I am EXCEEDINGLY accident-prone, to the point that I joke that my hobby is keeping my doctors’ lives interesting. I also have a host of medical issues.

I seriously strained my right hamstring — it felt like a tearing, ripping sensation — last July while trying to lever a pokeweed root out of the ground — roots hard as trees and just as hard to remove. My friends told me that only I could manage to hurt my hamstring that way.

I started aquatic therapy for it, but my hamstring still hurt a lot, so my ortho ordered an MRI to see what was going on. I tell the MRI techs that, after a lifetime of x-rays, CAT scans, and MRIs, I have developed the ability to remain perfectly still for the entire time any of the tests are being done.

Apparently, they don’t believe me; they keep asking me if I am okay after each scan.

Me: “Why? Did you think I died here?”

Tech: “But you were so still!”

Evidently, they didn’t check to see that I was breathing.

I frequently eat on break while on my way to the break room in the back of the store, to ensure I have enough time to eat. At least one customer always stops me despite having my vest hanging off one shoulder and not zipped.

I am shoveling chicken tenders into my mouth actively as I’m walking to the breakroom:

Customer: “Can you tell me where the calendars are?”

Me: *Mouth full of chicken* “Fey aren’t out fet.”

When I am seventeen and still living at home, our boiler is due for a safety inspection, required by our insurance company. We receive the usual timeframe: the person doing the inspection might show up anywhere between 10:00 am and 6:00 pm on a particular day.

My dad has to run an errand, and since, in his experience, such a time frame usually means waiting all day and the expected person not showing up until at least 5:30 pm, he figures he probably will be fine if he leaves early. Just in case, he leaves me with instructions to stay home, and if the inspector does show up, to show them the paperwork he left on the kitchen counter.

Of course, the laws of the universe mean that, as soon as my dad is out of sight, the inspector shows up.

We have two dogs: a dachshund and a wirehair german pointer, a hunting dog that can look a bit intimidating. They are both friendly dogs, but whereas the dachshund only barks at squirrels, the pointer considers himself our family’s and house’s guardian and greets any unknown person entering our house with a few deep, firm, loud barks. He won’t do anything more than bark — like I said, he is actually a friendly fellow — but realizing visitors might easily be scared by him, we usually let him into the fenced-in backyard before letting people he doesn’t know into the house. The yard side of our living room has large windows through which dog and visitor can see each other, and once each is convinced the other is not a threat, we let the dog back in.

When the doorbell rings today, I let the pointer into the yard and go into the hallway to answer the door. The dachshund follows me, being an adorable people-lover. When the boiler inspector sees him saunter up to him, tail wagging, he chuckles and makes a joke.

Inspector: “Ah, a big, ferocious guard dog!”

Me: “No, that’s the welcoming committee. The big ferocious guard dog is in the yard. My dad wanted me to show you some paperwork; it’s in the kitchen.”

I lead him to the kitchen, and we have to go through the living room. As soon as our pointer sees the inspector, he lets out his loud, deep, “don’t you dare mess with my human” bark.

The inspector is suddenly a lot less cocky.

Inspector: “Oh… Yeah, that is a big ferocious guard dog.”

And people wondered why my dad wasn’t worried about letting a seventeen-year-old girl walk that dog at night alone.

I’m shopping at the mall when I’m stopped by a salesperson.

Salesperson: “Hi, would you like to try our health product? There are a lot of amazing benefits…”

He starts his spiel.

Me: “Oh, I’ve seen this product before. I’m allergic to some of the ingredients.”

It’s a powder that can be stirred into your beverage.

The salesperson replies rudely, as though I’m insulting his product.

Salesperson: “Our product is very safe; there’s nothing that can cause an allergy!”

He tries to continue his pushy sales spiel.

Me: “There’s milk. I’m allergic to milk.”

Salesperson: *Rolling his eyes* “Oh, there’s no milk in our product! It’s very safe!”

Me: “Did you check the ingredients?”

He has an advertisement board that is meant to grab the attention of passers-by, but it doesn’t have any details about the product. There are brochures behind him, which he definitely didn’t read if he doesn’t know the ingredients.

Salesperson: “Of course! And there’s no milk in it at all!” *Patronisingly* “Since you’re allergic to milk, you shouldn’t mix it into milk. You can just mix it into any other drink, like plain water.”

Me: “Do you think I’m stupid enough to consume this powder with milk, even though I’m allergic to milk?”

I took one of the brochures and showed him the ingredients, which clearly stated that it contained milk.

I work in internal IT for a retail company. A lot of our support is password resets. I had this conversation with a user the other day.

User: “I need my ID for [program].”

Me: “Are you looking for your username or a password?”

User: “My user ID. I can’t sign in.”

Me: “What are you using for the username right now?”

User: “My employee ID”

Me: “It doesn’t use your ID; it uses your company email.”

I read the user his email.

User: “Oh, let me try that.”

A few seconds pass.

User: “It’s still not letting me in.”

Me: “What are you using for the username?”

User: “My employee ID.”

Me: *Headdesk* “It doesn’t use your employee ID; it uses your company email.”

I read the email address again.

I ended up also needing to provide him with a temporary password because he’d forgotten it, but it took another five minutes because he kept trying to use his employee ID as the username instead of the company email. The page itself also says that the username is in this format: firstname.lastname@[Company Website].