Customer: “I’d like a medium latte.”

Me: “Do you have a milk preference for that?”

Customer: “One-percent milk.”

Me: “We only have two-percent and skim.”

Customer: “Can you mix them together?”

My family recently took a trip to Boston for a long weekend. We flew up early Saturday morning and were returning home late Tuesday evening. Since we got in so early, around nine am, my mom paid a little extra for the hotel to give us early check-in, so we could get settled before heading back out.

We were given the room 444, which I chuckled at, having recently learned that the number 4 is like 13 in China: bad luck. We went up to our room only to find a woman already there, in her pajamas. We went back to the lobby to clear it up.

As it was so early, breakfast was going on, so my brother and I went to eat something. Our mom came back about twenty minutes later with new room keys. Apparently, the night auditor had let their friend use an unbooked room, thinking that no one would be in there until the regular check-in time.

My mom got the extra fee waived for her troubles, and we got an extra breakfast. We came out positive in my book, but I don’t think the night auditor can say the same.

(I work as an admin at a real estate office, and we often get documents faxed to us. On this particular day, though, I check the fax, and someone’s medical records have been faxed to us. It’s not anyone related to the company, and being trained in medical privacy laws from my previous job, I immediately call the facility the records came from and tell them what happened.)

Woman: “Oh! I’m so sorry. I don’t know how that happened.”

Me: “It’s fine; I just wanted to make sure you knew so you could get them to the right person.”

Woman: “Okay, well, do you think you can fax us back the records?”

Me: *confused* “I could. Do you guys not have them anymore?”

Woman: “No, we have them. But if you fax them back to us, that way you won’t have them anymore.”

Me: *trying really hard not to laugh* “That’s… That’s really not how that works.”

Woman: “It’s not? What?”

Me: “No. You know how you faxed over the documents but still have the originals? That’s what would happen if I faxed them back over; you’d just get a copy of what I sent you. How about I just shred them?”

(She agreed but still didn’t seem to understand what I was saying. Here’s hoping everyone’s medical records got to where they needed to be.)

Related:
Taxing Faxing, Part 2017
Taxing Faxing, Part 21
Taxing Faxing, Part 20

I am an avid reader; I’ve read The Lord of the Rings at least twice a year between ages ten and fifteen.

At age twelve, my English class requires us to do book reports on a regular basis. Because I read quickly and am able to smoothly summarize the books I read, for one report I ask if I can do an entire four-book young adult series; in total, it’s still under the size of any one The Lord of the Rings book. The teacher agrees, and I write a report on each book, being sure to include a magical sword which is clearly described as being conscious in its own right.

I got a poor grade for not doing a single report, and because “swords can’t be characters.” But at least I learned that I never had to put any real effort into my future book reports.

(I’m 16 and working a six-hour shift as a bagger. It’s been a long day and I still have an hour until I go home, and I’m feeling stressed and grouchy. A little boy comes up with his mother, and while she talks to the cashier, the boy talks to me.)

Little Boy: “What’s your name?”

Me: “My name is [My Name]. What’s yours?”

Little Boy: “I’m [Little Boy]. How old are you?”

Me: “I’m 16. How about you?”

Little Boy: “I’m four. Do you know how to drive?”

Me: “Yes, I do.”

Little Boy: “Do you know how to cook?”

Me: “Yes.”

Little Boy: “Do you know how to make a cookie?”

Me: “I do, indeed.”

Little Boy: “Do you know how to make an egg?”

Me: “Yep!”

Little Boy: “Do you know how to make a baby?”

(I crack up.)

Mother: *coming over* “I’m sorry! He asks the craziest things!”

Me: “No worries. He made my day!”

(He did! It’s been two years and I still tell this story.)