Me: “Hi, I like the look of that gluten-free cake, but does it contain nuts?”

Employee: *Looks over the cake.* “Uh… nope.”

She doesn’t sound so sure, so I ask:

Me: “Cool, can I look at the ingredient list?”

Employee: “But there aren’t any nuts on it.”

Me: “I just want to check if there aren’t any nuts in it.”

The employee sighs but finds a card containing all the ingredients in each cake.

Me: “Ah, it contains almond flour, so I can’t have that.”

Employee: “What do you mean?”

Me: “Almond flour… I can’t have nuts.”

Employee: “That’s flour, though, not almonds. It’s just the name.”

Me: “It’s almond flour, made from almonds.”

Employee: “Suuuure. And bread flour contains real bread in it, does it?”

Me: “This is the first time I’ve ever had to say this, but… can I please speak to the manager?”

Customer: “I want a skinny long black.”

Me: “A long black is just two espresso shots in water.”

Customer: “I know! I want that but skinny!”

Me: “Skinny implies making it low-fat or low-carb, but it’s just coffee and water. Zero fat, zero carbs, five calories or so from the coffee itself. It can’t be any skinnier.”

Customer: “So the five calories come from the coffee? Can’t you do calorie-free coffee?”

Me: “Not possible, ma’am.”

Customer: *Deep sigh.* “Well, if that’s the best you can do…”

This would have been bad enough, but after she had her first sip, she made a grimace and then went over to the counter and added about three sachets of sugar.

I work in a health and wellness store.

Customer: “Can I still use coconut oil if I’m allergic to coconuts?”

Me: “No, ma’am, I would not recommend that.”

Customer: “But I’m not going to eat it.”

Me: “Then… what are you using it for?”

Customer: “I wanted an all-natural lube for—”

Me: “—Then I definitely wouldn’t recommend it!”

CONTENT WARNING: Injury detail

The story about the nine-and-a-half-fingered cook reminded me of an old story.

In college, I was an EMT for several years, but I almost never saw any blood on calls. Off duty, however, I always find interesting cases, usually involving cooking.

My friend calls me up from the kitchen at his job:

Friend: “Hey, bro, I cut myself. Can you get me a bandage so I can get back to work?”

I grab my personal med kit and walk to his work.

Friend: “Dude, I don’t see the big deal, but my coworkers say get it looked at.”

Shows me his fingers with a deep laceration. I am flushing it out with saline, and it’s a perfect edge but long and too deep to see all the way in.

Me: “[Friend], what did you do? This is not a simple cut or scrape; it’s clean, but you probably need stitches.”

Friend: “It’s just the meat slicer, and I told my coworkers I got it all apart and cleaned the blood.”

Me: “Don’t worry about the machine now; let’s make sure your fingers get treatment, and you don’t lose dexterity.”

Friend: “Why can’t I just get back to work, man?”

After some more arguing, I convinced him to let me drive him to the hospital, reminding him a day of missed work is better than a useless finger and not being able to use a chef’s knife again. The hospital gave him six stitches and plenty of antibiotics and painkillers.

Friend: “Hey man, okay, maybe it was serious. I owe you a beer.”

Me: “After your pills man; they gave you the good stuff.”

Friend: “They did, but bro, you’re always so serious. Thanks.”

[Friend] was fine after a few weeks; he is a professional chef now and still has all his fingers.

Related:
As A Rule Of Thumb, Don’t Do That

My son’s college lets incoming freshmen chat online and pick their own roommates instead of having them randomly assigned. Housing is not based on biological sex, which is good because my son is transgender. He chose to be in a suite with three non-binary roommates (who all use they/them pronouns). Prior to move-in and actually meeting for the first time, they were texting back and forth about who would bring the TV, who had a vacuum, etc.

My Son: “How would y’all feel about just getting one big thing of sanitary supplies and keeping it in the bathroom to share?”

Roommate #1: “Sounds good.”

Roommate #2: “That works.”

Roommate #3: “I’m bringing Lysol*!”

So yeah, that’s how they learned that [Roommate #3] was AMAB (Assigned Male at Birth), didn’t know that “sanitary supplies” and “cleaning supplies” are two separate things, and had never shared a bathroom with anyone who menstruates before. I have a feeling this will be an educational year for all of them!

*A cleaning and disinfecting product.