CONTENT WARNING: Cancer, House Fire, Death

When I was a teenager, I didn’t have a computer or printer to work on different assignments, so after school, I would walk my dog over to my grandma’s house as she lived nearby, and I would work on homework at her house.

My grandma was a smoker her whole life, and as a result, she got lung cancer and had to be on oxygen. I was at her house one day and I saw that she was still smoking, so I told my dad.

Me: “Hey, Grandma’s still smoking.”

Dad: “What do you mean? She’s on oxygen.”

Me: “She just kinks the hose when she smokes.”

Dad: “WHAT?!”

I thought he was just upset that she was still smoking despite being on oxygen and having lung cancer. The reason why he was really upset was that you can literally cause the house to go up in flames. He called all his siblings, and they chewed her out for not only putting herself in danger but my grandpa, me, and my dog, as well. As a result, I was banned from going over to her house, and if I needed to work on something, I would have to text one of my parents in the morning so they would know to go take me to the library after school.

Years later, I was talking to my sister on the phone.

Sister: “Hey, did you hear about what happened to one of the couples Mom and Dad camp with?”

Me: “No. What happened?”

Sister: “The husband went to church and the wife stayed home, and while she was smoking on oxygen, the house went up in flames and she died. They figured it must have been suicide, because who would be that stupid to do something like that?”

Me: “And yet…”

Sister: “At least this lady waited until she was home alone. Grandma gave no f***s about anyone else.”

I’m working at a bank branch that’s not in the greatest neighborhood, but I still enjoy working there because the customers are so nice. I’m a female in my twenties, but due to my baby face, I look much younger. A kid who doesn’t look any older than eighteen swaggers up to the line.

Me: “Hi there. How can I help you?”

The customer flings his card on the counter.

Customer: “Get me my cash now! I got places to be.”

Me: “Sure thing. How much do you need today?”

Customer: “All of it!”

Me: “Now, just so you know, if you take everything out, the account will close—”

Customer: “Did I ask what you think? Gimme my money! Now!”

The customer behind him, a petite woman in her sixties, reaches up and SMACKS the back of his head.

Customer: “OW! What the h***?!” *Turns around* “Nana?!”

Nana: “Just what do you think you’re doin’, child?”

Customer: “Just… gettin’ some money.”

Nana: “Not like that! Your momma and I did not raise you to be rude, especially in my bank! These girls are always nice to me, and you need to respect them!”

Customer: “But, Nana—”

Nana: “No! You will apologize to this young lady!”

Customer: *To me* “I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s been a bad day.”

Nana: “It’s about to get worse for you, [Customer]! Sit your behind down while I get my money.”

Customer: “But, Nana—”

Nana: “No! You will come back another day when you can be polite. Sit!”

He meekly sits in the waiting area.

Nana: “Now, honey, can you please withdraw $100 from my account? Here’s my ID.”

I count back her cash while fighting the urge to laugh.

Me: “You have a nice day, ma’am!”

Nana: “Oh, you, too, sugar. I’m sorry for my grandson; he was raised better than that.”

Me: *Still fighting the urge to laugh* “Don’t worry about it!”

Nana: “Aren’t you sweet?!” *To her grandson* “You, sir, will march to my car. Just wait until I tell your momma!”

Customer: “No! Please don’t tell her!”

Nana: “MARCH!”

She pushed him out the door, continuing to rain threats on him. He came in a few days later for his cash, as meek and polite as could be!

My grandmother calls me.

Grandmother: “My computer simply won’t turn on!”

After an hour of trying to talk to her on the phone, I make the two-hour trip to go see her.

Me: “Show me how you’re turning on your computer.”

Grandmother: “I’m not an imbecile, [My Name]. I know where the ‘On’ button is.”

She holds down the power button. And holds it… and holds it.

It turned out that she had been holding the power button down until it made a full power cycle and shut itself back down, never thinking to let her finger off the button.

A group of school children are being given a tour of our ancient Egypt section. I am discussing how the pyramids were constructed when one of the chaperones — a grandparent of one of the children — interrupts me.

Chaperone: “Excuse me. How do you know the pyramids were built that way?”

Me: “We’ve been able to make pretty reasonable conclusions from the hieroglyphs left behind, plus other historical documents that—”

Chaperone: “But there’s no video?”

Me: “Video… of the pyramids being constructed?”

There are a few giggles from the group, but the chaperone is undeterred.

Chaperone: “I’m sorry, but if there’s no actual video evidence, then I can’t just take your word for it.”

Chaperone’s Granddaughter: “Grandma, there’s no video evidence of Jesus, either, but you believe in him.”

Chaperone: “Well, that’s different! Jesus was before the pyramids!”

Me: “Actually, ma’am, some of Egypt’s great pyramids predate Jesus by a few millennia.”

Chaperone: “Now I know you’re lying. Nothing came before Jesus!”

Chaperone’s Granddaughter: “What about Adam and Eve?”

Chaperone: “Be quiet!”

Later on, after the tour, the chaperone’s granddaughter comes by with her mother, who arrived after the previous discussion.

Chaperone’s Daughter: “I heard my mother gave you a hard time on the tour?”

Me: “Nothing I haven’t handled before.”

Chaperone’s Daughter: “Sorry about her. If it makes you feel better, she watches shows that say the pyramids were built by aliens, and she believes those, so there really was never any hope for you getting through to her.”

Me: “How does she reconcile Jesus with aliens?”

Chaperone’s Daughter: “Every time I ask her that, her hearing aids conveniently run out of battery.”

Back in the mid-1980s, my mom was very, very pregnant with me. It was a week and a half past the due date, and especially with having to chase my toddler older brother around, she was quite ready for me to be born. She was talking to her grandmother, a prim and proper lady, and brought it up.

Mom: “I hope this baby comes soon! [Brother] had already been born by this point.”

Great-Grandmother: “It must be a girl.”

Mom: “…what?”

Great-Grandmother: “It takes longer to make a buttonhole than a string.”

Mom: “What?!”

Great-Grandmother: “You heard me.”

She then deftly changed the subject. I was finally born fifteen days late, and I am indeed a girl.