.
Me: “Oh, my God.”
Coworker: “At least once a month!”