I have a very large chest. This happened a few years ago after my chest went through its last growth spurt. I went into the only lingerie store in my small town to get resized. I explained up front that I knew they didn’t carry my size but would like to be fitted so I had a better idea of what to order. The girl took me into the fitting room to get a few measurements.

Clerk: “Good news! We actually do carry your size on our website, but not in-store. Although, we do have a few fitting bras for you to try on so you know what to order. We can even place the order for you in the store so you’ll get free shipping.”

Me: “Oh, cool. The last time I was here, you didn’t carry a large enough size.”

Clerk: “Yeah, we just expanded our size range. You’re a 38DDD.”

Me: “Are you sure? Usually, the band size I wear is a 34. My best guess is that I should be around a 34G.”

Clerk: “Yes, you probably just wore the old ones and they stretched out with you so they seem to fit.”

I found this statement to be incredibly rude, but she seemed utterly clueless, so I just let it go, mostly because I wanted to see where this was going.

Me: “Okay, that doesn’t seem right to me, but I would be happy to try them on.”

She came back and handed me two bras. I tried them on and they were awful; they were both too small and too big at the same time. I considered just leaving, but I wanted to see if I could get her to fit me correctly after she saw how bad they were. Just to note, I did have the loose bra-fitting T-shirt on.

Clerk: “Is it okay if I come in and check the fit?”

Me: “Yes, but I was right; these do not fit at all.”

Clerk: “Oh, no, those fit you perfectly.”

Me: “No, they don’t. They are so tight on my chest that my boobs are mushrooming out the top, and the band is so loose that if I raise my arms I’ll fall out of it. I can even fit my entire fist in the band.”

I lifted the shirt slightly and showed her that my fist did in fact fit in the band with extra wiggle room.

Clerk: “No, it’s supposed to fit like that. You have just been in the wrong size for so long you’re just used to a tight band. Having a band too tight is what causes back pain.”

Me: “I don’t have back pain. And what about the fact that I have mushroom boobs?”

Clerk: “You just need to push them down farther, or try on the full-coverage option if you don’t like having cleavage. It fits you fine.”

Me: “This is the full-coverage bra. There’s a difference between cleavage and spilling out, and no, it doesn’t. Could you please remeasure?”

She gave an annoyed sigh but did remeasure me.

Clerk: “I’m getting the same numbers. That is the correct size. Would you like me to place an order for you?”

I didn’t say anything. I just lifted my arms and shrugged my shoulders and, as I predicted, the band slid up over my chest and stayed there even after I dropped my arms down.

Me: “Is this supposed to happen? I really don’t think this is the correct size.”

The clerk stared at my chest for a second with the band now across the top of my boobs, not under them, and without saying a word, she turned and walked out of the dressing room. I got dressed, left the store, and never went back.

This was many years ago when there was an E. coli outbreak that affected lettuce. Salads of all kinds were pulled out of restaurants and stores for weeks.

I was working as a server, and the recall had been in place for about three weeks when two ladies were seated at my table.

Customer #1: “I would like a house salad as my side, please.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we don’t have any salads available right now due to the recall. Is there something else you would like?”

Customer #1: “No, I’ll take the salad. I don’t think those outbreaks are real. It’s just the government testing on us. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Customer #2: “You’ll have to get something else. It doesn’t matter that it’s not real; they don’t actually have any lettuce, and the government will shut them down if they try to sell it during their test.”

Customer #1: “Oh, that makes sense. I’ll just need a moment to decide, then.”

Me: “No problem. I’ll be back to check on you.”

I’ve often wondered over the years if the second lady believed in the lettuce conspiracy or if she just knew how to deal with the first lady well.

Related:
Lettuce Be Clear About This

I have been dating my current girlfriend for about a year and a half. I consider myself to be pretty generous and thoughtful, but I’m not really a person who likes to gift flowers. I’ve gifted a few potted plants, but cut flowers? I just don’t like how they slowly die and wilt over the next few days, and then they just leave a mess.

My girlfriend did ask for flowers for Valentine’s Day, which I gave her, and she was happy.

However, at some point later, she is in a bad mood and decides that once is not enough for eighteen months of dating. We don’t live with each other.

I’m going about my day when I get a text from her.

Girlfriend: “We’ve been dating for over a year and you’ve only ever given me flowers once! Once!”

Me: “You’re right; I’m so inconsiderate. All I’ve ever given you is jewelry, fuel for your car, clothes, trips to restaurants, lots of homemade food, vacations to California and New York, and a $1,500 wig.”

Girlfriend: “This was supposed to make you look bad, but it ended up making me look bad!”

Me: “Yep.”

Several years ago, I was in a business meeting at my employer, a big company, and the meeting room has a speakerphone for when people have to call in. But everyone who has to be in the meeting is present in the room. That’s when the speakerphone rings and I answer it.

Me: “Hello, [Big Company].”

Caller: “Is [Name] there?”

Me: “No, you must have the wrong number. You’ve reached an office at [Big Company].”

Caller: “No, but I want to speak to [Name].”

Me: “Really, there’s no one here by that name. You must have the wrong number.”

Caller: “But this is their number. I know it’s right.”

Me: “This is the number for [Big Company], not a private residence. Could you have entered the wrong number?”

Pause.

Caller: “YOU-ALL’S CONFUSING ME. GET OFF MAH PHONE!” *Click*

My colleagues laughed.

Colleague: “This could only happen to you.”

Me: “Let me tell you about a website where it happens to a lot of people…”

This story is from when my parents were first married. One night, my father had a craving for pork chops and asked my mother if she wanted him to make one for her, too. My mother declined, telling him that she disliked pork chops.

A while later, my mother was figuring out what she wanted to make for her own dinner when my father sat down at their table with a juicy, delicious pork chop cooked to perfection.

Mom: “What is that?!”

Dad: “A pork chop?”

Mom: “That’s not a pork chop! Pork chops look like shoe leather!”

And that was how my mother learned that the way her mother made pork chops — cooking them until they were essentially jerky — was neither the standard nor the ideal.