I am a waiter in a restaurant where every table gets a free loaf of bread to share. One busy night, we are running out of fresh bread and only have a couple of loaves left. I exclaim:

Me: “Quick, someone call Jesus!”

One of the waitresses storms off in a huff.

Waitress: “How dare you use my Savior for a joke?!”

She complains to the manager and says she can’t finish her shift because of a hostile work environment. Later, when the shift has calmed down, I am called into the office and told to “not make religious jokes” anymore. I agree and think that will be it.

A few days later, I’m discussing my weekend with another coworker. [Waitress] walks past as I say:

Me: “Yeah, it was a crazy bar mitzvah. I’m not Jewish or anything, but man, those guys know how to throw a party!

[Waitress] suddenly turns toward us.

Waitress: “You just can’t go a day without being so offensive, can you?!”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Waitress: “First you curse out my Lord, and now you’re shouting about how you party with his oppressors! And I bet you timed that comment for when I walked past just to rub it in!”

Me: “I think you’re overthinking this—”

Nope. She’s out again. She can’t finish the shift due to “a hostile work environment and religious persecution”. Once again, I’m in front of the manager in his office.

Manager: “So, apparently, you were being all ‘Jewwy’ in her face.”

Me: “Wow, she said that?”

Manager: “Yes.”

Me: “How can she be so sensitive and easily offended and think it’s okay to say something like that?”

Manager: “Yeah, I’m not sure what we’re going to do about her, but maybe just don’t say anything around her that’s not work-related until we can figure it out, okay?”

Me: “Sorry, but no. I work with friends here, and I understand not cracking Jesus jokes, but I am allowed to discuss my weekends in a polite and inoffensive manner.”

Manager: “Look, just be tolerant until—”

Me: “Tolerant? Actually, no. I’ll be just like her. She referred to my Jewish friends in an offensive manner. That is creating a toxic and discriminatory workplace environment, and I simply need to go home right this instant to calm down.”

Manager: “I see what you’re doing, but—”

Me: “But nothing. Either she stops being so offended by every little thing, or I don’t come back in. Not worth it.”

I kept the job. [Waitress] stuck around another week but eventually quit when it all became “too much” for her.

I’m a manager in a pharmacy. Sometime in 2021, half of our store floor is turned into a temporary vaccination facility. We explain this to some of our retail customers who ask why a wall of curtains is blocking their access to what used to be departments they would use. Most are fine with it — emphasis on “most”.

Customer: “You should all be ashamed of normalizing vaccines! You just don’t know what’s in them!”

Me: “Actually, we know exactly what’s in them.”

Customer: “You only know what they want you to know! They cause autism!”

Me: “That is simply not true.” *Looks around conspiratorially and leans in closer* “What if the vaccines caused cancer, though?”

Customer: *Also leaning in* “Why? What have you heard?”

Me: “Oh, nothing. Just wondering, don’t you buy cigarettes every time you come here?”

Yes, I know, it’s stupid that a pharmacy sells cigarettes, but hey! Corporate America!

Customer: “That’s different!”

Me: “You’re right! Over 150,000 people die of lung cancer in the US every year. I think maybe three or four people have died from vaccine complications in the US? After 300 million doses. So, yeah… very different.”

Customer: “You’re just a sheep who does what he’s told! Look at the real evidence!”

Me: “I’m a sheep that didn’t get sick while working in a pharmacy during a global health crisis. That’s plenty of evidence right there. So, one pack or two today?”

The customer glared at me but still bought her daily pack of cigarettes.

Related:
You Can’t Vaccinate Against Stupid, Part 3
You Can’t Vaccinate Against Stupid, Part 2
You Can’t Vaccinate Against Stupid

A customer is buying an age-restricted item, and for reasons too long to go into here, I am required to enter a date of birth as part of the checkout process. I don’t have to confirm the date of birth as long as they’re over eighteen.

I ask the customer.

Customer: “Ugh, really? Make something up.”

I just put in 11/11 since I like how that date looks.

Me: “Can I at least have a year?”

Customer: “Just do anything! I don’t care.”

I just type in 1950, since it’s a nice round year.

Customer: “What?! You think I’m that old?!”

Me: “No, I just put in a random year. I wasn’t trying to guess your age or anything.”

Customer: “You’re so rude! I’ll have you know I am nowhere near that old!”

I change it to 2000.

Customer: “And now you’re turning me into a child in an attempt to calm me down?!”

Me: “Ma’am, maybe it’s best if you just gave me a year to type in.” 

Customer: “Just do anything! I don’t care.”

Four weeks ago:

Mum: “I still don’t understand why you’re getting an induction cooktop. There’s nothing wrong with the one you have.”

Me: “I told you. They’re easier to work with, they cook faster, they use less power, they’re safer for kids, and most importantly, they’re so much easier to clean! I hate cleaning.”

Mum: “But the cooktop you have now is perfectly fine! Why don’t you just change it out when it breaks down?”

Me: “Well then, I’d have to wait years to get all these things that I want. I don’t want to wait. I want to have it now.”

Mum: “Such a shame.”

Me: “I can sell my cooktop on [Website] or something, it’s not a complete waste.”

Mum: “You won’t get much for it on [Website].”

Me: “I’ll get nothing for it if I wait until it breaks down to get rid of it.”

Three weeks ago:

Mum: “But will the new cooktop even fit in the same spot?”

Me: “Yes, of course. I measured everything; it’s gonna fit.”

Mum: “It’ll probably look ugly.”

Me: “It’ll look fine. What are you talking about? If anything, it’ll look better! It’s so sleek and modern and flat.”

Mum: “I think they’re overrated. You know, your uncle bought one, spent so much money on it, and he’s not happy with it.”

Me: “Okay, well, I’m not [Uncle]. I’ve been wanting one for years. Literally, ever since I found out what they were, I’ve wanted one. I’m getting one.”

Two weeks ago:

Mum: “You’re gonna have to change out all your cookware.”

Me: “Not all of it, but yes, I’ll probably have to get some new pans. I’m okay with that.”

Mum: “You know you won’t be able to cook with a wok anymore.”

Me: “…Okay, that’s true. But I don’t use the wok that much. I can get a flat-bottomed wok. Hey, eventually, I could even get an outdoor setup, and I can use a wok there.”

Mum: “…”

Me: “You know, a lot of Asians do that.”

Mum was unable to argue with this logic.

Last week:

Mum: “I just think it’s such a waste of a perfectly good cooktop…”

Me: “Again?! For God’s sake, Mum. I want an easy-to-clean cooktop; that’s important for me, and that’s it.”

Mum: “You know you’re gonna have to clean it after every time you use it.”

Me: “Duh.”

Mum: “You can’t leave spills on it overnight. A gas cooktop, you can be lazy and clean it in the morning. Your new induction one, you’ll damage it if you don’t clean it promptly.”

Me: “And I will.”

Mum: “I mean, is it really gonna be easier to clean if you have to clean it after every time—”

Me: “Oh, my God, Mum, it’s one wipe to clean it. I’m practically looking forward to it!”

Mum: “Well, it’s your house, I guess…”

Me: “Yes, it is!“

Mum: “Such a nice cooktop you’re getting rid of, though…”

Me: *Facepalm*

Today:

Mum: “I don’t know, our cooktop is so old. I really want a new one. I just don’t know where to start.”

Me: “Well, how about I give you my old cooktop? The one I’ll be replacing. Like you keep telling me, it’s perfectly good.”

Mum: “No, that won’t work at all. Yours is a five-burner; you have the kitchen space for it. Our kitchen is tiny. There’s no space to put such a big cooktop.”

Me: “What are you talking about? I thought you guys said you were going to be moving your cooktop over anyway, where the sink currently is.”

Mum: “Yeah, but there’s still no space! I’d lose countertop space if I put a five-burner there.”

Me: “…You’re talking about 30 cm of space.” (For the Americans reading, that’s less than a foot.) “And that’s space that’s right up against the wall. What would you be using that space for, anyway?”

Mum: “There’s no space!”

I go to the kitchen with the measuring tape.

Me: “You want the dishwasher here, right? And the cooktop here. Here’s where a four-burner cooktop would end, and here’s where my one would end.” *Emphasising the tiny foot gap that’s squished right next to the wall* “What would you even be doing with this space? You might as well use it up with cooktop space!”

We go back and forth for a little longer. Then, Dad walks in.

Dad: “The issue isn’t the space. The issue is that your mum wants an induction cooktop.”

Me: “…”

Dad: “Because they’re easier to clean.”

Mum goes quiet.

Me: “WOOOOOOW.”

Mum busies herself with tidying the pantry.

Me: *My voice rising a few octaves* “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!”

At the moment of writing this, I’m more amused than I am annoyed. She’s not gonna live this one down.

The blueberries in my garden are early this year, so today I went out to pick them. The woman across the street decided to come out and lecture me.

Woman: “I don’t like how that netting looks!”

Me: “If I don’t put up the nets, then the birds eat all of the berries.”

Woman: “Oh! You must be one of those crazy environmentalists! They’re so stupid!”

I ignored her. She kept lecturing. When I was done, an hour later, I walked away from her without saying anything.

Woman: “Hey, aren’t you going to give me any? You gave [Neighbor] some yesterday.”

Me: “[Neighbor] asked nicely and didn’t lecture me for an hour about being stupid. Besides, how could you want something that is a product of techniques you despise?”

She gave me a disgusted look and stomped back into her house.