I own a pro photo lab where we do high-end printing along with editing, framing, etc. The name of the lab ends with the word “Photo”.

I get a phone call from a very obvious scammer.

Me: “[Store] Photo.”

Scammer: “I need to talk to you about your [Service we don’t have] account.”

Me: “We don’t have an account with them. Kind of hard to talk to me about that.”

Scammer: “It’s important that I talk to you about your [Service] account. What is your name so I can look it up?”

Me: “You called me about the account; you should have my name, then. What is it?”

Scammer: “Ummm… Mr. Photo.”

Me: *Laughing* “Mr. Photo?! No, try again.”

Scammer: “Sorry, sorry… Let’s see… Mr. Walter.”

Me: “Wrong again. I don’t have a [Service] account; you are trying to scam the wrong person.”

Scammer: “Ahh… Mr. Smith.”

Me: “Strike three. We’re done.”

I hung up.

I doubt he meant the “Mr. Photo” thing as a compliment about my skills. He just heard “Photo” in the way I answered the phone, and his “quick” thinking took that to be my name.

I am the author of this story, where it was discovered that there was another person with my dad’s name in the phonebook. Years later, the other [Dad]’s wife dies, and he’s trying to put her affairs in order, so he calls her dentist. The conversation goes something like this.

Other [Dad]: “Hello, I’m [Dad]. My wife died recently, so she won’t be coming to her appointment.”

Receptionist: “No problem; I’ll cancel it.”

A few weeks later, my mom goes to her appointment at the same dentist’s office.

Mom: “Hello, I’m [Mom] and I have an appointment.”

The receptionist checks her computer and goes as white as a ghost.

Receptionist: “I thought you were dead!”

It turned out they’d canceled her appointment instead of the other [Dad]’s wife’s. Mom was not amused.

Related:
Call Of The Search

CONTENT WARNING: Eating Disorders/Body Image Struggles

We are visiting my mom with our three-year-old and our twelve-week-old. [Three-Year-Old] is tall and lanky with light blond hair. [Twelve-Week-Old] is short, chubby (as a baby should be), and dark-haired. My husband and I have taken to calling them “Leek” and “Potato” when talking about them which, I guess, may not be overly nice in some people’s eyes, but they are still little and don’t know, so no harm done for now.

Me: “Mom, could you pass me the little potato? I think she needs a diaper change.”

Mom: “Don’t call her that.”

Me: “Ah, she is twelve weeks old. She has no idea what we are calling her. We could be calling her ‘stinky butt’ and she wouldn’t know any better.”

Mom: “I just don’t want you to project anything!”

Me: “What?”

Mom: “Well, my coworkers always said I was forcing you into anorexia with the way I was talking about you and your body. Look at you. They were obviously wrong.”

Me: “Yeah…”

I am 5’6” and at least fifty pounds overweight, with body image issues, pretty much no self-esteem, and an unhealthy relationship with food — at least partly due to constantly being criticised about what I was eating, how much I was eating, and when I was eating, making me eat in secret.

Am I anorexic? No. Do I have an eating disorder? H*** yes. I wonder where that comes from.

Her coworkers may have been on to something back then…

I used to work as an usher at a live theater. After work, for about two years without fail, a group of us would travel across the street to a popular sit-down restaurant. Because I was a poor high school student, I would get the smallest thing I could, which was a chocolate milkshake with a free side of chips (no salsa).

The issue was that I prefer to eat my milkshake with a spoon; I hate sucking your brains out with those tiny restaurant straws. So, when I ordered, I would say, “Chocolate milkshake, no whipped cream, with a spoon!” I went there for about two years while working as an usher, and it was always the same: “Milkshake with a spoon.” It soon became obvious that my spoon request had spread around the waiters as they would smile and say, “Oh, it’s you! I’ve heard about the spoon. I got ya.”

I ended up traveling abroad for a while and jumping around to other jobs. I didn’t go back to that place until there was a meetup of all the old friends who still lived in the area. This was about three years after my last time setting foot in that restaurant.

We sat down, and I noticed that I vaguely recognized the waiter serving us. He definitely recognized me; he looked up to take my order and said:

Waiter #1: “SPOON MAN! YOU’RE BACK!”

Needless to say, my friends grilled me on this new nickname.

Fast forward seven years. I am now a newlywed. We are looking for what to eat in the area and land on a familiar restaurant. We sit down in the same booth I used to sit in, and I look around, eager to see if I recognize anyone. Nope, no one from before — all new staff. My wife notices I’m kind of disappointed and asks why. As I’m about to answer, our waiter arrives and asks what we would like. We get through our order, and I’m feeling nostalgic, so I add on:

Me: “A chocolate milkshake, no whipped cream with a spoon.”

The waiter starts to chuckle a bit until he sees my face and that I’m completely serious. His mouth drops open and he says, almost reverently:

Waiter #2: “Holy s***… Spoon Man?”

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I’m working in a call center. A guy calls in, and I confirm his first and last name. His account information populates as “Ligma Balls”.

If the information populates differently from what the caller says, we have to verify it.

Me: “Hey, the name on my end is appearing differently. Can you go into your settings and provide the first and last name it displays?”

He goes into his settings, and there’s a brief silence.

Caller: “Oh, my God, my friend did this. First name ‘Ligma’… Last name ‘Balls’… I am so sorry.”

It took all of my willpower not to burst out laughing.