I work in a field that orders scientific supplies and materials. A new guy has had an order slip returned due to how he’s ordered a specific liquid.

Me: “Hey, [New Guy], your order slip was rejected. You need to check your unit measurements for [liquid].”

New Guy: “It’s correct.”

Me: “You ordered 500 cm⁵ of [liquid].”

New Guy: “That’s just how that math works out. This is my part of the job.”

Me: “Okay, fair enough. I’ll ask the supplier for some five-dimensional hyper-liquid!“

I work in a hospital lab, and on a Monday morning, I came in and saw this email:

Email: “To whom it may concern: I had two cupcakes and put them in the Core Lab break room refrigerator last night on the evening shift, and someone ate one of them. The cupcakes were for my dogs, and they contain raw meat. If you ate the cupcake and don’t feel well, please see a doctor. I don’t want you to get sick and end up with E. coli or Salmonella.”

To those asking why someone is making raw meat dog cupcakes in the hospital? I found out that they weren’t really raw meat, but this was the best means of the owner getting some revenge by f****** with the offender.

CONTENT WARNING: Sexual Harassment, Assault Threats

I work with a lot of dudes in a male-dominated field. We all get along incredibly well because they have come to treat me as their adorable, crass little sister.

One day, we hired this new hotshot who had no trouble constantly reminding us that he graduated from Harvard. Probably because I would barely give him the time of day, he immediately zeroed in on me. He would casually stop by my cube and tell me truly mediocre things about his own life that he thought should have impressed the pants right off of me. When they didn’t, he started getting pretty aggressive.

Finally, during one of our ridiculous conversations, he said:

New Guy: “You don’t know it yet, but you’re going to sleep with me whether you want to or not.”

Me: “They have a word for that; it sounds like ‘grape’, but the G is silent.”

It was then that I went on a balls-out mission to make sure that this guy was gone as soon as possible. Luckily for me, he was a grade-A idiot not only in his personal life but also in his professional life. He emailed me a few days later, admitting that he had proudly broken the one major rule our company had. (It’s a very relaxed working environment, but this had to do with the illegal distribution of our intellectual property — a big no-no.)

I didn’t even have to call the lawyer; the lawyer called me. I forwarded him the email, and the new guy was gone fifteen minutes later. As he walked by my cube, he looked at me with incredulous eyes.

New Guy: “I can’t believe you did that.”

Me: “Well, you said I’d end up f****** you in the end.”

It’s the only time I’ve ever had a zinger like that, and it. Was. Awesome.

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I’m seventy-three, and I was a clinical microbiologist — long ago. I found myself all over the clinical lab at times, not just working with infectious diseases.

One day, this guy in his twenties walked in — wife and mom in tow — with a paper request for semen analysis. (It was the pre-computer era.)

Okay, not the most comfortable encounter, but I’m a professional and had done this drill many times.

[Guy] had not been briefed by the doctor and had no idea how establishing infertility in males was done. Well, okay, a challenge, then.

I took him aside and, using standard medical terminology, told him how a diagnosis is made and what he needed to do to provide a specimen.

He couldn’t/wouldn’t believe that I was asking him to masturbate into that container. Astonished!

Then, he played dumb, as if the word was unfamiliar to him.

We looped through the medical terms and procedure again, and I eventually resorted to every word I knew to describe the “act”. It was like a George Carlin bit!

A half-hour later, he emerged from the toilet with two inches of urine in the cup.

God Almighty.

The report went back, “Patient provided improper specimen.”

I am the radiation safety officer for our lab group. I am talking to one of our more truly brilliant (not being sarcastic) Ph.D.s.

Me: “Your badge came up hot.”

Ph.D.: “What does that mean?”

Me: “It means your technique is bad. You’re going to have to be retrained.”

Ph.D.: “It doesn’t affect me; I’m done having my children.”

Me: “Yes, because being careless with radioactive isotopes can only affect your gonads and not, I dunno, give you f****** cancer.”

He accepted the retraining.