My husband and I are having dinner at a place that includes a stage musician playing and singing along with his guitar. It’s a quiet night, and one of the only other tables is a family with a little girl who’s just a few years old and carrying a Big Bird plushie, who seems entranced by the performance. Her mother gives her a five dollar bill and encourages her to go put it in the singer’s tip bucket, which she shyly does before running away.

He smiles and thanks her, and after finishing his current song, launches into the next one. He sings, “Sunny days, keeping the clouds away, on my way to where the air is clean…”

The little girl’s eyes get huge and, before her parents can react, she grabs her mother’s purse and goes racing up to the stage with it in her hands, dragging her Sesame Street toy. Her mother catches up to her and everyone has a good laugh, but all I can think is, “Clever man.”

(I’m a junior in college. I’ve been working at this store since high school. My boss, while not a nice person, has always been great about working with my class schedule.)

Me: “Hey, [Boss], here’s my class schedule for this coming semester. Due to my new schedule, I can’t work Mondays or Wednesdays anymore, but I can do Tuesdays and Thursdays, instead.”

Boss: “Thanks for telling me! This won’t be an issue.”

(When I get the next week’s schedule, I notice I’m not scheduled. I shrug it off, until I’m not scheduled the week after that, either! I track down my boss.)

Me: “Hey! What’s up with the schedule? I haven’t been on there for two weeks.”

Boss: “Oh, I don’t have a need for you on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

Me: “Not even between four and eight? We’re always busy then.”

Boss: “What I need you to do is work Mondays and Wednesdays.”

Me: “I can’t. I have class from 9:00 to 5:30. Then I have project groups that meet after class. You said the schedule change was fine!”

Boss: “Figure it out, [My Name]. You’re not getting any hours until you put your schedule back to Mondays and Wednesdays. That’s when I want you to work.”

(I fume about it, until I find out the on-campus bookstore is hiring. I apply and am hired on the spot. They even ask me for my class list, so that they can schedule around it. I return to the grocery store a couple days later, resignation in hand.)

Boss: *smugly* “So, have you come back to change your schedule?”

Me: “I sure have.” *hands her my resignation letter* “I quit.”

(I work in a pet mortuary with a very obvious name that also services local veterinary offices.)

Caller: “Hello, is this [Pet Mortuary]?”

Me: “Yes, how can I help you?”

Caller: “Yeah, I was calling because I need to get a cremation done.”

Me: “Okay, what’s the pet’s name?”

Caller: “Grandma.”

(This is not unusual; people have called in before with pets named “Mama” or “Bro.” The caller proceeds to have an outpouring of emotion about how much they’re gonna miss Grandma, going on near ten minutes. Eventually, I am able to get a word in edgewise.)

Me: “Okay, sir, what kind of pet did you say this was?”

Caller: “Pet? No! I need to cremate my grandmother!”

(My aunt is pregnant with my cousin after years of miscarriages and a stillbirth. She’s at one of her ultrasounds when the doctor notices something weird.)

Doctor: “I think your baby is malformed.”

Aunt: “What are you talking about?”

Doctor: “I mean she isn’t developing properly. She might be born disfigured.”

Aunt: “How bad are we talking? She’s not going to die, is she?”

Doctor: “I can’t tell for certain, but it looks like she’s missing a leg.”

Aunt: “What?! What do you mean my baby is missing a leg?!”

Doctor: “I mean unless it’s hidden somewhere, it’s gone.”

(Over the next few weeks the doctor subtly implied over and over again that she should terminate the pregnancy due to the malformation. She ended up switching doctors when he got fed up and straight up told her to terminate because apparently allowing a child to exist with a deformity was akin to abuse. When she gave birth, my cousin indeed only had one leg. She learned how to walk with a prosthetic at a very young age and is now 23, athletic, and happy, and you wouldn’t know she only had one leg if she didn’t show you her prosthetic. We’re all still horrified that the doctor thought terminating her in the name of “protecting” her was the only course of action, especially after my aunt and uncle had suffered so many previous losses.)

(I am in a political science class doing a lecture on the Constitution.)

Teacher: “I will give a degree to anyone who can recite the preamble to the Constitution from memory.”

(After a moment, I shakily raise my hand. He nods at me to proceed.)

Me: “We the people, in order to… Um, I have to sing it.”

Teacher: *slightly puzzled* “Uh, go ahead.”

(I then sang the Schoolhouse Rock preamble song that had been drilled into my head for years. The class applauded, my teacher wrote my degree title on a sheet of notebook paper, and one student insisted on calling me Kelly Clarkson for the rest of the class. It was my crowning achievement in college.)