(I’m buying some fruit from a stand at the market. The employee is very friendly and helpful throughout my transaction, and he puts me in an excellent mood, until…) 

Employee: “And here’s your change. My bonus today is that I got to touch your hand.” *stares at me and wiggles his eyebrows* 

Me: *walks away feeling gross and no longer enthusiastic about my fruit*

(I have to visit the hospital due to a wave of nausea that was bad enough to keep me from going to work. The doctor decides to have an ultrasound done on my abdomen to check for anything that may be causing it. The radiologist doing the scan is a rather gorgeous girl that looks like she’s in her mid-20s.)

Me: “I have to ask. What’s the weirdest thing anyone’s ever asked you while you do this?”

Radiologist: “You’re not gonna believe this. Sometimes I have to do ultrasounds on guys’… um… testicles, and in the middle of it, they start asking me if I’m seeing anyone, or if I wanna go out, things like that.”

Me: “Wait. They’re having ultrasounds done on their balls and they think they have a shot?”

Radiologist: “Yeah. And it’s always the ones who need them scanned, too. It’s never the ones who need their chest or anything else scanned; it’s always the ones who need their testicles scanned. Maybe it’s because my hand has to be… you know, down there to do the scans.”

Me: *laughs* “Ever been tempted to tell them, ‘You know I’m taking pictures of something that might not be working, right?’”

Radiologist: *bursts out laughing*

(Early one winter morning, I am walking back to my apartment building after taking my son to his bus stop across the street. As I step into the parking lot, a minivan waiting to turn onto the street honks. Thinking it’s about another car, I carry on, but it honks twice quickly again. Confused, I stop, wondering if I dropped something and they’re trying to let me know. The minivan then reverses, stopping when I’m at the passenger window, which is rolled down. A slim man sits behind the wheel, looking at me expectantly.)

Man: “Hello there, I’m [Man]. I’m new to the building. What are you doing?”

(Tired and caught off guard, I reply honestly.)

Me: “Uh, I’m [My Name]. I just brought my son to the bus stop.”

(The man smiles broadly, though it doesn’t feel very friendly.)

Man: “[My Name], that is a very beautiful name. Are you married?”

(My mental alarms have now begun going off, so I hope my answer gets the conversation to stop.)

Me: “Yes, I am married.”

(The man considers this for barely a moment before continuing.)

Man: “Can you give me your number so we can get coffee sometime and you can show me around the neighborhood?”

(I don’t like the tone of his voice, so I take a step back, shaking my head.)

Me: “No, thank you. I was just going home.”

(The man leans across the passenger seat, digging his phone out of his pocket as he speaks more insistently.)

Man: “Please, it’s just a number. I want to get coffee sometime and talk.”

(Definitely uncomfortable, I back off more, shaking my head and repeating myself.)

Me: “No, thank you. I am going home.” 

(Not waiting for a reply, I was finally able to gather myself enough to turn and hurry towards the apartment building, glancing back to get a good look at the car and license plate so I knew what to look out for. He waited for only a few moments before continuing out onto the road and away. It’s been over a week, and though I’ve seen his car once in the lot, I haven’t run into him again. I already have anxiety about strangers, so this hasn’t helped at all, but I realize I’m lucky that he did just leave after I turned him down and retreated. I hope my luck holds and our paths never cross again!)

(I work as a hostess at a local pizza joint in my hometown. It is a really busy night, the house is packed, and I am pretty tired from working a double today and yesterday. I am stretching my back out behind the hostess’ counter when an elderly gentleman comes up to pay for his family’s dinner.)

Older Guy: “You know, I could probably fix that for you.”

Me: “Oh, my back? Are you a chiropractor or something?”

Older Guy: *just as his wife walks up behind him* “No… just a really good lover.”

(Cue me laughing awkwardly and then taking a pile of dirty dishes from a coworker so I could scurry off to the back.)

NOTE FROM EDITORS: The grammar in this story has been kept purposefully incorrect.

(Have you ever worked with someone that NOBODY liked? It was a gut feeling we all shared from the moment he started. I felt bad for him in the beginning; imagine walking into work knowing everyone avoided you. I tried to be nice and make small talk but he always ruined it with a lecherous comment or a lingering stare, so I gave up. One day shortly after I quit, he texted me. I was surprised because I didn’t know he had my number and I didn’t know who would have given it to him. These messages are formatted exactly how he sent them.)

Coworker: “dinner tonight my place bring wine”

Me: “Who is this?”

Coworker: “[coworker] i got fired today [boss] is a b**** she doesn’t like me”

Me: “Oh I’m sorry. I’m actually married.” *which he knew* “I hope you find a job soon.”

Coworker: “but i got fired today cant you come over and comfort me”

Me: “No, that’s not really appropriate. How did you get my number?”

(I wait a day for a response and when he doesn’t reply, I block his number. A week I get a message from a new number.)

Coworker: “doc thinks i have [rare genetic disease] like u”

Me: “Who is this?”

Coworker: “[coworker] im using my friends phone Y arent u answering my texts”

Me: “How did you get my number?”

Coworker: “the dr is running tests to see if i have what u have”

(My genetic disorder is rare but has obvious “failure to thrive” signs at birth. The odds of him making it to his late 50s without a diagnosis are ridiculously slim. I’m suspicious.)

Me: “Best of luck with that. I truly hope you don’t have it.”

Coworker: “how did u no u had it”

Me: “I was diagnosed at birth.”

Coworker: “can u come over now tell be about it”

Me: “My husband and I could meet you at [Fast Food Place] when he gets off work.”

Coworker: “no just u please i need help”

Me: “Tell your doctor you’d like to speak to a therapist. I’m not going to meet you without my husband present and I doubt I could tell you anything your doctor wouldn’t know.”

Coworker: “please i need u”

Me: “I wish you well with [disease] but this is inappropriate.”

Coworker: “please help me”

Me: “Tell me how you got my phone number. Who gave it to you?”

Coworker: “I need to talk to u”

(I’ve had enough.)

Me: “If you contact me again, I’m calling the police.”

(Instead of waiting for a response, I blocked that number, too. No more new numbers contacted me so I thought that was it. Shortly after that, my husband was reading the paper when he asked what my coworker’s name was. I told him and he showed me a police report about the coworker. The same day I told him to stop, another girl had fallen for his helplessness — he told her he had cancer like her — and he tried to assault her. The girl escaped and he went to jail. I never did find out how he got my number.)