I work in a small engineering office with six others, although only two were there when this happened. If things are quiet and no one is on the phone, it’s normal for someone to whistle a bit or maybe start quietly singing to themselves. No one minds.

It was getting late in the afternoon, and I think my coworker needed to hit his silly quota for the day, to the tune of a song from a certain musical about a wannabe nun from Austria.

Coworker #1: *Singing* “How do you solve a problem like diarrhoea?”

I burst out laughing.

Coworker #1: “You like that, then, [My Name]?”

Me: “Brilliant! If they put that on in the West End, that show would run and run!”

[Coworker #1] and [Coworker #2] responded with a mix of laughing and groaning.

I’m doing some album artwork right now for a metal band. It’s a job I wouldn’t typically take, but the guitar player is a good friend’s brother, so I’m doing the job at less than half of what I would normally ask.

We are fitting the album credits into about a half-inch below a photo on the back of the jacket.

Client: “Our names look pretty small. Could you make them a little bigger?”

Me: “Yes, but not by much; we don’t have a lot of space to work with.”

Client: “On second thought, that’s probably where the album’s lyrics should go. I’ll send them over to you.”

He proceeded to send me a fourteen-page Word document full of Tolkien-themed song lyrics that he wanted to be included in the half-inch on the bottom of the album back.

It took a little while to explain why he should think about an album insert for the lyrics.

I am exiting a music store at the same time an older man is walking in, and we slightly bump into each other. I’m about to apologize when:

Customer: “Stupid d*** kids! Always getting in the way!”

Me: “Sorry, sir, I—”

Customer: “What are you even doing in a music store?! Your generation doesn’t know about music! It’s all streaming and TikTok and…”

His voice trails off as he sees from the shape of my bag that I have purchased a vinyl record.

Customer: “So, they’re releasing teeny-boppers on vinyl now, are they? Trying to make themselves look cool?”

I show him my purchase of Pink Floyd’s “The Wall.” Flummoxed, the customer then looks directly at me in the hopes of finding something else about me to blame on my generation.

Customer: “It’s so hot and sunny out and you’re wearing that hat! What happened, tried to turn your hair green like some punk and it failed? Young people always trying to look cool with their crazy hair and—”

I remove my hat to show my completely bald head, thanks to my alopecia.

Me: “Please, sir, keep going. This is becoming a fun game!”

The customer muttered something grumbly and stormed into the store, and I went home to listen to my album.

Back in the late 1980s, my brother and I had a band that played pop/rock music. I was the drummer. One of our annual gigs was a local fire department’s Christmas party. I got a call from my brother the afternoon before the gig.

Brother: “The fire chief just called me. He has some concerns about tonight.”

Me: “Okay, what are they?”

Brother: “Well, they’re afraid that your cymbals are a fire hazard.”

Me: “Huh?”

Brother: “Yeah, they said there’s a risk of sparks when you hit the cymbals.”

Me: “But… the sticks are wood. There’s no way.”

Brother: “Yeah, I tried to explain, but he was adamant that you can’t use cymbals tonight.”

Me: “But how is that going to work? I have to have cymbals, or it won’t sound right!”

He had me going for about another minute before cracking up and laughing his head off. Miss you, Bro.

My partner and I recently adopted a pretty eighteen-month-old rescue cat who was likely weaned too early. (Don’t buy pets when they’re too young, folks!) This has resulted in some adorable but unexpected quirks. The latest is that she’ll try to wake us in the mornings by very gently chewing on my cheeks and sucking on my partner’s beard.

My partner is a professional singer, and we’re both crazy cat people.

I hear the cat walking down the corridor toward us and start singing to her, Hall & Oates style.

Me: “Oh-oh, here she comes! Watch out; it’s a kitty caaaat! Oh-oh, here she comes—”

And in an extremely beautiful tenor, my partner’s voice chimes in from the kitchen.

Partner: “She’s a faaaaace-eater!”

Face Eater Cat is a very happy, healthy animal who’s found her forever home, and she chirrups along when serenaded with eighties hits. It’s a match made in heaven.