(A client calls in reporting issues with his laptop. After several minutes of trying to get their laptop online, and him just repeating “I’m trying what you said but it’s not doing anything.”)

Me: “Okay, sir, please reboot your computer.”

Client: “How do I reboot?”

Me: “With the Start menu, then Restart.”

Client: “Where’s the start thing?”

Me: “The same thing you pressed to get to the Control Panel options.”

Client: “I’m not sure what you mean… I haven’t pressed anything… I wasn’t sure what you were asking me to do… ”

(And people wonder why computer techs seem anti-social sometimes.)

(One night I’m working the front register. An older male customer walks in.)

Me: “Hello, what can I get for you?”

Customer: “I want a double cheeseburger, small fry, and a ten-piece chicken nugget.”

Me: *inputs the order* “Anything else for tonight, sir?”

Customer: “I want my nuggets dropped FRESH!”

(My night-shift manager is behind our wall with our fryers.)

Night Manager: “Sir, our nuggets just came up.”

Customer: “I DON’T CARE. I WANT THEM DROPPED!”

Me: *takes his money as I think to myself* “If we drop your nuggets right after some JUST came up, that means you’d have to wait longer, dumb-a**.”

(I am a fairly large-chested woman. My husband and I are medieval re-enactors, discussing the type of costumes I’d like him to make for me. We’ve settled on a style of men’s clothing that includes a codpiece.)

Husband: “I promise I won’t go overboard on the codpiece.”

Me: “Thank you. I’d like to enter the room at the same time as it does.”

Husband: *indicating my chest* “Just so you know, that gives me a lot of leeways.”

Me: “Fine. I don’t want to see it past my boobs.”

(I am a girl in seventh-grade shop class. My teacher is quite rude and we butt heads frequently. He’s especially rude about girls going to the bathroom and about our general competency around the class. I raise my hand.)

Teacher: “Yes?”

Me: “Can I go to the bathroom?”

Teacher: *smirking* “I don’t know. Can you?”

Me: “Actually, I was using the secondary definition of ‘can’: to request permission. I thought that since you’re soooo smart you would know that.”

(I got locked out of the classroom for ten minutes when I came back from the bathroom.)

(My husband and I are about to run out to do some errands. As I’m gathering my things together, the doorbell rings. It’s some grizzled-looking dude, perhaps a few years older than my 40-something husband, wearing a uniform polo and hawking Internet, cable, and phone service door-to-door. My husband decides to humor him and listen to his pitch on our front stoop while I get ready. Please note that I am also in my 40s and look it. I join them after a few minutes, and speak up at an appropriate break in the conversation.)

Me: *to my husband* “Ready to go?”

Salesman: *to husband* “That’s why [Internet service] is the best.” *to me, in what I can only describe as a “men are talking”-type condescending tone* “Hi, sweetie.”

Husband: *under his breath and with a smirk on his face* “Uh-oh.”

Me: *completely flabbergasted* “EXCUSE ME?”

(I don’t know what my face looks like just then, but the salesman blanches and starts to stammer.)

Salesman: “Uh… Um, thanks for humoring me.” *takes off down our stairs at a record pace without looking back*

Husband: *huge grin on his face* “Aaaaand that’s when he realized the steel trap had closed on his nuts.”