(We’re gathered for a meeting. My manager has brought in a weird, squishy, pink stress ball she found at a craft store. Everyone is immediately distracted by it, and spends several minutes passing it around, debating what’s inside.)

Manager: “Do you think this is what fake boobs feel like?”

(As she’s saying this, it gets tossed to one of my coworkers, who is gay. Right on cue:)

Coworker: “Eww, it feels gross!”

(The room cracked up, delaying the meeting for another ten minutes.)

(When my brother is sixteen he is just starting to fill out, but still looks gangly and breakable. However, having been into sports since he was three and having two older siblings who are rough on him, he’s a lot tougher than he looks. He’s playing soccer, and one of the guys on the other team is being an absolute terror but is good enough to hide his cheating from the referees. This frustrates everyone on my brother’s team, as well as the refs since they can’t kick him out if they can’t catch him. Eventually, my brother’s coach decides to place my brother opposite him. To the surprise of absolutely no one — we are all very involved in the soccer community, and all of the refs and a majority of the players and coaches in our age range know us, at least by reputation, if not personally — the first time that kid tries this with my brother, he is laid out flat. My brother doesn’t bother to hide what he is doing and is given a yellow card. The opposing coach pulls his player. Standing near the team benches, my mom is in a good position to hear the player and the coach talking about it. For context, a yellow card is a warning and a red card is an ejection from the game. Two yellows automatically add up to a red.)

Player: “I’m fine, Coach! I can still play!”

Coach: “You’re not going back out this game.”

Player: “C’mon, he’s already got a yellow. I’ll be fine.”

Coach: *exasperated* “Exactly! He’s already got a yellow! On the next hit, he’s leaving the field, anyway. He has no more reason to hold back! If I put you back on that field, you’re leaving it on a stretcher!”

(Exactly right, Coach. Exactly right. The player sat out the rest of the game and my brother carried the record of his yellow with pride. The player was a lot less vicious after that, now that the idea for how to be rid of him for good was planted. My brother was far from the only one willing to sit out two games if it came to it.)

(I am working as a copier service rep. I am doing extensive maintenance on a copier when an executive administrative assistant walks in, holding a paper.)

Assistant: “Can I make a copy?”

Me: “Sorry, it’s not working right now.”

Assistant: “Well, I just need one copy.”

Me: “The copier is out of order.”

Assistant: “Well, even for one?”

Me: “It’s not working; I have parts pulled out.”

Assistant: “I just need that one page. Sure you can’t?”

Me: “It. Doesn’t. Work.” *opening my arms to show all the parts and tools spread out everywhere*

Assistant: “The VP is waiting for it.”

(I just stand there, not talking, looking at her.)

Assistant: “Oh, well… I guess I will have to use the other copier downstairs.”

(That would have been a one-minute walk, she was next to the staircase, and the other copier was next to it at the other end. When I told that to a fellow service rep, he said that he’d had a similar experience. However, after the third time, he said he simply stepped aside and let the customer use the copier. She put the paper on, pressed the start button, turned to him, and said, “Eh… it doesn’t work.” He answered, “Exactly.” She then understood and left.)

Caller: “I need copies of my statements! I need them right away. How do I access them?”

Me: “Are you set up to receive your statements electronically, sir?”

Caller: “Yes, I am. Since November of 2015, I think it was.”

Me: “Then you’re already receiving your statements by email as a PDF attachment.”

Caller: “I get my statements, I look at them, and then I move them to the trash folder. Then, my trash folder empties. I need the statements for my taxes!”

Me: “…”

(I am checking in with my union. After confirming my identity, the clerk tells me my membership has been temporarily frozen due to debt. Note that during the whole interaction her demeanor is serious and calm, no smirk or frown to show she thinks anything is weird.)

Clerk: “Uh-oh! You’re in arrears on your dues!”

Me: “Aw. How did that happen? I remember paying three months’ worth just a month ago.”

Clerk: “Ah, that explains why you have a credit of [$$] on your file. Would you like me to take what you owe out of the credit?”

Me: “Yes, please.”

(How can a single account have both too much and too little money on it at the same time?)