One night, my friends and I are prank-calling a famous televangelist’s donation line.

Friend: “Can I speak to [Televangelist’s First Name]?”

Operator: “Who?”

Friend: “[Televangelist’s Full Name].”

Operator: *Shocked* “Oh, no! No one is allowed to speak to him. I’m not even allowed to speak to him. Talking to [Televangelist] would be like talking to… talking to…”

Friend: “Talking to God?”

Operator: “No, like Dan Rather or someone.”

I’m a school librarian. We’ve just gotten a new computer circulation system, and my library aide is learning the ropes. She comes to me, furious.

Aide: “Mr. [My Name], can you believe this? There’s an option here to ‘desensitize’ the books! This PC garbage is getting ridiculous. Now we have to worry that a book is too ‘sensitive’ and have the computer fix it?”

Me: “Um, ‘desensitize’ just means that if you have a security system in your library — which we don’t — the book can be removed without setting off the alarm.”

I wonder what she thought would happen if she clicked it — that all potentially offensive words would vanish from the printed page?

Back in my college days, I had a girlfriend who I had been dating for just shy of a year and a half. She invited me to join her family for Christmas during the break. I didn’t have any other plans (my own parents and I did not, and still do not, get along), so I agreed.

My girlfriend is the oldest of seven children, and as her parents are fairly well-off, they have quite a large house, but there were two sets of aunts and uncles also visiting, with six kids between them, so the house felt very crowded when we arrived. My girlfriend was going to share a room with her sisters upstairs, while I was relegated to a cot in their garage.

Honestly, that cot was the best part of the trip, as the kids weren’t allowed in the garage, and it was actually pretty well-insulated for a garage, so I had a nice spot to retreat to if things got too much.

Probably the first sign of problems I had was with the bathroom arrangements. To make things “easier”, each person was assigned a bathroom for the stay. The bathroom I was assigned was the one right next to the garage. The problem was that it was the “half” bathroom out of their “four and a half” baths, meaning that it had a sink and a toilet, but no tub or shower. I tried asking her mother where I was supposed to shower.

Me: “Can I use the master bathroom?”

Mother: “No, that’s our private space.”

Me: “What about either of the upstairs hall bathrooms?”

Mother: “No, the little kids shower there.”

Me: “The downstairs guest bathroom?”

Mother: “No, that’s totally full with [Girlfriend]’s brothers and sisters.”

Nope, I was just expected to deal with it by… not showering the entire time.

Well, I sucked it up and did my best to wash up in the sink. We’d arrived the day before Christmas Eve, and things went… okay through Christmas Day. I got a few looks for the fact that I’d “only” brought presents for her parents and siblings — I hadn’t been informed about the aunts and uncles and cousins — but other than that, things were fine.

Then, on the twenty-sixth, they announced that they were having some annual outing to a nearby winery. This was apparently a tradition for the adults, but my girlfriend had never gone before, as she’d been picked to watch all the kids. So, now the parents, aunts, uncles, and my girlfriend all loaded off to this wine-tasting event.

Notice who was left out of that list? That’s right. I was explicitly not invited.

Mother: “Oh, I forgot to get you a spot. So sorry. You’ll just have to stay here and watch the kids?”

Uh-huh, and what was the plan if I hadn’t come?

Anyway, I come from a large family myself, so wrangling the kids wasn’t too difficult, especially when they had a bunch of new toys they were playing with and they were still somewhat sluggish from the sugar highs they’d had on Christmas. But, talking with some of the older kids, they let slip that the adults would usually go off and do things the day after Christmas every year. Hmm, suspicious.

I talked to my girlfriend and her parents after they got back, asking about the plans for the rest of the break. There was a bit of hemming and hawing, but eventually, they admitted that they had some adult excursions planned: a winter hike, some Christmas concert, etc. And, as I’d suspected, they’d “completely forgotten” to arrange things so I could go. So sorry.

Me: “I didn’t give up my break to be a free babysitter for you. Thank you for opening your home to me for the holiday.”

Then, I headed to the garage to see about arranging a cab and plane ticket back home. Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention. My girlfriend’s ticket was paid for by her parents, but I’d had to pay for my own. Maybe that should have been the actual first red flag?

Anyway, I did actually manage to rearrange my plane ticket, though there was an upcharge. Still, I headed out. The kids all cheerfully said goodbye, her parents looked sternly angry, and my girlfriend seemed to have no emotion about it whatsoever.

I ended up enjoying myself just fine once I got back home. After the break, my girlfriend came over and we had a talk.

Girlfriend: “I’m so disappointed that you couldn’t stick it out for the entire break. I had to deal with my parents all growing up, and you couldn’t manage to deal with them for two full weeks. I’m not sure if this relationship will work if you can’t help support my needs.”

Things got heated after that. There was plenty of shouting, and we were very much an ex-couple when everything was said and done.

But the cherry on top of all of that was when I got a call on December first, eleven months after our breakup. It was [Girlfriend]’s mother.

Mother: “I’m calling to see if you plan to join us this year for Christmas. Are you going to stick around and help out properly this time?”

I just ended up repeating the word “Ha!” over and over again at louder and louder volumes before hanging up on her.

When I was sixteen years old, I was an undiagnosed young autistic working the Girl Scout equestrian day camp circuit. For those unaware, horses cannot see directly in front of them, behind them, or under their necks because their eyes are on the side. For this reason, we (the volunteers) would saddle the kids’ horses ahead of time and just bring them along on the “adventure” of checking and adjusting the tack when we got into the arena.

This lovely young girl I had with me was a little hyperactive during the safety talk and selection of boots and helmet, but I wasn’t too worried. Most girls were just excited to go riding for the first time. However, when I finished checking the saddle tightness, I made an error: I asked her how we should go in front of the horse instead of telling her.

This poor child ducked under the horse’s neck right as he started to adjust his feet. I grabbed her by the hood of her puffy jacket.

Me: “Oops, that’s not quite right. Let me show you.”

I led her around by putting my hand on the center of the horse’s face. It was a terrifying few seconds, but she laughed it off and her troop had a great lesson. I don’t think she even caught on that she was in serious danger.

When I led them in and was directing them to take off their helmets and boots, who should appear but the child’s mother. The mother began screaming at me.

Mother: “You hurt my child! How dare you even touch her?! You could have scared her half to death. I’m going to sue you for hurting my baby, and you should be glad I’m not taking it further!”

Me: “I was trying to keep the little girl safe; the horse was moving its legs, and a kick to the head can still do a lot of damage through the helmet!”

I eventually just started crying because I was overstimulated.

My boss opened her door next to us and asked me what was going on. The mom started screaming again, and my boss sharply intoned:

Boss: “No, I asked [My Name] what happened.”

I gave her the rundown: how I had asked the little girl what to do, how she had ducked, how the horse’s legs had been moving, how I had grabbed her by the back of the jacket and she’d been just fine, how the mom was now screaming at me despite the viewing platform being a good twenty feet above us, and how I was panicking because I didn’t like being yelled at.

My boss turned around and spoke to the mom in a calm, slow voice.

Boss: “Your daughter is okay. My teacher saved her life. Furthermore, Missouri law and the waiver you signed at the beginning of the lesson means you cannot sue us even if you wanted to. Now, leave her alone.”

Somehow, this got the woman to go away, and we were able to have a fun rest of the day teaching her daughter’s troop about horses and their breeds and feeding.

I live in Hawaii. In 2019, a friend of mine flew my wife and me out to Independence, Missouri, to attend his wedding which was taking place in Sedalia.

When it came time for the wedding, I was to drop my wife off in Sedalia for the bachelorette party and then return to Independence for the bachelor party.

On the way to Sedalia, the car we had rented needed gas, so I pulled into a [Gas Station] on the interstate and got out. A customer standing nearby spoke to me.

Customer: “Hey, your gas tank is on the wrong side for that pump.”

Me: “Oh, that’s all right. I don’t mind.”

Customer: “No, you can’t use that pump.”

Me: “What? I’m sure it will be fine.” *Laughs*

Customer: “I can guarantee you it won’t be.”

Me: “It will be. I’m sorry, but I am in a hurry.”

The man shrugged and turned away.

I scanned my card and grabbed the hose. Once the pump was in my hand, I confidently walked around the car, and the pump stopped dead, yanking me back so I nearly fell over into the car, dropping the nozzle.

Customer: “Was it fine?”

I never stopped to consider that the hose for the pump couldn’t extend. In Hawaii, every gas station has a reel system that allows the hose to extend and retract so that the driver can pump on either side of the car.

This [Gas Station] did not; the hose length was all you got.

Me: “It doesn’t… extend…”

Customer: “I tried to tell you.”

Me: “You tried to tell me…”

Customer: “Yup.” 

Me: “Yup.”

I got back into the car and pulled around to the other side, fueled up, and left. 

The moral of the story? Listen to the locals.