Customer Mail: 

“You wrongfully charged my credit card 7,90€ for a subscription I already cancelled. Due to this, I give you a deadline of forty-eight hours to meet my following demands:

1. End my subscription on [date about two weeks in the future].
2. Apologise.
3. Refund my money and add 10% interest for the money you illegally withheld from me, covering my losses.

If you fail to meet my demands completely, I will take this case to my lawyer.”

My Answer:

“Dear [Customer],

We did not receive any notice before today that you wanted to cancel your subscription. The regular timeframe to cancel accordingly would be [date two weeks in the future].

However, as the sum in question is an important part of your financial portfolio, we decided to cancel your subscription immediately and refund you the whole sum.

We will not be able to pay you the mentioned 0,79€ interest and our legal department is awaiting your lawyer’s written statement. Please keep in mind that a regular letter needs a postage of 0,80€ and we will not be able to refund you anything for that within company policy. So, we would ask you to consider straining your funds unnecessarily in order to avoid further financial losses.”

I checked in with my supervisor to see if I’d gone too far. He treated me to a coffee for making him the entertainer of the week when he read it out loud to the other supervisors in the weekly meeting.

I’m trying to stimulate my daughter’s mnemonic ability with trivia and quizzes. Thanks to a recent accident that painted the bathroom tiles silver, we now know that modern thermometer tips contain a gallium, indium, and tin alloy called Galinstan. My daughter is now taking her temperature.

Me: “Do you remember what’s in the tip?”

Daughter: “Uh. Tin and… gallium and… indium.”

Me: “Very good. What’s the name?”

Daughter: “Tin… Sta… Sta… In… Gal… STALINGRAD!”

My friend was born in America but his family is from Saudi Arabia. His cousin, who is visiting our school, knows English but struggles with some words.

Cousin: “Can I have a thing of paper? I forgot how to say.”

Me: “You can say, ‘a piece of paper,’ or, ‘a sheet of paper.’”

Later that day…

Cousin: “Please can I have a piece of sheet?”

I am in the store picking up a couple of things. Unfortunately, I have a huge headache when this happens, to the point where I’m just kind of out of it. There are three types of carts: a mini one, which is obviously far easier for light shoppers to use, the regular-sized one, and a wide one for bulk shoppers. I am using the only mini one I could find in the cart bay. 

After I pay, I come out to the cart bay to return my cart. I notice a female standing there who sees my cart and waits for me to get my stuff so she can take it. For some reason, I do not notice the man pulling a regular-sized cart from the bay, noticing my mini cart, and gently pushing the regular cart away to get mine as well. I do notice, however, when I remove my things and he grabs the end of the mini cart. I was planning on giving it to the woman who saw it first, and it takes me a moment to realize this.

I look up at him, and in a confused and slightly irritated tone, I speak up.

Me: “Excuse me, what are you doing? This woman obviously saw the cart first. I’m giving it to her.”

A heartbeat of silence passes between all three of us before the man and woman start laughing. My face contorts in confusion, which the woman notices, and she grabs the man’s hand.

Woman: “Oh, honey, it’s okay. He’s my husband.” *Chuckling* “But thank you very much for sticking up for me over a silly cart.”

I turn bright red and start stammering.

Me: “Oh, my God, I am sorry! I have a headache and I am so out of it; I am so sorry!”

They laugh lightheartedly and shake their heads.

Man: “Don’t be sorry; it’s okay.”

They then took the cart and walked into the store. Apparently, I made their day. Me, on the other hand, well… I’m sure I’ll lie in bed at three am in the future and my brain will suddenly remember this embarrassment.

Related:
Making A Cart-felt Plea

It is 2005 and I am volunteering as an Assistant Scoutmaster for a Boy Scout troop. While we are at a summer camp, I am walking with one of the eleven-year-old first-year scouts. I am nineteen but I guess at his age, that seems really old.

Scout: “Mr. [My Name], do you remember the moon landing?”

Me: “Uh… that happened seventeen years before I was born, [Scout].”

Scout: “Oh.”