We introduced flame-retardant jackets for employees working around highly flammable materials. Flame-retardant, of course, does not mean fireproof; the jackets are designed to reduce ignition and slow the spread of flames during an accident.

One employee decides to test his new jacket on the production floor.

While still wearing it, he pulls the front open and holds a lit cigarette lighter against the material. As a smoker, he happens to have the lighter on him, despite lighters being strictly prohibited in the production area.

I immediately remove him from the floor and send him to my office. After taking a moment to calm down, I confront him.

Me: “You brought a lighter onto a production floor full of highly flammable materials.”

Employee: “I wanted to see if the jacket worked.”

Me: “So, while wearing it, you tried to set it on fire.”

Employee: “I was testing it.”

Me: “You tried to light yourself on fire. What do you think of yourself?”

I am hoping that phrasing it from that perspective might make him reflect on his own safety, if not the danger he created for everyone else.

Employee: “Phrased in that manner, it makes me sound like an idiot.”

Me: “That’s because you’re being an idiot. You’re welcome to report me to HR on your way out.”

He does exactly that. HR responds by requiring him to complete additional safety training.

Afterward, I ask:

Me: “So, what did the safety retraining teach you?”

Employee: “If I’m given a safety jacket and I want to know that it works, take the jacket OFF FIRST before setting it on fire.”

I guess that’s progress.

A customer walks in with an inhaler and starts complaining loudly.

Customer: “This inhaler isn’t doing anything!”

Me: “What do you use the inhaler for?”

Customer: “Allergies!”

Me: “How often do you use it?”

Customer: “Every time I’m with the cat.”

Me: “Ah, so it’s for cat allergies?”

Customer: “Obviously!”

Me: “When you take a puff, do you feel the inhaler spray into your mouth or the back of your throat?

Customer: “When… when I take the puff?”

He was giving the inhaler to the cat. I don’t know how some people make it to adulthood.

CONTENT WARNING: Death of a pet

My grandmother is a hundred years old with dementia (thankfully the sweet and “adorable” kind). My mom visits her nearly every day, and she would always ask her about me and our dog as a pair. She loves dogs, and latched onto the fact that I do too, so most of our conversations are about the joys of having dogs. Sadly, though, our dog suddenly died a few months ago, and her questions changed to when we’d get our next dog and how everyone should have a dog.

She announced to everyone she wanted to come with us to pick out a new dog, and would remind us to bring her during visits. Given she’s frail and has limited mobility and energy, going to the local humane societies would be too big of a trip for her to handle. Even scenic drives are big excursions for her these days. Still, we were trying to figure out a good compromise to fulfill the desire to see dogs (likely her main motive for wanting to go).

Due to some health issues, my mom wasn’t able to visit her for most of this month. This is the longest stretch she’s been without seeing her outside of going on vacations, and she finally felt well enough to visit her again yesterday.

Me: “So how was your first visit to Mimi?”

Mom: “Good! She was great today. And we apparently have a dog now!”

Me: “What?”

Mom: “She thinks she went with us to the humane society and picked out a dog. She was talking all about how she had a great time.”

Me: “…Well, guess that’s one problem solved. So, what kind of dog did we get?”

Mom: *Laughing.* “I don’t know! She didn’t say, and I couldn’t think of a way to ask without making her realize we don’t have one and start asking to go again!”

Well, here’s hoping that whatever dog we eventually get matches her “memories”.

I’m walking through the house, and my roommate says:

Roommate: “Your fingernails are cut. Are you dating again?”

Me: “What?! That’s… that’s… well, yes.”

Roommate: “Good for you!” *Looks down.* “Not your toenails, though, so I guess you’re not expecting to be bringing anyone home yet.”

Me: “Shut up, Sherlock!”

I went to clip my toenails out of spite.

Customer: “How much alcohol can I drink while pregnant?”

Me: “None.”

Customer: “What are you, a doctor?”

Me: “Hey, you asked me!”

Customer: “Look, I just want to know the maximum amount that doesn’t affect the baby.”

Me: “None! Any amount of alcohol can affect the baby and cause developmental issues.”

Customer: “I’m not planning on giving birth to Einstein or the president here.”

Me: “If you drink alcohol while pregnant, you might not give birth to anything.”

Customer: “Oh my god! How could you be so mean!”

The woman was not visibly pregnant, and she didn’t end up buying alcohol. I really hope I never see her again.