(Last year our studio head moved away and we welcomed a more organized replacement. Communication between departments improves, paperwork is filed on time, attendance is tracked, and tickets for the spring show are printed and available for sale two weeks before the performance. Under the old studio head we were lucky to get them the week prior. It seems like this year we’ve sold more tickets. This was confirmed:)

Text: “I just ran the numbers. Last year we sold 29 tickets at the desk. So far this year we’ve sold 92.”

Second Text: “So we’ve literally turned our numbers around.”

(I am taking ballroom dance classes, and have just shown up rather early to the first session of the New Year. My dad just passed away on December 14, so obviously I had a difficult Christmas. Because I’m so early, I’m making small talk with the manager of the dance club, who is the only other person there.)

Manager: “So, how was your Christmas?”

Me: *cautiously* “Oh… it wasn’t that great really.”

Manager: “What? But it’s Christmas! Come on. It couldn’t have been that bad.”

Me: “Actually, it was probably the worst Christmas I’ve ever had.”

Manager: “Wow, what happened?”

Me: *not wanting to be one of those people who overshares personal information* “Umm, family stuff.”

Manager: “Oh, come on. Look at it this way: at least you HAVE a family!”

(At this point I can’t stay quiet anymore, as I have a morbid sense of humour and he’s given me a perfect set-up.)

Me: *deadpan* “Actually, my dad died.”

(He splutters about how sorry he is, and I feel a bit bad for him. Just then another girl walks up to us. The manager turns to her quickly to save face.)

Manager: “You! How was your Christmas?”

Girl: “Pretty sucky. My house burned down.”

Manager: *shocked and speechless*

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. My dad died this Christmas.”

Girl: “I’m so sorry! At least we’re pushing through it though, right?” *we high-five each other*

Me: “So, [Manager], how was YOUR Christmas?”

Manager: “IT WAS FINE. PERFECTLY FINE. NO REASON TO COMPLAIN.”

(We all had a good laugh about it. That was the first time I’d laughed since before my dad passed, and it was also the moment I realized I would be okay!)

(I am a dance teacher assistant. The teacher was teaching a tap step called a scuffle to a group of kindergarten age kids.)

Teacher: “What other tap step rhymes with this?”

Student #1: “Muffle!”

Student #2: “Muffin!”

(The real answer was shuffle.)

(I work part-time at a dance studio and notice that I can’t find my iPad. After some detective work with security footage, I see a woman, Customer, clearly swipe it off the bench in a practice room and walk out with her daughter, who was taking lessons. My boss looks the woman up in the system and calls the number on file.)

Boss: “Hi, Mrs. [Customer], this is [Boss] from [Studio]. I’m calling about a misunderstanding that occurred during your daughter’s lesson on [date]. After reviewing security footage, we’ve determined that you may have accidentally ended up with my employee’s personal property. Give me call back and we can clear this right up!”

(Several days go by. They hear nothing. He calls again, stressing that he’s SURE it was an accident and all he wants is for me to get my property back. Still nothing. Then he tries a different tactic: the woman’s father, who lives in the same town, is the emergency contact. He calls the father and again explains the situation.)

Father: “Oh, did she? I’ll ask her about that. She’ll call you tomorrow.”

(The next day, this is the first thing out of her mouth:)

Customer: “I have to say, I am really disappointed in the way that you’re handling this. I can’t bring it in this week so you’ll have to wait until my daughter’s next lesson.”

Boss: “That’s fine, ma’am. As long as everyone ends up with everything that belongs to them at the end of the day.”

(The next lesson, the woman doesn’t even go into the building. She sends her six-year-old daughter to the front desk with the iPad.)

Daughter: “My mom asked me to give you this. She said she thought it was a book.”

(That lady better hope I never run into her. Way to involve your child in THEFT.)

(I am overweight, but have been losing weight through the Zumba dance program. I have been doing half-hour classes and feel ready to start on the hour-long classes on top of those. My Zumba teacher is delighted, but this one particular newcomer… not so much.)

Newcomer: *to me* “Oh my GOD! You should not be here! The class hasn’t even started and you’re sweating like a pig! Do us all a favor and get out of here before you kill us with your stink!”

Me: “Excuse me, but I just finished the half-hour class that just ended. If I weren’t sweating, I would be worried.”

Newcomer: “Liar! You probably can’t even dance! You’ll just drag everyone down, so get out of here!”

(The instructor hears this and comes over.)

Instructor: “In this gym, we accept any and all who want to live a more fit life. Whether you think she can dance or keep up is a moot point. She is just as welcome as you are. Now get in line. Class is about to begin.”

(Since I have been doing this program for months, I dance like a madwoman and push to the very end. The newcomer struggles with one of the faster routines and sits out after only fifteen minutes of working out. After everyone else finishes…)

Instructor: “Very good, everyone. You all did a great job, whether you lasted for fifteen minutes, half the class, or the full hour… or if you were a bada** like [my name] and did both the half-hour and the hour-long classes! She kicked some major butt today, even though some people thought she was going to waste our time! Would you like to say anything to the class, [my name]?”

Me: “Yes. I am a fata**, but I can honestly say that I am bettering myself and I WORK for my sweat. I may go home looking disgusting, but I can at least say that today I worked out six times longer than a person half my weight who decided at the beginning of class that I couldn’t dance!”

(Everyone applauded and the newcomer grabbed her gear and slinked out. She never came back.)