(My boyfriend and I are at the wedding of a couple we’re good friends with. It’s worth noting that all four of us are huge nerds, and the couple have vowed to have the geekiest wedding ever. While we’re waiting for the ceremony to start, Boyfriend is reading through the program.)

Boyfriend: “Procession, vows… wait, ring warming? What’s that?”

Me: “No idea. Passing the wedding rings through the flame of a unity candle or something?”

Boyfriend: “What, to reveal the Elvish inscription and determine if you accidentally chose an evil, cursed wedding band to rule them all?”

Me: *laughing* “Well, with [bride and groom], it’s totally a possibility…”

(The ring warming actually turned out to be passing the rings among the guests and asking everyone to add their warm thoughts and good wishes to the wedding bands. It was a very cute tradition, and an impressively nerdy ceremony, but alas, no dark rings of power!)

I am returning home from spending the holidays with my significant other and his family in the UK (I live in the US). However, the return trip involves an eight-hour layover in Chicago, plus on top of that, when I land, I find that the domestic flight I’m booked on is going to be delayed for another four hours.

Having just endured a sixteen-hour transatlantic flight, plus having to face another twelve hours stuck in the airport, I’m a bit on the grumpy side. I do everything I can to pass the time: get lunch, wander around the shops in the concourse, get dinner, etc. About ten hours in, I am very noticeably irritable so I just head to my gate where I hide in a corner with my iPad so I don’t have to interact with anyone and end up being one of THOSE passengers.

I’m sitting in the corner watching a video on my device and grumbling to myself when I feel someone tug on my sleeve. I look up to see this kid who can’t be more than four years old. I glance around seeing his mother sitting nearby watching, I take off my headphones and muster up as much politeness as I can.

Me: “Yes? Did you need something?”

He hands me a piece of scrap cardboard that he had scribbled on with his crayons.

Boy: “Hi. You don’t look very happy so I made this for you.”

I could barely hold back the waterworks as I take his little present.

Me: “Thanks so much, sweetie; it’s exactly what I needed!”

I put it in my bag as he happily ran off back to his mom. I still have that scrap of cardboard hanging on my wall.

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(I own a small business where I make and sell plush toys, all with patterns I create myself. I’m dealing with a new customer at a local anime convention where I’m selling them in the artist alley.)

Customer: “So, are these made locally?”

Me: “Yes, sir, I actually make them.”

Customer: “No, are they made locally?”

Me: “Yes… I make them.”

Customer: “I don’t think you’re understanding me. Are. They. Made. LOCALLY?!”

Me: *stands up, pointing to myself* “I—” *picks up plush toy* “—make. THEM.”

Customer: *sighs dramatically in irritation* “Yes, you SELL them. I want to know who makes them! D***, listen for once, will ya?”

Me: *waits a moment and extends hand* “Hello, my name is [My Name] and I’m the owner, founder, proprietor, and artistic mind behind [My Business]. Every plush you see here on this table was designed BY ME and sewn BY ME. No one else; nowhere else. Me and me alone. Me, as in ‘local business owner.’ What can I do for you?”

Customer: “Why didn’t you say so to start with?”

Me: “…”

(To make things worse, he didn’t buy anything.)

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(It is before Google and Wikipedia are the go-to answers for everything. For a music class, I am supposed to create a taped recording of my research essay and have bits of the artist’s songs play at intervals. My topic is John Lennon.)

Me: “Dad, which of The Beatles is the lead singer for ‘Let it Be?'”

Dad: “Is this for your Lennon project?”

Me: “Yeah. I like the solo in the middle, but I don’t want to play a Paul song by mistake.”

Dad: “Make sure you include something about how important Lennon’s music was during the war years.”

Me: “I have in the essay. But I need to know—”

Dad: “You know, Lennon’s music had some major influence in how public opinion swayed during the Vietnam War.”

Me: “Yep. But I just—”

Dad: “You should use ‘Imagine.’ That is hands-down one of the most influential songs ever written. No doubt about that.”

Me: “I was planning that during the section on his solo years. But I just want to know who sings—”

Dad: “I actually heard of a cover of ‘Imagine’ on the radio the other day. A cover! No respect for a classic!”

Mom: *trying to talk over my dad* “Didn’t you look up The Beatles catalogue in your research?”

Me: “It only said it’s written by Lennon and McCartney.”

Dad: “‘Give Peace a Chance!’ A message we all still need to heed today!”

Me: “Uh-huh. I’ll settle for give listening a chance.”

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(I work at a big box store in the jewellery department. I am usually the only one there during the mornings. I am also seven months pregnant. I am helping a lady pick out a new watch, with her younger daughter sitting in the cart. This happens just as the lady is about to pay for her item.)

Me: “And here’s your change. Thank you for shopping with us!”

Lady: “Thank you. Good luck with the future baby!”

Me: “Thanks!”

Little Girl: “I bet the baby will be pretty because you are pretty like a princess!”

Me: “Aww, thanks!”

(I couldn’t stop smiling after they left. That little girl made my week! And my baby was the prettiest baby in the hospital when she was born – nurses even thought so!)

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