(I work with a woman who is a bit odd. One day, the entire department receives an e-mail from her:)

Email #1: “[Husband] and I have decided that it’s time to throw a party! Everyone is invited for [date]. As you might know, my brother is a gourmet chef, and he’s promised to cook a feast like you’ve never had before, so make sure you show up hungry!”

(I don’t like showing up at a party empty-handed, so I go to see her to ask if I can bring anything. Most of the other invitees do the same.)

Coworker: “No need; like I said, my brother will provide everything.”

(I notice that she looks slightly shifty when she says this, but I don’t think anything of it. Shortly after that, the entire department — except for the secretary — gets a second email from her.)

Email #2: “Psst… That first email was a ruse! This party is actually a bridal shower for [Secretary]. All the ladies are invited. See you then!”

(I have a very light lunch on the day of the shower and skip off to [Coworker]’s house, happily anticipating some gourmet goodies. There aren’t any. In fact, there is no food at all. It seems that the “my brother is going to cook a feast” bit was part of the ruse. [Coworker] doesn’t seem to realize that all of her guests, including the guest of honour, are hungry and grumpy. We all make excuses to leave early. I raid the fridge when I get home, much to my husband’s surprise.)

Husband: “What happened to your feast?”

Me: “Good question.”

(The following day, [Coworker] talked about how successful the party had been. She never noticed that all of us ladies were conspicuously silent.)

(A coworker comes in late because he had to take his wife to the doctor.)

Me: “Hey! How’s your wife?”

Coworker: “She’s fine. She was showing some symptoms of Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. The thing you can get from ticks?”

Me: “Isn’t that more an out-east thing?”

Coworker: “You’re thinking Lyme Disease. This area gets Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.”

Me: “Okay. I once had symptoms of Rocky Horror Picture Show Fever.”

Coworker: “Yeah, I heard that was common back in the early 80s.”

(I laughed. At least he had the timeline right.)

(My family is what people consider morbid for the way we talk about our deceased mother. When Mother’s Day comes, this is one of the many stories I have about why I’m not doing anything.)

Coworker #1: “I’m taking my mother to dinner and buying her flowers.”

Coworker #2: “I’m cooking my mother’s favorite dinner. What about you, [My Name]?”

Me: “I’m not doing anything for her.”

Coworker #2: “How can you be so mean? Don’t you want to show her you love her?”

Me: “I do love her, but it’s not like she is going to throw a fit and yell at me.”

([Coworker #1] is laughing, since she knows about my mother and that I have already told [Coworker #2] my mother is dead.)

Coworker #2: “I hope you have a miserable Mother’s Day, [My Name]. Your mother might leave and you will never see her again.”

Me: “If my mother leaves, I will know, since there will be a giant hole from where she dug herself out of her grave. It’s not like she is going to say, ‘I’m tired of this grave plot; I’m moving to a new one.’”

([Coworker #2] got mad, cussed me out, and then refused to even look at me. [Coworker #1] had started laughing so hard they were snorting.)

(I’m scheduled as a supervisor for a future evening. Anyone scheduled to work that evening that is going to be working different hours than they are scheduled needs to get my approval first. I’ve also been short-tempered lately.)

Coworker #1: “Hey, can minors work double shifts?”

Me: “Legally you can work more than four hours if there is a break between them, I believe.”

Coworker #1: “Okay, because [Coworker #2] wants me to work his afternoon shift but I’m already working the shift immediately after it.”

Me: “So it wouldn’t work without having a break in between. Why doesn’t [Coworker #2] just swap with you?”

Coworker #1: “I don’t know, but I’ll be fine. As long as I can get something to eat I think I’ll be fine.”

Me: “I didn’t ask if you’ll be fine. Frankly, I like staying out of jail far more than I care about anything to do with you.”

Coworker #1: “Well, then… sorry for giving you trouble.”

Me: “It’s the whole legal bit I was mentioning earlier.”

(Our manager gives lists of work to be done. I have just one more job to finish on my list and am about to start it when my coworker comes up with her list.)

Coworker: “Oh, I have to sort stock in the office; I hate doing that.”

Me: “I actually like doing that.”

Coworker: “Do you want to swap jobs? What do you have left to do now?”

Me: “I have to move this stock from here to this end.” *literally less than a metre apart, I show her the locations* “The stock just basically needs swapping around. This end now goes to that panel and the panel goes to this end” *points* “If you want to do this, I don’t mind doing what you’re supposed to do.”

Coworker: “Great, that will be fantastic. I can do that; it looks really easy.”

(I go off and do her job. It only takes about thirty minutes. It’s now almost closing  time. I come out of the office, and notice that both the panel and the end are completely empty. I find my coworker wandering aimlessly around.)

Me: “Uh, where is the stock that was here?”

Coworker: “It’s in a trolley down at the front of the store, all ready for you to work on.”

Me: “But I thought we swapped jobs.”

Coworker: “We did; you told me these things needed moving, so I moved them.” *gives me a smug look*

Me: “Where are the hooks?”

Coworker: “I put them in the dock.”

(What should have been a simple twenty-minute job became a two-hour job, because I had to sort, rehang, display, and re-price everything. This meant I had to stay back, unpaid, to do it. That was the last time I ever offered or took her up on an offer to swap jobs.)