(My husband and I are looking for a new place to rent. Now that the kids are running a lot we want a place with a backyard. We go to this house that is just a few blocks from where we live, which is a big plus because we love the neighborhood. My first impression is, “Wow!” This place is enormous, it has a family room and a backyard, and it’s only for just a little more than we are paying now. But after that, I watch more carefully and realize that the place is very dirty, the walls still have the holes from where there used to be frames, and there are black stains all over. There are three windows that don’t close properly. The plugs in the wall are burnt and the yard is a mess.)

Me: “When are you going to paint the house?”

Landlord: *looking at me like I asked for the moon* “Why would I paint it?”

Me: *showing the big stain in the living room wall and some holes* “Because of this.”

Landlord: “You can clean that with a magic eraser!”

Me: “And what about the backyard; do you have a gardener?”

Landlord: “No.”

Me: “Okay, and it has sprinklers?”

Landlord: “I don’t know.”

(I am feeling that this landlord is not someone I want to deal with every month. Then, my husband arrives from checking the windows.)

Husband: “I just realized that there are three windows that don’t close. See?”

Landlord: *looking like he didn’t see it when he bought the house* “And…?”

Husband: “Are you going to fix them? It’s going to be impossible to heat this house with that.”

Landlord: “No! I’m not going to fix that.”

Husband: “And if we go half-and-half on the price?”

Landlord: “I already told you: I’m not going to fix them. If you want to do it, it’s your problem.”

Husband: “And what about the plugs?”

Landlord: “What about them?”

(My husband shows a burnt plug in the family room.)

Landlord: “You can cover that with something and use another.”

Me: “Let’s go, then. I don’t want to deal with him every time something breaks in this place.”

(With that attitude, I’m surprised that someone rented the house.)

(My boyfriend and I are woken up by a phone call at six am from his 15-year-old sister saying, “Something is wrong with Dad; you need to get to the hospital.” We live 100 miles away, so I tell my boyfriend to go now and I will pack a few things and meet him up there. When I get up there I find out he has hydrocephalus, or water on the brain, which is a fairly rare disorder that typically happens to infants and people over 60. My boyfriend’s father is 47. It causes fluid to build up and put pressure on the brain. They release the pressure by removing parts of his skull. The next day, a nurse is in with him and my boyfriend’s mom comes out to talk to us.)

Mom: “They think he’s going to be okay, but right now we either have to sit with him or they have to restrain him. Otherwise, he might hurt himself; he can’t remember what is going on. Can you go sit with him for a while? I need a break.”

(We agree and go in.)

Boyfriend: “Hi, Dad!”

Dad: “Hi… Where am I?”

Boyfriend: “You’re in the hospital; you’re going to be fine. You just got sick and the doctors are going to help you.”

Dad: “Well, that was mighty inconvenient of me.”

Boyfriend: *laughing* “Just a touch.”

(My boyfriend’s father’s head starts to dip and his eyes slide to the side and become unfocused. Then, his head comes back up and he sees us and smiles.)

Dad: “Hi, guys! What are you doing here? Wait. Where am I?”

Boyfriend: *trying not to cry* “Hi, Dad. You’re in the hospital; you’re going to be fine.”

Dad: *laughing* “Well, that was mighty inconvenient of me.”

(Then, his head starts to dip. My boyfriend and I look at each other, both of us trying not to cry.)

Dad: “Hi, guys! What are you doing here?”

(I step over to his bed and take his hand.)

Me: “Hi, Dad. You had a small accident you’re going to be fine.”

(We stayed with him for a couple of hours having the same conversation. I had seen short-term memory loss on TV but thought it was an exaggeration. It’s not. Thankfully, he really was, overall, okay.)

(I work for an industrial supply company as a cashier and receptionist. One of my main responsibilities is to answer incoming calls and redirect them to the appropriate department.)

Me: “Hi. Thank you for calling [Company]. How may I direct your call?”

Caller: “Hi. I need to speak with [Sales Guy who is on vacation].”

Me: “I’m sorry, [Sales Guy] is actually not here today.”

Caller: “Is he going to be in tomorrow?”

Me: “I’m not entirely sure; he’s actually been on vacation so I’m not sure what day he comes back.”

Caller: *in a somewhat annoyed voice* “He’s on vacation?! But why?!”

Me: “Well, I’d assume to spend time with his family.”

(He seemed pretty content with that answer, but I’m not entirely sure what he was expecting.)

(My boyfriend and I are both arachnophobic, but he tends to be the spider killer because I am much more afraid than he is. One day we are on a long drive when I notice a spider on the inside of the windshield and scream. He jumps and asks what’s wrong, and I tell him about the eight-legged monstrosity on the windshield. Both of us are frantic and unsure what to do when all of a sudden he reaches out and straight up punches the spider.)

Me: “My hero!”

Boyfriend: “You can’t scream like that; I thought a meteor was about to hit us!”

Me: “Really?! A meteor? That was your first guess?”

(My grandmother and I are watching my youngest sisters’ softball game.)

Grandma: “I used to play baseball, you know.”

Me: “You did?”

Grandma: “Yup!”

(She imitates hitting the ball. I notice she is batting left.)

Me: “Aren’t you right-handed?”

Grandma: “Yes. But I always hit things left on sports.”

Me: “Why?”

Grandma: “When I was little, we had a tetherball at my school. I was shorter than the other girls, so they always, always made me hit left even though I was right-handed. Then, I got good at it, and I could hit hard with my left and my right.”

(She smirks.)

Grandma: “Idiots got their butts kicked every time.”