(It is springtime, and it has been raining for a month. At eight am this Saturday morning, the sun comes blazing forth!  The news server has crashed and indexes have to be rebuilt, so it’s down for a while.)

Me: “Thanks for calling [ISP]. How can I help you?”

Customer: “I’ve been trying since six am to get my newsgroups, and nothing is happening!”

Me: “Are you nuts?”

Customer: “What?”

Me: “It’s been raining for weeks. It’s nine am on a Saturday, and it’s warm and sunny out. What are you doing inside?”

Customer: “Holy cow, you’re right!” *click*

Coworker: “How the h*** do you do that?”

(My boss treats our office to some fun at a nearby arcade as a holiday treat. I manage to do really well, and the cashier at the prize desk scans my card to show I have quite a lot of tickets. I find a large stuffed dog that I want, well under the total tickets I have, but as I am 5’2”, it’s just out of my reach. I go back to the prize desk.)

Me: “Excuse me. I’ve decided on that dog over there—” *points at stuffed dog on high shelf* “—but I’m too short.”

Cashier: “Well, you can combine your ticket card with another, and maybe that will be enough.”

Me: “Huh?”

Cashier: “If you’re short, you can combine two cards and get more towards prizes.”

Me: “How will that get me the dog? I thought I had enough tickets.”

(Luckily, my boss overhears and realizes what I meant.)

Boss: “Here, [My Name]; I’ll get it for you.”

(He reaches up and grabs the stuffed dog off the shelf, bringing it over to me.)

Cashier: “Oh! You meant you couldn’t reach! Sorry about that.”

Me: “Eh, I’m used to it. Next time I’ll try to win a ladder.”

(I’m a front-end supervisor for a high-end, organic grocery store. We have a very open return policy and will refund pretty much anything, for any reason. This one takes the cake… err, pie.)

Customer: “I’d like a refund on some apples I purchased here last week.” *waves her receipt in my face*

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that you had a bad experience with our apples! What was wrong with them?”

Customer: “It was terrible! I made a pie and my guests were all spitting out stickers! Stickers! I was so embarrassed.”

Me: “Stickers, ma’am? Did you wash the apples before you made your pie?”

Customer: “Of course not! They were organic!” *gestures at receipt* “Organic! That means you don’t have to wash them!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m happy to refund your purchase, but please be aware that organic doesn’t mean you shouldn’t wash your produce; it just means that it wasn’t raised with pesticides. You should always wash your fruits and veggies!”

Customer: *snatches her money out of my hand* “That’s ridiculous! Of course it means you don’t have to wash them! Why would anyone pay so much otherwise?”

Me: “…”

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.

(My dad walks up to me, clutching the right side of his chest and moaning.)

Me: “Oh my God! What’s wrong?”

Dad: “I’m having a heart attack.”

Me: “No, you’re not.”

Dad: “Yes, I am!”

Me: “No, you’re not.”

Dad: “How do you know?”

Me: “Your heart’s on your left side.”

(He looks down at his chest and bursts out laughing.)

Dad: “Well. I guess you’re right.”

(I am a college student living on campus, and my family lives in a rented home, not an owned one.)

Telemarketer: “Hello, how are you doing today?”

Me: “Good.”

Telemarketer: “That’s great. I’m calling to tell you about this great opportunity to cut your electricity bill by 30%!” *gives spiel* “So, I just have one question. Do you own your home?”

Me: “No.”

Telemarketer: *awkward pause* “Oh. Thanks and, uh… good.” *hangs up*