A friend and I (both girls) were at a video game store just browsing and hanging out. An employee comes up to us.

Employee: “Do you need help finding anything?”

Me: “No, thank you, we’re just looking.”

Employee: “Have you seen the new Nintendo DS XL’s?”

The Nintendo DS XL has just come out.

Employee: “They’re the best handhelds, and more suitable for games that girls enjoy!”

Friend: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Employee: “I mean, uh… well…”

Me: *Giving the guy an ‘out’ of this conversation.* “No, thank you. We’ve never been into handheld games.”

Amazingly, despite my giving this dude an easy way out of the conversation, he doubles down.

Employee: “Oh, but they really are very good!”

Me: “I said we’re not interested.”

Employee: “But they have newer, bigger four-inch screens!”

Friend: “You’re not the first guy to try to convince me that four inches is impressive.”

That was the end of his sales pitch.

A friend and I are waiting for a midnight showing of a Star Wars movie. We’re telling jokes to pass the time.

Friend: “If Ani is short for Anakin and Obi is short for Obi-Wan, then what is Luke short for?”

Me: “Uhm…”

Friend: “A stormtrooper!”

Me: “Well, great. I’m never going to be able to beat that, so now we have to stand here in silence for the next hour.”

I’m talking to a friend about when we can get together in the second month of summer. Relevant: I’m White, she’s Black.

Me: “How about the 19th?”

Friend: “Sorry, my family’s going to be celebrating Juneteenth.”

Me: “Oh, sorry! I forgot!”

I feel bad for a moment. Then it hits me.

Me: “Your family’s going to be celebrating Juneteenth on July 19th?”

Friend: “…It’s been a very long week.”

One of my closest friends since college is an absolute genius. He was at the top of his undergrad and business school courses and is now a high-flying consultant, etc.

At one point, when we were living together, I went for a three-week adventure holiday, so I was pretty much out of contact. I asked him to take care of my plants while I was gone. This seemed a simple ask for someone so intelligent. I gave him instructions to water them every couple of days and the rough amounts of water needed.

When I came back, the dear boy seemed very guilty.

Friend: “Sorry, but I think I may have killed some of your plants… I watered them as you said, but something may have gone wrong…”

I walk in and look around at my plants, figuring he might have forgotten a couple of days or something… Well, he had killed a couple of live plants. Fair enough, things happen, right?

But then I started smelling this godawful smell in a couple of places. Couldn’t figure it out.

Turns out he had watered all of my dried plants; think bundles of sculptural sticks, etc. This included a bit of fake ivy where I was trying to make an ugly window ledge look pretty. He’d watered them diligently every two days for three weeks.

There were pools of vile water in the bottom of their containers that absolutely reeked. Black mold was already creeping up the sides of the containers and on the bases of the plants that yielded clouds of spores when I pulled them out. I had to trash the plants and containers, etc., in case they would make us sick.

Turns out my dear, sweet, genius friend had noticed the dank smell, but thought that was “probably normal for plants at some point in their lives” and didn’t want to let me down by not watering. So… he lived in our veritable plague farm of a flat for all three weeks, suffering in silence.

I really had to struggle not to die laughing. He was so earnest and had tried so hard. But good lord, sometimes even geniuses can be complete idiots.

My husband’s pride and joy is his classic car. He only drives it on Sundays, such as today, as we drive to the mall. We pull into the far edge of the parking lot, as usual, miles away from everyone else.

Me: “You know there are closer spaces, right?”

Husband: “And you know people can’t be trusted with doors.”

We both get out. A moment later, another classic car, actually, the SAME classic car (same model, same era) pulls in and parks a few spaces over. The driver gets out with his wife. My husband freezes.

The other guy clocks ours at the same time. They both start walking toward each other, already frowning.

Other Guy: “That’s my spot.”

Husband: “I always park here.”

Other Guy: “But that’s my spot.”

Husband: “Your spot? It’s a parking lot.”

Other Guy: “Yeah, and I picked this area first.”

Husband: “I’ve been using this spot for years.”

Other Guy: “Well, so have I.”

They’re now standing between the cars like they’re about to duel. The other wife and I exchange a long, tired look.

Other Guy: “You could’ve parked further down.”

Husband: “You could’ve parked further down.”

Other Guy: “So move it.”

Husband: “You move it.”

I step forward.

Me: “Oh my god! Men! You two just discovered another guy who’s into the exact same model of classic cars you’re obsessed with, and you’re choosing to argue over who gets a stupid parking spot when you could be MAKING FRIENDS!”

Both men look at me. Then at each other. Then at the cars.

Husband: “…What year is yours?”

Other Guy: “’72.”

Husband: “Mine’s a ’71.”

Other Guy: “No kidding.”

Husband: “Original engine?”

Other Guy: “Mostly. Had to rebuild the carb.”

Husband: “Same.”

They both laugh. Maybe that was a joke of some kind, I don’t know. What I do know is that five years later, they’re still meeting once a month for a Sunday drive together. I’ve become pretty good friends with the other wife, too, although we don’t share the same hyper-specific interests as our husbands!