(I am working the night audit shift at a hotel when a young woman comes in. She is dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. It is about two in the morning.)

Girl: “Hey! Are you guys taking applications right now?”

Me: “I don’t know, honestly, but I can give you the web address where we take applications.”

Girl: “There isn’t a manager I can speak to?”

(Again, it is two in the morning.)

Me: “Um… I’m the de facto manager on duty right now, but I have no control over our hiring practices. You’ll have to go online, or wait until morning when someone is in.”

Girl: “Aw, shoot. I just wanted to get some kind of job; you know, something easy, like your job!”

Me: *glancing at the mountain of accounting paperwork I’m currently trying to get through while attempting not to look insulted* “Yes, well, like I said, I don’t know if we’re hiring, but I know we don’t need any more night auditors right now.”

Girl: “Sure, sure. Oh! And do you have to wear anything in particular for this job?”

Me: *looks down at the pinstripe suit and matching blouse that no young woman would possibly wear unless they had to* “Yes… This.”

Girl: “What? You mean I can’t just wear like, a t-shirt and jeans?”

Me: “No.”

Girl: “Huh! Well, never mind, then!”

(She left. Not only have I never seen ANY hotel of ANY stripe that allowed its employees to wear t-shirts and jeans to work, but we are a higher-end, full-service brand!)

I just organized a garage sale for the first time in six years. I moved homes a year ago and had a baby two years ago, so I had a lot of stuff to get rid of. Hoping to reach out to as many people as possible, I posted pictures of things for sale online. While it did increase the foot traffic, it also invited the crazies.

First, I had a gentleman come and ask to look at the 1960s Schwinn bike I was selling. He told me his sister would love it for her art project, and then moved to take it from me. My husband blocked him with his arm and told him that the bike was for sale, not free. The man interjected with, “There was no price listed online!” My husband replied, “It’s a garage sale; everything is for sale.” The man left without buying the bike.

Then, we had a lady come by while it was dead, and struck up a nice enough conversation with her. She didn’t see anything that she wanted to buy, but that’s how it goes. As we were talking about moving a year ago, she shifted gears and asked, “Do you know if you’re getting into heaven?” My eyes went wide, and I looked at my husband to confirm if she really just asked that. I replied, “I hope so!” and my husband agreed. The woman dug through her purse and handed us a flyer about being saved, turning to Jesus, yada yada yada. She then left, and my husband and I confirmed that that was weird.

Next, two women came by while my husband was taking a break. They mentioned that they shopped for a local church group, creating Christmas boxes for kids, trying to keep the cost of the boxes around $5. I said that was cool, and showed them the table with the cheapest things, $1 and under. They then said that they typically try to buy things at ten cents a piece. I said I might be able to do that on some of these items. They both then turned to me and asked if I’d be willing to do that on everything in the sale. I’d get a receipt for taxes and everything. I told them no, I wouldn’t be able to do a deal like that. They pushed that it was for a church and deserving children. I told them that was nice, but anything we didn’t sell was going into a sale for a church mission trip already. They got annoyed looks on their faces, and turned and left.

Thankfully, the good customers outweighed the bad, and we got rid of a lot of our junk. But I’m glad I won’t need to have another garage sale for another six years or so.

(I am in the first day of a freshman-level college English class, where the professor is apparently required to start with the most basic grammar just to make sure every student is at the same level. I quickly learn that one of the professor’s quirks is making sure the students address him as, “Dr. [Professor],” not, “Mr. [Professor].” It doesn’t end with him correcting students who call him, “Mr. [Professor].” He then gives the following grammar example:)

Professor: “Subject, verb, object sentence: ‘I have a Ph.D.’!”

(I am getting some shampoo when I overhear the following conversation between an employee and a customer shopping for deodorant as a gift.)

Customer: “Well, he does like Old Spice.”

Employee: “We have several gift sets with Old Spice right here.”

Customer: “Oh, this has a bear on it. Why is there a bear on it?”

Employee: “It’s just their advertising. See? This one has a ship.”

Customer: “But there is a bear on it.”

Employee: “Would you like to get one of these?”

Customer: “I don’t know… There is a bear on it.”

(She walked away without buying any of them… or the bear.)

(I’m working as a traffic director at the state fair with several other people. We all have radios. I’m directing traffic along a road with a few other directors, all about a yard apart.)

Radio: “Come in, supervisor. We have a problem.”

Supervisor: “Yes, what’s the problem?”

Radio: “Um… There’s an old lady here at the tracks. She’s driving around the track and throwing plastic cups at people. She’s mad. I need backup.”

Supervisor: *stifled laughter* “I’m on my way.”

(The call ended, and my whole line was doubled over in laughter. The job was dull but calls like that made it.)