(My credit union coworkers and I are doing a Secret Santa. We all have a very sarcastic sense of humor that jives well with the group.)

Coworker: *unwraps a gift to reveal a garment box* “I wonder what it is…”

Manager #1: *loudly and excitedly* “That’s S & M!”

(Everybody stares at the manager with shocked expressions.)

Manager #1: “Right? That’s S & M, isn’t it?”

Me: “I sure hope not!”

Manager #1: “What? It’s nice! I go there all the time!”

Me: “We don’t want to hear what you do in the bedroom!”

Manager #1: “I don’t understand…”

Manager #2: “Do you mean H&M?”

(Everyone laughs uncontrollably.)

Coworker: “Ooh! How lovely! A scarf!”

Manager #2: “I guess it could be S & M.”

(I’m at the grocery store with a small number of items. This particular grocery store asks that all alcohol be placed at the end of your items. I don’t have any alcohol, but I do have a six-pack of ginger beer, which happens to be at the end of my order. Please note, if you’re not familiar with ginger beer, that it’s not actually beer. It’s a soda that’s simply very gingery, but it’s not beer, just like ginger ale is not ale.)

Cashier: “Can I see your ID, please?”

Me: *not really paying attention* “Huh?”

Cashier: “Your ID, please.”

Me: “Oh. Wait, why?”

Cashier: “For your beer.”

Me: “I’m not buying beer, though?”

(The cashier points to my ginger beer.)

Me: “Oh! Sorry. That’s just ginger beer.”

Cashier: “Yes, and I need your ID.”

Me: “But why?”

Cashier: *sighs* “It’s the law, I have to ID everyone for alcohol.”

Me: “But it’s not alcohol!”

Cashier: “It’s beer!”

Me: “It’s ginger beer. Not beer.”

Cashier: *sighs again* “[Manager], could you come here?”

(The manager is at the next lane and comes right over.)

Cashier: “This lady is buying beer but doesn’t understand that she needs to show her ID.”

Me: “It’s not beer!”

Manager: *lifts up the six-pack* “That’s not beer; it’s ginger beer. It’s not alcoholic. She’s fine.

(Neither the cashier nor I made eye contact as I paid and hurried out of there.)

Our clients are never able to spell their breeds correctly, which usually leads to a few funny things. I’ve seen a “S***-A-Poo,” aka Shih-Tzu/Poodle mix, and then there was the “Paptest,” aka Papillion.

I swear on my paycheck these are really written on medical documents at my company.

(I am talking with some of my officemates and the topic of snakes comes up for some reason. I have a pet corn snake, of whom I am very fond. One of my coworkers is pretty terrified of snakes, but he has a lot of questions about them even so.)

Coworker: “How big is this thing?”

Me: “About two to three feet. Not venomous, pretty chill.”

Coworker: “What does it eat?”

Me: “He eats mice. That was the one weird thing I had to get used to: keeping mice in the freezer.”

Coworker: “He eats frozen mice?”

Me: “No, you have to thaw them out in hot water or they can’t digest them.”

Coworker: “So, then what? The mouse comes back to life?”

Other Coworker: *facepalming* “[Coworker], it’s not cryosleep. It’s a freezer.”

(I was too busy giggling to answer. I’m sure my snake would love it if they actually came back to life, but… no.)

(Me and my dad are at a popular supermarket when we walk past a mother and a young girl, who must have missed behaved.)
Mother: If you keep this up you’re going to be eating soup- I mean soap.
Dad: Did you hear that? The kid’s going to be eating soup.
Me: Yeah.
Dad: She said soup before she said soap.