I work at a library on my college campus, and one morning I’m sweeping the front stairs — from top to bottom, obviously. A middle-aged gentleman approaches and stands watching me for a few seconds.

Gentleman: “You know, if you were in the Army, they’d make you start from the bottom and work your way up.”

Me: *Pausing, confused* “But… that makes no sense. You’d just have to do it all over again.”

He laughs as if this is the funniest thing ever.

Gentleman: “Exactly!”

I try to make a light comment to end the conversation.

Me: “I guess it’s good I’m not in the Army, then.” 

Gentleman: *Suddenly serious* “You could be, though. You should sign up.”

I am an overweight nineteen-year-old girl with thick glasses — my bad eyesight alone would disqualify me from most military roles — a nerdy graphic tee, and Pokémon earrings, and I’m working at a library. None of this picture clearly proclaims “military material,” but I guess this guy is looking to fill a quota because he decides to get up in my face and start trying to convince me to enlist, physically backing me up toward the wall.

Gentleman: “Come over to the recruitment center! I can get you signed up today!”

Me: “Thanks, but I’m not really interested.”

Gentleman: “Don’t you love your country? Don’t you have any patriotism?”

Me: “I mean, sure, but—”

Gentleman: “We’d whip you into shape in no time! Come on, what d’ya say?”

I’m more and more uncomfortable with his physical closeness and looking for any way out of the conversation.

Me: “My… ah… my dad. My parents wouldn’t be cool with their daughter enlisting. Sorry.”

Gentleman: “Well, don’t tell them, then! If they ask, tell them you’re taking a vacation!”

At that, I just gaped at him for a second, managed to bite out a “you have a nice day,” and escaped into the library where my boss let me hide in the break room for a few minutes.

I am attending the wedding of a friend, the bride. During the reception, her mother comes up to me.

Bride’s Mother: “Having a good time?”

Me: “Oh, yes.”

Bride’s Mother: *Leaning over* “You know, I kind of wish it was you up there, instead of the groom.”

Me: “Wait, what?”

She then got called off on mother-of-the-bride business, so I never got her to elaborate. The thing is, I had never dated the bride, and I’d only met her mother once. To add insult to injury, I’d always harbored a secret crush on the bride.

I am an author. I receive an email from a teenage reader.

Reader: “I really enjoyed your latest book. I’d like to read [Older Title], but it’s not at my library.”

This, of course, appeals to my vanity.

Me: “I’ll send you a copy via your school.”

I don’t feel comfortable asking for his home address.

Reader: “Seriously? That would be great. I go to [High School].”

I send him a copy of the book, but a few days later it comes back, marked “addressee unknown.” I email him.

Me: “The post office sent the book back. You go to [High School] at [address], right?”

Reader: “Yeah. I’m not sure what the problem is.”

Me: “Well, maybe they only looked at faculty names. I’ll label it ‘student’ next time; that should clear it up.”

I send the book again, and again it comes back “addressee unknown.” I email him again.

Me: “I can’t figure out what the problem is. I labeled it [Reader], STUDENT.”

Reader: “Oh, that’s not my real name. My real name is [Full Name].”

This name was completely different from the one he signed his emails with. I sent the book via that name and it arrived just fine.

A kindergartner is sent to the principal for writing on his bus seat.

Principal: “Did you write on your seat on the bus?”

Child: “Yes.”

Principal: “Do other kids write on the seats?”

Child: “No.”

Principal: “Do you write on the furniture at home?”

Child: “No.”

Principal: “Then why did you think it was okay to write on the bus seat?”

Child: *Bursts into tears* “Because the driver told us to sit in our ‘signed seats, and mine wasn’t signed!”

When I was around five or six, I was at the doctor’s office for a checkup. I knew I would be receiving an injection, and I was terrified of needles. My mother stepped outside of the room with the doctor while we waited for the nurse to come by with the shot.

There was a slight knock on the door and a nurse popped her head in.

Nurse: “Hi! I just need to grab something real quick.”

And she proceeded to pull out the biggest needle I’d ever seen in my short life! I screamed bloody murder.

My mother and the doctor came running back into the room to find the nurse frantically trying to calm me down, but I refused to even let her touch me. The nurse showed the doctor the needle.

Nurse: “I didn’t mean to scare anyone! I feel horrible.”

After the nurse left, my doctor sat down with me.

Doctor: “That needle is meant for more difficult patients and it does hurt, but you are getting the regular-sized needle that hurts much less.”

I later learned the nurse’s needle was for bone marrow aspiration. I received my injection with no complaint.