In my first years of school, I had a friend who would get lost during our visit to the zoo. Every. Year.

In fifth grade, we had to bring in a form signed by a parent. I don’t remember what it was; it was an allowance to take part in a field trip, parent-teacher talk appointment, or something of that nature. 

Everybody brought it back after a few days, but not my friend. He forgot it in the first week, and he forgot it in the second week. Every day the teacher would ask, thus reminding him, and every day, he forgot. 

Finally, the teacher was fed up and chewed [Friend] out in front of the whole class for about fifteen minutes about how he should write it down and get it done tomorrow so the organisation of that event could be finalized. It was quite an impressive shouting.

The next day, [Friend]’s father, a physician, would give his son, me, and two other children a ride to school in his car as usual since we all lived a bit apart from the town and his office was downtown not too far from the school anyway.  

A few minutes into the ride, we jokingly asked my friend, “Well, forgot the form once again?” as we couldn’t imagine he would have forgotten after being shouted at for fifteen minutes the day before. 

[Friend] responded with a blank stare.

The Rest Of Us: “We have to turn around to get the signed form.”

Friend’s Father: “Can’t he just bring it tomorrow?”

The Rest Of Us: “No. No, he can’t.”

We gave a short explanation. 

Friend’s Father: *Turning the car around* “Well done. Exceptionally well done.”

I work in a dollar store. Nothing has an individual price sticker because of all the giant “EVERYTHING IS ONE DOLLAR!” signs all over the store.

Customer: “How much is this?”

Me: “A dollar.”

Customer: “How am I supposed to know that?”

Me: “This is a dollar store, sir. Every item is a dollar, without exception.”

Customer: *Picks up another item* “Well, how much is this, then?”

Me: “Still a dollar, sir. Like everything in the store.”

Customer: “So, like, nothing is on sale?”

Me: “Everything is on sale for a dollar.”

Customer: *Picks up another item* “How much is this?”

Me: “A dollar.”

Customer: *Picks up another item* “How much is this?”

Me: “Two dollars?”

Customer: “Really?”

Me: “Yeah, but it’s on sale for half price.”

Customer: “That’s great!” 

He bought ten.

I get really anxious about seeing my dentist — doubly so when it’s a new dentist in a new city after a move.

I go to the appointment about forty-five minutes early and sit in the lobby. “Avatar” is playing on the TV. It’s already about half done, but it’s visually and audibly stunning on the TV and sound system installed in the office. There’s just me and another dude sitting on the waiting couch in the lobby. I sit on the waiting couch next to the dude, and we watch the last half of the movie together. No one interrupts.

By the time it’s over, I’m about forty-five minutes late for my appointment. I zoned out watching the movie.

The guy looks at the clock and then looks at me.

Guy: “Oh, s***, I was supposed to be working on your teeth! I lost track of time… Um, you are [My Name], right?”

I affirmed that it was me. We rescheduled my appointment successfully, and I got a post-insurance discount for my trouble.

I lived in a small, isolated village at the time of this story. A new development in the past year had included a bakery opening up in town, so when I was asked to make my famous cob loaf dip for Christmas, I made a point to go to the bakery to preorder a cob loaf. I was a little concerned that I didn’t see the employee write it down, but some people don’t need to.

Lo and behold, the day before Christmas I went down to buy my preordered loaf, and they had no clue what I was on about. So, instead of ducking five minutes down the road for the bread, I now had to drive half an hour and somehow find parking at the next nearest place, which was far bigger and busier, not even counting the fact that it was the main transport hub of our shire.

I haven’t gone to that local bakery since.

My family has a tradition of painting Christmas ornaments every year. However, due to a lot of other circumstances and draining holiday events, we’ve elected to skip it this year. Despite this, my mother decides to make a few by herself, and while I don’t participate, I work on a sewing project nearby in solidarity, and we bounce ideas and get feedback from each other.

After working for a while, Mom holds up a nearly finished ornament for me to see. She has glued a wooden number 25 onto the main wooden shape.

Me: “Cool! What’s the 25 for?”

She looks at me like I’m dumb.

Mom: “Honey, what day of the month does Christmas fall on?”

Me: “Ohhh. It looks like an anniversary thing.”

She turns around to show it to my dad, who hasn’t heard a word of this conversation.

Mom: “Hey, [Dad], look!”

Dad: “Ah. Looks good.”

Mom: “What do you think the 25 is for?”

Dad: “Uhhh… I’m not sure.”

I crack up, and my mom glares at both of us.

Me: “Doesn’t it look like an anniversary ornament?!”

Dad: “I thought so, but we haven’t been together that long!”

Mom: “None of you understand me!”

She ended up swapping the 25 for another wooden shape since the glue wasn’t yet dry.