I am checking up on one of my tables.

Me: “Can I get you any more drinks?”

Customer: “I’d like a Coke, please.”

Me: “Sure thing!”

Customer: “But it has to be regular Coke! Not Diet Coke! I had some Mentos earlier!”

Me: “…I’ll make sure it’s regular Coke, sir.”

Customer: “You’d better! If I explode, I’m going to sue you!” 

I thought he might be joking, but he was speaking deadly seriously, and everyone else at his table was behaving like it was the most normal conversation in the world.

There was a coworker at the firm I once worked at who I always got along with okay. We’d share pictures of our pets and talk about the weather (British). But one day she went completely off the rails.

It was a few months before my wedding, and my now-husband and I had just bought our first house. I was talking about all the fun we’d had moving our stuff in.

Coworker: “Oh, how big is the house?”

Me: “Pretty small terrace, two bedrooms.”

Coworker: “I hope you get pregnant soon!”

Me: “Eh, what? I don’t want kids; I’ve said that several times. I’m even saving up for an operation to make d*** sure I never have any.”

Coworker: “You should have bought a smaller place, then. There’s no need for two bedrooms if you’re not having babies.”

Me: “That’s daft. We need a second bedroom for all our hobbies. Gaming stuff takes up room.”

Coworker: “You do realise I could report you for this?”

Me: “Do what? To whom?!”

Coworker: “The government. You’re depriving a real family of a home. And also to social services because you are insane. Getting yourself mutilated just because you don’t like children and then buying a house that’s made for children means you’re insane.”

There wasn’t anything professional I could say back at that point, although there were plenty of unprofessional words I wanted to say. The next day, it was like she’d forgotten all about it. 

Then, four months later, she found out we’d not invited any children or babies to our wedding. She went off again about why I was clearly insane only to forget the conversation the day after.

Caller: “Hi! Quick question. Does my husband’s insurance cover the ambulance ride?”

Me: “There are a few factors that could negate that, but in most instances, it would be covered.”

Caller: “What if he got into an accident on the I5 just outside Santa Clarita and he might have hurt his back?”

Me: “That… sounds very specific, ma’am.”

Caller: “Would his ambulance ride be covered then?”

Me: “Well, it would—”

Caller: *Suddenly shouting at someone else* “Harold! Sit down! You’d better not be dialing 911 until I can check if we gotta pay for i—” *Click*

I hope Harold got to the hospital okay!

An old man, probably in his late seventies, walks into the gym, asking about membership.

Me: “We offer a senior discount and an advice program for our senior members looking to improve their health both here and at home if you’d like.”

Customer: “How much do newborns weigh?”

Me: *Thrown a little* “Uh… six, or seven pounds, maybe?”

Customer: “Okay, let’s say eight. Start with giving me something that’s eight pounds, and I will carry it around for as long as I can, and we’ll start working up.”

Me: “I can help you with that. Can I ask what your health goal is?”

Customer: “When my daughter was born, I was working overseas on an oil tanker and I missed so much of her childhood. Now she’s pregnant, and I’m not making that same mistake twice! I’m going to carry my granddaughter around all day if I can help it! Now… where are the weights?

He was regularly carrying around a fifteen-pound weight by the time his granddaughter was born! I gave him a congratulatory message about his progress and he said, raising the weight above his head:

Customer: “Now I wish she was having twins!”

I was interviewing with a company to do graphics design and marketing work, or so I thought. They said I seemed to be a good fit and told me to come by the next day for a job shadow.

I showed up in my best business suit and a pair of nice confident heels. They told me I’d be “riding along” with another girl.

To my surprise, we got into a car and drove a long way — about an hour and a half to a small residential neighborhood. I was starting to suspect ax murderers until they gave me the pamphlets; the position was actually door-to-door sales.

The humidity was nasty, and my suit was not the right clothing for this. A few hours in, one of my heels got caught in a grate, and I lost my balance, went down, and heard a snap. My foot started swelling up.

I wanted to go home, but my ride-along was scared that she wouldn’t make her quota and that she’d be fired if she didn’t.

I called my dad. He drove out to pick me up from his home, which is in a different town from where this happened… which was also a different town from my home. This was about a three-hour drive. Dad drove me back to my car, and I drove my car home — which did not help the pain in my foot. I took a bunch of pills and went to bed.

The next day, my foot was even worse, swollen, and purple. I went to urgent care and found that I had an articular fracture.

At first, the people I had been interviewing with tried to weasel out of paying my medical bill, so I had to contact an Employment Attorney. That fixed it; I got my medical bills covered, the lawyer’s fees covered, and some shut-up money to cover rent and necessities while I recovered.

Eventually, I did find a job doing actual graphics design work for advertising, but the break never did heal correctly. I can’t wear anything but orthopedic flats anymore, no more heels (I used to love heels), and I bring a cane or a walker with me wherever I go in case the pain flares up.

Fun fact: the girl I was riding along with did not make her quota, got fired for it, blamed me for it, and sent me a nasty message about it. The attorney and I used that as proof that I was in fact riding along with her when the company attempted to deny it.