A while back, I donated a kidney and so was out of work for about a month while recovering. When I finally went back to work, my coworkers understandably had some questions, and during our discussion, I confessed that I had internally put off the donation for a month so the surgery would happen in the new year, thus allowing me to sign up for short-term disability and therefore allowing me to get paid while I was recovering. One coworker seemed mildly offended by this fact.

Coworker: “But you knew you were having the surgery. Isn’t that like fraud or something to sign up for disability and then disable yourself?”

Me: “Not at all. In fact, I even called the agency to ensure they would cover recovery from a donation before signing up so they knew exactly what I was doing. It can’t be fraud if you tell them exactly what you’re planning!”

Coworker: “So, if I want to take a month off, I can just sign up for disability and then shoot myself in the foot?”

Me: “I suppose so, but here is a radical idea. Instead of shooting yourself, maybe you could try something a bit safer to get disability, like, oh, I don’t know, donating your kidney to someone, instead?”

Apparently, my coworker didn’t want that month of vacation enough to take me up on my suggestion on how he could earn it.

Me: “Welcome to [Pest Control Company]. How can I help?”

Customer: “Hello, I have mites.”

Me: “All right, you have called the line for home insurance policies, and they don’t normally cover mites. I can try to transfer you to—”

Customer: “No, you have to help me. It’s really bad. They are all over my scrotum.”

I am young and innocent at this point and not really believing what I’m hearing.

Me: “Pardon me, what did you say?”

Customer: “They’re all over my scrotum! You won’t believe how much it’s itching! I need help right now!”

Me: “Sorry, are you certain we’re talking about mites? It might be bedbugs; the usual symptoms for that are skin irritation. I just assign work orders, but I can transfer you to a professional who can help you narrow down what kind of pest you might be dealing with.”

Customer: “No, I know it’s mites because they’re just on my scrotum. It itches so bad. Give me your email address and I’ll send you a picture!”

Me: “Please don’t. I’ll just transfer you directly to a [Company] professional.”

Many apologies to the poor person at the pest control company who had to take that call, but we were not allowed to hang up on customers and I was absolutely not paid enough to deal with that kind of thing.

I’m at a large family reunion at a cabin owned by some extended family. Obviously, not everyone there knows everyone else well, since the relationships go back to my great-grandparents’ generation.

[Cousin #1], her brother [Cousin #2], and I are in the kitchen. [Cousin #1] has deputized her brother and me to squeeze limes and chop garlic; she herself is working steadily through a large pile of avocados, taking the pits out by slicing a knife into them and twisting them. 

One of my aunts from another branch of the family, who doesn’t know my cousins, is a notorious busybody. She can never resist telling everyone exactly what she thinks without asking herself if that’s a good idea. She comes in, sees the situation, and makes a beeline right for us just as [Cousin #1] is moving the knife toward an avocado pit.

[Aunt] grabs [Cousin #1] suddenly and jerks her arm.

Aunt: “Stop!”

Cousin #1: “Aaaagh!”

She drops the knife — luckily onto the counter — and grabs at her left hand; I see blood. She whirls on [Aunt]. [Cousin #1] is about five-foot-nothing and has a bit of a babyface, but she has an extremely loud voice.

Cousin #1: “Jesus Christ, what the f***?!”

It’s the first time I’ve seen [Aunt] speechless even for a second.

Cousin #1: “What is wrong with you?! Do not sneak up like that! I could have cut my g**d*** fingers off, you idiot!”

Aunt: “I was trying to tell you not to cut the avocados like that. You could have hurt yourself!”

Cousin #1: “So, you decided to grab me from behind while I was moving a knife?! Yeah, that’s really safe! Whatever happened to ‘excuse me,’ huh? Get out of my way. I need a bandaid — if I don’t need stitches. [Cousin #2], finish the guacamole. And you, dumba**, out of my kitchen!”

She storms past us towards the bathroom. [Aunt], of course, doesn’t leave.

Aunt: “There’s no reason to be rude! I was just trying to help.”

Cousin #2: “That was pretty mild for [Cousin #1].”

Me: “Yeah, I think she only used the F word once. And she doesn’t need your help. She’s a professional chef; she knows what she’s doing.”

Aunt: “I would never let one of my children do that.”

Cousin #2: “She’s not a child; she’s twenty-eight.”

Realizing she wasn’t going to get any sympathy from either of us, [Aunt] finally left. I later found out that she tracked down my cousins’ father and complained to him about his daughter’s behaviour… and then learned where exactly [Cousin #1] had learned not to suffer fools as he bellowed at [Aunt] that it was her fault his precious jewel got hurt. 

I don’t know if [Aunt] has learned to stop butting in all over the place, but she may have learned to choose her targets better.

We bring cakes to work for our birthdays. I normally buy plenty as they never seem to last. I joke that it’s like feeding time at the zoo. [Coworker #1] is the worst; she’ll see you come into the office and you can’t even get the cakes out of the shopping bag before she starts eating. Then, she’ll go back several times trying to be sneaky, but she never is.

Honestly, it annoys me at first; she leaves nothing for the other shift, even if I mark up a box for them.

One birthday, as I am leaving, I notice that there are loads left. On my way out, I shout to the next shift that there are some upstairs and to grab what they want, and then I head home.

[Coworker #1] accosts me the next morning.

Coworker #1: “So, it was your birthday yesterday?”

Me: “Good morning, [Coworker #1]. Yes, it was.”

Coworker #1: “So, cakes?”

Me: “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realise you weren’t here. Yes, there might be something left in the kitchen. I’m not sure if they have been in the fridge or not.”

She mutters something under her breath; I catch something about saving some for her. She comes back in with the remaining boxes.

Coworker #1: “Well, it’s not my favourite, but I guess it’s something.” 

I ignore her. Apparently, she eats the rest of the cakes throughout the morning. She starts complaining more than usual, and then at lunch, she disappears.

Coworker #2: *Looking through the box* “[Coworker #1] doesn’t leave much for anyone else, huh?”

Me: “Oh, don’t eat the cream ones; they have been sitting in a warm kitchen all night.”

Coworker #2: “[Coworker #1] ate two full boxes already!”

Me: “Wow, I wonder if we will see her today.”

She took the next two days off. She blamed me, of course, but no one took her seriously.

I’m texting a friend.

Me: “Hey, man, sorry I missed your call. I was running.”

Friend: “Running? From whom?”

Me: “Uh… my winter weight?”

Friend: “Okay, fair enough.”