(Back in the 90s, my parents volunteer as treasurers for their community pool. Each year, the pool has to be inspected by the state before it can open. As the pool is only open from May to September, normally the inspection office will send a notice to the PO box saying when they will be around to do the inspection and someone with a key will meet them to let them in. One year, as opening day approaches, my mother begins to get nervous as she has been checking the PO box and no such notice has arrived. The pool cannot operate without the inspection, so after having no luck getting through to someone, she drives downtown and marches into their office.)

Inspector: “We sent someone down there but no one was there to let the inspector in.”

Mom: “Right. Because we didn’t know we had to be there. No one sent us a notice so that we could let them in. The pool is only open three months out of the year.”

Inspector: “We sent the notice.”

(They go back and forth on this. Mom checked the PO box diligently so she knows nothing has been sent.)

Mom: “What address did you send the notice to?”

Inspector: *flips her computer screen around so Mom can see it* “We sent it here.”

Mom: “That’s the physical address! There is no one there when the pool isn’t open, which it says in the notes.” *points to another area on the screen* “This is the mailing address! It clearly says that on the screen. Not only that, but I also see that you have six phone numbers you could have called if you needed someone to let you in.”

Inspector: “Look, ma’am. We sent the notice. We sent someone out. You weren’t there to let us in. That’s not our fault.”

Mom: “Do you not know the difference between a physical address and a mailing address?”

Inspector: “I know the difference, but—”

Mom: “Good. Then set up another appointment for the physical address right now for any time before Memorial Day weekend when the pool is supposed to be open. I’ll be there myself to let them in.”

(Mom got her appointment and left. The week before the pool opened, some volunteers went over to the pool to clean and found the inspection notice stuck in between the gates.)

(I grew up in the southern United States but now live in a northern state. My friend is originally from New Jersey. We are discussing upcoming events in our city.)

Friend: “We could see Kenny Chesney. I assume you know who that is because he’s wearing a cowboy hat.”

Me: “I’d be offended… but I do know who that is.”

Friend: *laughs*

Me: “And yet I had to tell you who Bruce Springsteen was.”

(I am a young team lead — 20 — that frequently runs the building alone on the weekends. We have a recent hire that’s a bit older than me — 32. We are trained that, for clients that are out of area, we have to charge them two dollars for every mile outside of the service area they are for the trip there and back. So, for example, our service area is 25 miles. If the client lives 30 miles away we charge them $2 x 5, so $10 total. I’m just finishing up an escalation report when I hear this new hire talking to her cube mate.)

New Hire: “Can I borrow your calculator? Mine is broken.”

Cube Mate: “Sure, here you go.”

(A minute later.)

New Hire: “I can’t believe it; yours is broken, too!”

Cube Mate: “Are you sure? I just used it for an extra-long trip and it worked fine.”

New Hire: “Yes, it’s giving the wrong answer!”

Cube Mate: “Here, let me see.”

(A few moments later.)

Cube Mate: “It’s working fine. What are you trying to figure out?”

New Hire: “Six times two.”

Cube Mate: *pause* “That’s twelve.”

New Hire: “No, it’s not!”

(Cue me leaning out and watching with interest.)

Cube Mate: “Yes. Yes, it is.”

New Hire: “No, that’s what they are saying, but I know it’s not true. It’s 13!”

(The cube mate looks at me and we both just stare for a moment before they motion, helpless, for me.)

Me: “No, [Cube Mate] is correct; six times two is twelve, not thirteen.”

New Hire: “No, it isn’t; I know math!”

(I am thinking, “Then why did you need the calculator?”)

Me: “Six and two are both even numbers; when you multiply them you can only get another even number, right?”

New Hire: *rolls her eyes* “Well, duh, everyone knows that. That’s why it’s thirteen, not twelve.”

Me: *open my mouth closes it and shakes my head* “Just put in the payment for $12, please.”

New Hire: *all but screaming* “You are both just trying to get me fired!”

Me: *internally sighing* “Put in the payment for $12 and say I approved it. Give me the job number and I’ll notate it myself so if anything comes of it I can take the full blame.”

(She finally entered the payment. Unsurprisingly, nothing ever came of that payment. Now, her, on the other hand… I could write a book on.)

This story is part of our Pi Day Math roundup!

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(I’m currently on sick leave after donating a kidney, something my boss and overall department took really well, especially considering I couldn’t give a definite answer as to when I’ll be able to return to work. I’ve tried to prepare for my absence as best as I can, but I know my boss is not looking forward to it, as we have a close working relationship and he doesn’t like change. The first Friday after getting home from the hospital, I receive a bouquet of flowers from the office. My colleague quietly lets me know that it was all my boss’s idea, so I send him a separate message after the general thank-you to the department.)

Me: “Thanks for the flowers! I really appreciate the gesture; it was lovely.”

Boss: “Uh-huh. By the fourth week, it’ll be cacti, just so you know.”

(I don’t think too much about it, since that’s just his style of humour, but from then on flowers get delivered every Friday… until week four when, indeed, the delivery guy hands over a potted cactus. Incidentally…)

Me: “[Boss], thanks for the gesture! I think. Also, I think I’m well enough to return to work next week.”

Boss: “Wait, that actually worked?!”

Caller: “We would like to go walk around the historic district, but it looks like there is not transportation down there. So, we would have to walk, correct?”

Me: “Yes, that is correct.”

Caller: “We want to visit some historic homes. Do you know if they have restrooms?”

Me: “I know that [Museum] has restrooms, but most of the historic homes do not just because of the nature of the buildings.”

Caller: “Right, right. So, what do you suggest?”

Me: “When you come into town, we actually have a guide to public restrooms in the area-“

Caller: “And I can pick that up at the visitors center?”

Me: “Yes, you can.”

Caller: “You said [Museum] has a restroom, but the others don’t?”

Me: “Well, yes, generally, although there are quite a few public restrooms in the area. There’s one in the market–“

Caller: “You mean the big central market?”

Me: “Yes, the city market–“

Caller: “But that’s several blocks away, young lady.”

Me: “Okay, there are also several parking garages down there with public restrooms, and city hall has some, as well–“

Caller: *loud, exasperated sigh* “Well, this is just not helpful at all. Goodbye.”

(Did she expect me to create more bathrooms out of thin air?)