(I work downtown near one of the private religious universities. At least twice a week I am approached by members of one of their Christian outreach groups. I usually just smile and decline politely and go on my way, but this time they follow me to my bus stop.)

Girl: “Excuse me! Did you know that you have a holy mother and a holy father?”

Me: “No… A group of you tried to talk to me about this yesterday. I’m really not interested, thanks. My bus is going to be here soon.”

Girl: “Well, we’ll just talk while you wait! Are you a follower of Jesus Christ?”

Me: “No.”

Girl: “Oh. Well, do you believe in God?”

Me: “No.”

Girl: *disappointed* “Oh. Can I ask why not?”

Me: “You can ask, but it’s hard to explain. It wasn’t one thing. I was raised Christian, but over time I just realized I didn’t believe any of it. And that it’s far more likely that all religions are wrong than that there is one that happens to be right.”

Girl: “Well, have you read the Bible?”

Me: “Yes. Honestly, it’s part of the reason I’m an atheist.”

Girl: “Sometimes people read things but they really don’t UNDERSTAND them, you know? We have a great group and we’d love for you to come and learn more and help you understand the message of the Bible.”

Me: “Again, I’m really not interested. Thanks.”

Girl: “What if we gave you proof?”

Me: “Proof of what?”

Girl: “That the Bible is real.”

Me: “If you honestly think you can do that, then our definitions of ‘proof’ are very different.”

Girl: “Well, you believe in history, right?”

Me: “History is just past events. You don’t ‘believe’ or ‘not believe’ in—”

Girl: “Well, there’s historical things in the Bible! There’s real historical people and places in it! That’s proof right there for you!”

Me: “Yes, but there are also ‘historical things’ in Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, and that doesn’t make it true.”

(The girl’s mouth drops as she tries to formulate a response. Fortunately, I was saved by the bus!)

(We’re in math learning about quadratic equations. One student asks for another practice problem.)

Professor: “How do you feel about getting one with a fraction?”

Student: “Oh, uh, okay. Sure.”

(Everyone in class starts complaining, saying no to the fraction.)

Professor: “What! He said okay. He wanted the fraction! Aren’t you all here to learn math?”

Student: “Wait, I didn’t say ‘okay!’ I was talking in Spanish. I said ‘OH, QUE’?'”

(Everyone starts cracking up and it was a while before we could continue!)

(It’s a busy Saturday night at our university’s convenience store, especially the counter that sells personal pizzas. I’ve been standing in line waiting to pick up dinner for several minutes, glancing around the busy store while I wait. Suddenly, I hear a familiar voice: the boy in my math class on whom I have an enormous crush, but have been too shy to ask out.)

Crush: “Hey, [My Name]!”

Me: “Oh! H-hi there, [Crush]. How are you?”

Crush: *excitedly* “We’re talking about FORCE POWERS!” *gestures to his friend* “Which do you like better, Force-pushing or Force-lightning?”

Me: “Cool! U-um… Well, I’m usually a good guy, so I like good guy powers, usually, but the Jedi aren’t always right, and Force lightning is always really cool, uh, if that makes sense, though I don’t know if it does? I mean, I usually like powers, but I always saw myself as just being good with a lightsaber; not that I don’t like Force powers! But, uh—”

Employee: “Miss?”

(I realize that the line has completely moved on ahead of me, and I’m next in line. I scoot up to the counter.)

Me: *to [Crush]* “See you later!” *I watch him go back to talking with his friend*

Employee: “What can I get for you, hon?”

Me: *dreamily* “Can I get a peppermint pizza, please?”

Employee: “A… what, now?”

Me: “A peppermint pizza.”

(I suddenly realize what I just said.)

Me: “Peppermint… Oh, my god. A PEPPERONI pizza, please.”

Employee: “It’s all right, hon. I think you’ve got it way, way worse than you realize.”

(I kept my hair pretty short in college. Despite that, I seemed to go through my supply of shampoo and conditioner after two weeks.)

Me: “I don’t know how I’m using so much. I have really short hair, and it’s just vanishing. You’re not using any of it are you?”

Roommate: “Nuh-uh. I use that anti-frizz stuff that has to sit in my hair for five minutes before I rinse. Maybe the bottles are leaking.”

(I decide to dye my hair blue next time I go to the store, and dump an extra bottle of fast-acting dye into my shampoo to help keep the color from fading so fast. The next day my roommate is taking one of her famously long showers…)

Roommate: *blood-curdling shriek*

Me: “What’s wrong?! Are you okay?!”

Roommate: “My HAIR!”

(She storms out of our bathroom to reveal her waist length, platinum blonde hair dyed with varying shades of teal.)

Me: “Oh, my god. You’ve been using my shampoo!”

Roommate: “Why is there blue dye in your shampoo?!”

Me: “Serves you right for using my stuff without asking, AND lying to me about it. You brought this on yourself.”

Roommate: “My parents are going to kill me!”

(Her parents weren’t very amused when they saw her, but at least she never used my shampoo again!)

(I am in art class and the teacher is showing us a drawing that a student of hers had done 20 years earlier as an example for the exercise. This teacher is a bit cranky and is not known for her fun side.)

Teacher: “Any questions?”

Student: “I don’t get it. Why would you keep something that ugly for 20 years?”

Teacher: “Your mother kept you, didn’t she?”