(I’m celebrating my 30th birthday with a group of friends and family at a restaurant. There’s a twenty-year age gap between my cousins and me, and one of the little ones has just turned ten a few days ago. She comes up to me as I’m eating:)

Cousin: “Hey! I need to tell you something.”

Me: “What’s up, kiddo?”

Cousin: “I’m ten now, and I’m allowed to say the B word!”

Me: “Which one? Bulls***, b*****d, or b****?”

Cousin: *looks at me like I’ve just told her how to get to Narnia* “ALL OF THEM!” *walks away*

Me: “Aaaand I think I just taught her a couple of new swear words.”

My Friend: “Your aunt is going to kill you.”

(I work in a laboratory, and part of my job involves sampling products with long metal scoops. Our autoclave is broken, so to sterilise the scoops, we’ve resorted to spraying them with ethanol and then burning it off over a bunsen burner. It’s a little dangerous, especially when the ethanol inside the scoop ignites and a small flame shoots out of the opening. I am currently sterilising a batch of scoops when the safety officer comes in on his regular inspection. He looks around the lab, then stops next to me, watching me spray then flame a scoop.)

Safety Officer: “So, is there anything here, in the lab, that you have concerns about? Anything that you feel is a safety issue?”

(I look at him, then at the burning scoop in my hand.)

Me: “No, not at all.”

Safety Officer: “Oh, good.”

(We got excellent marks on that inspection.)

(My aunt has to run to the shops while I am visiting, so she takes one of my cousins and I stay at home with the other one. We’re watching YouTube on my laptop when I accidentally knock it onto the floor.)

Me: “Oh, s***.”

Cousin: “S***! S***!”

Me: “Don’t say that! That’s a naughty word and we’re not allowed to say it!”

Cousin: “Is it… a swear word?”

Me: “Yes, and that’s why we can’t say it.”

Cousin: “Is it a swear word like ‘f***ing’?”

Me: “Where did you hear that?”

Cousin: “Mum calls people ‘f***ing idiots’ in the car a lot.”

Me: “Yes, they’re both swear words, and that’s why we don’t say them. Promise me you won’t say it.”

Cousin: ”I promise!”

(We go back to watching some kid’s show on YouTube. About half an hour later, my aunt gets home.)

Cousin: *jumps off the couch like her a**e is on fire and runs to greet her* “MUMMY! MUMMY! ‘F***ING’ IS A SWEAR WORD!”

(Thankfully, my aunt didn’t murder me… but I had to cook dinner that night as punishment.)

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(I’m at the coffee shop at the airport, trying to get some breakfast.)

Me: “Small latte and plain bagel with cream cheese, please.”

Employee: “Small latte and…?”

Me: “Plain bagel with cream cheese.”

Employee: “Bagel?”

Me: “Yes, with cream cheese.”

Employee: “What type of bagel?”

Me: “Plain, with cream cheese.”

Employee: “So, you don’t want butter, or cream cheese, or anything?”

Me: “No, I want cream cheese.”

Employee: “Okay, and did you want a coffee?”

(I’m standing behind a woman in line at the checkout who has put her groceries on the belt and has picked up her tiny baby out of the seat, as the baby started fussing. The customer in front of her is a sweet, older man who is having trouble getting his card to work. The woman is swaying side to side, something I don’t think much of because I did the same to calm down my kids when they were small. The older man turns to apologise for the wait, and gets a funny look on his face.)

Older Guy: “Are you okay, ma’am?”

(The woman spins around to face me and I see her face is slightly purple and her eyes are completely unfocused and darting around. Before I can react to try to catch her, she shoves the baby in my direction. I drop my items and catch the baby just in time, and the old man tries to catch the woman as she drops and starts twitching. They both end up on the floor, though he does break her fall. The cashier calls for help and there’s a flurry of activity, with managers calling for an ambulance and helping the woman. The old man scrambles back to his feet, and he and I step aside — me still holding the baby — while the ambulance officers show up and diagnose her with a seizure and start loading her into an ambulance. They take the baby with them — she has regained consciousness at this point and screams for her baby, thinking she had dropped them when she fell. In all the activity, the older man stays at the end of the checkout, waiting to finish paying for his groceries and leave. I look down and see he is holding his arm strangely.)

Me: “Sir, are you okay?”

Older Guy: “Ah, landed on my arm a bit funny.”

(Upon closer inspection, his arm is clearly broken quite badly near his wrist.)

Cashier: “Oh, no! Why didn’t you tell the ambulance guys? They would have taken you, too!”

Older Guy: “Oh, no, they were busy with the young lass. I’ve had my time; youngins are the future! I’ll get it looked at later.”

(We did eventually convince him to let me drive him to the hospital, with a promise of dropping his groceries off at home to his wife. She was beside herself and let me drive her back to her husband’s car so they wouldn’t have to worry about it later. Given the amount of stories on here about old people being cranky and mean, I was touched to find one who was willing to sit quietly through immense pain just so someone else would receive medical attention.)