(I am making a drink for a middle-aged, male customer.)
Customer: “Thank God you guys are open, or else America would be asleep!”
Me: “Very true!”
(I continue to make his drink, all while talking to a coworker. I am telling her about how hard chemistry is for me in my university courses. The man must overhear me. As I hand him his drink, he says:)
Customer: “Women are only good for making babies, anyway.”
Coworker & Me: *speechless*
(Early on during my time in college, I meet a young Chinese man on a student visa with whom I later become friends and coworkers. One day, I take notice of the T-shirt he is wearing.)
T-Shirt Back: “Will a front terrible
impudent shelf
it is shaken in you etc.
Also do masturbation
shedding tears this
bacillus guy wastes.”
Me: “[Coworker]… where did you get this shirt?”
Coworker: “I got it when I was still in Hong Kong. Do you know what it says?”
Me: *reads his shirt out loud* “I understand what all of those words mean individually, but together they make no sense. Can I take a picture of it?”
(He stands still with his back to me as I take a picture with my phone and show it to him.)
Coworker: *points to “bacillus”* “What’s this mean?”
Me: “That is a genus of bacteria.”
Coworker: *points at “masturbation”* “What does this mean?”
Me: “Uh… how about I just put that one into a translator?”
(I brought up Google Translate on one of the lab’s computers and showed him the translation. He reacted with a mixture of shock and embarrassment over having a lewd word on his shirt while I tried not to laugh too much at his expense. He did not ever wear that shirt again and we all joked about it for years after that. I’m not sure how the maker of that shirt chose those particular words, but it is not uncommon for people in Asian countries to use western words and characters they think look aesthetically pleasing.)
(I’m a nursing assistant in training. On my second day of practice at a nursing home, I am asked to feed an elderly woman. Not all of the residents are able to move their arms or grip properly, or are even there mentally to realize food is in front of them, and I’ve already spoon-fed a few people. At first, this one seems no different.)
Me: “Okay, Mrs. [Resident]. I’m [My Name] and I’ll be helping you with your breakfast today. What would you like to start with?”
Resident: *vague noise*
Me: “Um… all right, then. Let’s just start with the eggs.”
(I feed her for some time, occasionally holding a cup to her lips, as well. At no point does she nod, shake her head, lift her hands, or give any sort of noise that sounds remotely like a word. When I’m more than half done, a nurse comes in with her medicine, part of which is liquified and in a cup. The resident takes the cup from the nurse and drinks on her own, then grabs her spoon to scrape the last of the medicine from the cup. Once this is done, she starts feeding herself.)
Me: “…”
Nurse: “You should still help her.”
Me: “R-really? Um…”
(I look around for anything she might still need, and see that I forgot to add butter to her meal earlier.)
Me: “Oh! Mrs. [Resident], would you like me to add some butter to your toast?”
Resident: *mumbles*
Me: *leaning over* “What was that?”
Resident: *at the top of her lungs* “YES!”
(I work in an ice cream parlor. I am training a new employee, showing him how to measure scoops, proper sundae technique, and the like. I have just demonstrated how to ring up a sale for a family in the lobby when I hear a sound, a very particular sound that sends my blood cold. Everyone who has kids knows exactly what sound I am talking about. It’s that weird little cough-choke sound that means only one thing: vomit is nigh. I hurriedly grab one of the large empty ice cream containers, but I am too late. The adorable little moppet EXPLODES, producing an incredible –and actually rather impressive — amount of bright green vomit. Everything within five feet of the kid is doused. The parents are in shock. The new hire is slack-jawed and turns to look at me in horror.)
Me: *grinning and slapping him on the back* “So… guess who’s the new guy?”
New Hire: *slumps dejectedly* “Aww…”
Me: “Nah, just kidding. I’ll help. Let’s show you where the bucket and sanitizer are.”
(I work at the front desk in a hotel. One fine morning, just before dawn, we get a call from one of the rooms plaintively asking if we could please call an ambulance. The voice on the phone is rather weak, but is very apologetic, and keeps saying she’s sorry to be such a bother, etc. I send my coworker down the hall to see if he can help her any while I make the call. The ambulance arrives quickly and the woman is bundled off, with my coworker coming back to the front desk.)
Me: “How bad is she? She going to be okay?”
Coworker: “Yeah, but you wouldn’t believe the mess in the bathroom. Whatever hit her, it was bad.”
Me: “How bad is it?”
Coworker: “Trust me when I say you wouldn’t believe me. It’s really bad in there.”
(Gentle readers, I have insufficient words to describe the mess in that bathroom. Apparently, whatever illness had the guest in its grip had her expelling from both ends, with great force. Further, she had been gripped with dizziness and vertigo, so there wasn’t any aiming for a proper target. There is vomit and fecal matter over everything — and I do mean everything — in that bathroom. A bit later, the head housekeeper comes in, and I get to practice my Spanish:)
Me: “Ah, [Housekeeper]? Por favor… 104 no es bueno.” *Please, 104 is not good*.
Housekeeper: “¿No?”
Me: “No. Es baño.” *No. It’s a toilet.*
Housekeeper: “¿Baño?”
Me: *handing her the key* “Si… Lo siento mucho.” *Yes, I am very sorry.*
(She took the key with a skeptical look; as a housekeeper, she’s seen it all. A moment later, I heard a loud “¡Ay-yi-yi!” from down the hall.)
