(I’m in class for my military training. During a lecture, I get a strong call from Mother Nature. I quietly tell the person next to me to assure accountability and leave. I haven’t been feeling good the past few days so I’m there for twenty minutes. When I get back the class is on a short break. The acting squad leader approaches me.)

Squad Leader: “Where’d you go?”

Me: “Latrine.”

Squad Leader: “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Me: “I told the person next to me. Did she not say anything?”

Squad Leader: “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Me: “You were across the room…”

Squad Leader: “You need to tell me when you leave!”

Me: “It was urgent! You were 20 feet away!”

Squad Leader: “You need to tell me!”

Me: *giving up* “Okay, fine.”

(He leaves, satisfied. I turn to another classmate who was eavesdropping.)

Me: “Does he seriously expect me to interrupt a lecture by screaming ‘I gotta poop!’ across the room?”

Classmate: “Well, this is the Army…”

(One of my male coworkers has recently found out that his wife is pregnant. A female coworker and I [also female] are discussing it with him.)

Me: “Oh, yeah, and make sure she does her kegels.”

Coworker #1: “What’s a kegel?”

Coworker #2: “It’s exercises for her hoo-hah.”

Coworker #1: “What?! That exists?”

Me: “If she wants any kind of real bladder control after the baby, she’ll wanna do them.”

Coworker #2: “The hospital will show her how.”

Coworker #1: *looking more and more distressed* “They’ll SHOW her?!”

Coworker #2: “Uh, they’ll explain it to her.”

Me: *snorts* “Yeah, they’ll demonstrate for her. ‘Just do it like this, ma’am!'” *I paste on a creepy grin, stare Coworker #1 dead in the eye, and don’t move* “See? I just did, like, 18 in a row.”

Coworker #2: “Basically.”

Me: “Basically.”

Coworker #1: “Oh, my god. I need brain bleach.”

Boss: *from outside* “WHO BROKE [COWORKER #1]?!”

(We have a huge wedding party, over 100 guests. They are making noise in the hallways, breaking things in the lobby, and in their rooms. Despite repeated attempts to quiet them down, they refuse to stop. Our security can’t even handle them. I call my manager.)

Me: “[Manager], what should I do? I’ve had multiple complaints from these people. I’ve talked to the groom and every time he says he’ll quiet down, but he always starts them up again.”

Manager: “Okay, call the police. We can’t have this.”

Me: “Okay.”

(I hang up and call the police, and explain the situation. They send two officers to speak with the groom. After a while, they come back down to speak with me.)

Officer: “So… do you want to kick the groom out?”

Me: “Yes! I’ve told him so many times to stop. He doesn’t listen and keeps partying and disturbing others. Plus, the groom has over 20 people in his room, which is against the fire code. Please escort him off.”

Officer: “No can do. He’s a private in the military.”

Me: “What?!”

Officer: “We don’t touch military people. But it’s okay. We’ve spoken to him and he promises to keep his guests in check. Call us if he doesn’t…”

(They left and I stood there, dumbfounded. The groom and his guests continued to raise h*** all night long, and I called my manager and explained what the officers said. My manager was just as shocked as I. The next day, my manager took the groom’s name and reported him to his commanding officer. We eventually discovered that the groom was demoted and kicked out of the military for his behavior!)

Supervisor: “Hey are you using for protection in bed?”

Me: “What? What kind of question is that? That’s none of your business.”

Supervisor: “I’m your supervisor. I have to be sure you’re being safe.”

Me: “That’s none of your business!”

Supervisor: “Well I just want to be sure you’re not going to get an STD.”

(Months later, on the way back from deployment..)

Supervisor: “Yeah… I had unprotected sex with a complete stranger in port.”

Me: “Why are you telling me this!? You’d better get yourself checked out before you get home.”

Supervisor: “Why? She said she was a lesbian.”

Me: *facepalm*

(I work with trainee pilots in the military, and oversee their runs in the flight simulators. The trainee today is a young man who has scored very high in all his written tests.)

Me: “Okay. All ready to go?

Trainee: *smiles nervously* “I suppose so.”

Me: “Don’t be nervous; I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Trainee: “I over-think these things, that’s the problem. I can do all the math and flight-equations in my head, but I always fail when it comes to the actual simulations. I get so nervous. At this rate I’ll never be a member of the mile-high club!”

Me: “Don’t worry, I am— Wait, what?”

Trainee: “I’ll never be a member of the mile-high club!”

Me: “That’s what I was afraid you said. You know what that means, right?”

Trainee: “Yeah, it means you’re a pilot! Part of the pilot’s mile-high club!”

Me: “Oh, boy.”

(I take a few minutes to educate this young man what ‘mile-high club’ actually means. It takes him a moment to digest this information.)

Trainee: “I’m never going to be a member of that club either!”