I work in a restaurant, and I’m a male. I have a new female coworker who always complains about guys flirting or picking up on her. Even with the most innocent customer questions, she just assumes that they’re trying to make a move. It’s very annoying, and a lot of time she will obviously intentionally set up the situation.

While I admit that [Coworker #1] seems like she’s very attractive and “actually” probably gets hit on a lot, I have absolutely no interest. I make it a habit of staying clear of her. But of course, one day when we’re about to close…

Coworker #1: “Ugh! My mom won’t pick me up from work. I have to walk two miles home in the rain!”

I’m wiping the counters down, minding my own business, when I realize she’s speaking to me.

Me: “Oh, uh… Bummer…”

There are a few seconds of awkward silence.

Coworker #1: “I also forgot to bring a raincoat! I’m going to be soaked!”

I turn around and realize she’s staring at me, obviously waiting for me to answer. I audibly sigh, knowing where this is going.

Me: “I can give you a ride home if you’d like.”

Coworker #1: *Disgusted cringe* “Uh, yeah. Nice try, buddy. I don’t need you to drive me. I’ll be fine.”

With that, she storms into the back room. I can already hear her complaining to my [Coworker #2] that I just tried to give her a ride. [Coworker #2] has known me for a long time and knows me quite well.

Coworker #1: “He’s probably going to try to hook up with me in the car or, even worse, take me back to his place. What a pig!”

There’s silence and then very audible laughter from [Coworker #2].

Coworker #1: “What’s so funny?”

They both walk out of the back. At the perfect moment, a male “friend” of mine walks into the restaurant. He walks over to me and gives me a quick kiss, which I return.

Me: “Hey, hun!” *Turning to my coworkers* “All right, I’m out of here. See you tomorrow. Have fun walking home!”

The look on [Coworker #1]’s face was priceless.

As a middle-aged dude, I just went in for my first colonoscopy. I was not looking forward to it. The med center sent me a fairly thick instruction packet. One of the last instructions was to bring a list of all medications you’re taking and when you last took them.

At my appointment, the intake nurse went through all the usual questions like medical allergies and such. Then she said:

Intake Nurse: “Now I’m going to go through your medications. Some of this might be out of date.”

Me: “I have this list…”

Intake Nurse: *Taking the list* “We’ll still go through them, just in case.”

But then she started reading and mumbling to herself.

Intake Nurse: “Okay, and that one. And the night before last…”

And so on. She made me laugh when she finished, looked at me, and said:

Intake Nurse: “You’re the first patient I ever had who actually brought the whole list.”

This helped my stress level but also made me wonder what’s wrong with people. If you’re having a procedure that involves anesthesia, give the doctors all the information they ask for!

I have a pet cobalt lineolated parakeet or a “linnie” as fans of the species like to call them. While different from the more common budgie, they are definitely parakeets, and yes, mine has learned to talk. His voice sounds just like any budgie’s you can find in videos. He likes to make little commentaries and mish-mash lines to make his own conversation, especially if he’s relaxed and feeling conversational.

I’ve taken my linnie to the vet for a regular checkup and to have his claws trimmed. He’s healthy, with good feather condition, and the vet has no concerns. Needing to stop at a pet store, I bring him inside in his travel cage to pick up some new perches.

[Bird] is having an animated conversation, and I’m talking back to him, as animal lovers tend to do.

Me: “What do you think, [Bird]? Is this a good one?”

Bird: “Yeah!”

Me: “Okay. And this one?”

[Bird] makes a happy little trilling noise.

Me: “Sounds like approval to me!”

Bird: “Hiii!”

Me: “Hi!”

Bird: “Sexy!” *Proceeds to blow kisses*

Me: “Yes, you are!” *Returns the kisses*

Random Customer: “You are disgusting.”

Me: “Pardon me?”

Random Customer: “I said you’re disgusting! Being attracted to animals is degenerate.”

Me: *Pauses* “His brain is the size of a fingerprint. He’s just imitating words that he’s heard. The things he says, and the thing I say back, don’t actually mean anything to him.”

What I don’t say out loud: “…and clearly his brain is bigger than yours.”

Random Customer: “I think you need to leave.”

Bird: “Ha ha ha ha! Sexyyy birrrrrd!”

Random Customer: “And that creature is no better!”

[Bird] makes a sound that usually means he’s getting impatient. Yeah, that’s fair; his tolerance for running around town is much shorter than mine. If we don’t go, he’s going to give me a really angry squawking.

Me: *To the random customer* “Whatever. It’s not my fault that you’re an idiot.”

I’ve gotten the perches I need, so I go up to the registers with the random customer trailing behind me, sputtering angrily.

I put the items on the counter. The cashier can see that I’m pretending the random customer doesn’t exist. Then, she spots the carry case.

Cashier: “Oh! Who have you brought to visit us today?”

Me: “This is [Bird]. He just got a little pedicure at the vet, and now we’re just getting some perches to replace his chewed-up ones.”

I lift the carry up and the cashier can see my little linnie through the window.

Cashier: “Ooooh, he’s so beautiful!”

Bird: “Hiii!”

Cashier: “Aww! Hi there, little man!”

The random customer is making grumbly, inarticulate noises and scowling at me like they want me to catch on fire with the heat of their stare. I’m still ignoring them.

I take [Bird] out of his cage briefly.

Me: “[Bird], are you sexy?”

At the trigger word, he promptly turns his back and then looks back over his shoulder like an attractive actress giving the “come hither” glance at a romantic interest.

The cashier makes a sound that tells me her heart just melted, and I fish out a piece of chopped-up apple to give to him for performing his trick.

Bird: “Nom-nom!”

He holds the apple bit in one foot and takes tiny bites.

Cashier: “Oh, my gosh, he’s adorable!”

The random customer has gone rather quiet as I pay for the perches and finish the transaction, just chatting the usual pet-lover information. A glance tells me that the random woman has silently and stealthily slunk off.

As we’re leaving, [Bird] gives a parting shot:

Bird: “Byeee, fell!”

Well, we’re still working on “Bye, Felicia”, but close enough, methinks.

When I was in my sophomore year of high school, I took a Creative Writing class. I love writing stories, and I thought it would help me with writing different genres. It turns out it was only poetry. I was disappointed, but I still did what I was told.

After we had written several poems, we had this thing at school called the Poetry Jam. We were told to pick what we thought was our best poem and submit it. Less than a week later, my poem was returned to me with a note from the teacher in charge of the Poetry Jam.

That evening, I returned home and told my mom that I’d gotten my poem back with a note. I handed it to her and she read this note — from the TEACHER — out loud.

Note: “This is horrible. Never write poetry again.”

My mom was livid. It might not have been the best poem out there, but there is such a thing as constructive criticism versus being just an a**.

The next year, I had the same teacher for my Language Arts class. Before I even got to school, my mother was ready to get me out of that class.

Me: “It’s okay, Mom. If he’s as bad as that note he wrote, then I’ll switch. I just don’t want to go through the hassle of it right now.”

Mom: “All right. But if he says or does anything, you let me know right away!”

Me: “I will.”

I started school and had a horrible cold, so I was on a lot of cold medicine and was fighting the urge to stay awake in class. The very first assignment he gave us? Poetry. We were given a painting and told to write a poem about it. I didn’t really want to, given the note from before, and I was kind of out of it, so I just scribbled something down that didn’t even make sense.

He thought it was one of the best poems he had ever read and gave me full credit, plus extra credit for it. I just sat there, staring at this “poem”.

Me: “…Maybe he just doesn’t know good poetry?”

This happened a few years ago to a coworker of mine. The customer had a thick accent, like Russian or something. We don’t have anyone in the store who could translate for this person to explain to them about the price.

Customer: “Excuse me.”

Coworker: “Yes, ma’am, how can I help you?”

Customer: “Yesterday, the roses were buy-one-get-one-free.”

Coworker: “Yes, that’s correct.”

Customer: “But today they are $12.99 a piece.”

Coworker: “Yes.”

Customer: “No, you don’t understand. Yesterday, they were buy-one-get-one-free.”

Coworker: “Yes.”

Customer: “But today they are $12.99 a piece.”

Coworker: “Yes, that’s right.”

Customer: “No, you don’t understand. Yesterday they were buy-one-get-one-free.”

Coworker: “…Uh-huh.”

Customer: “But today they are $12.99 a piece!”

Coworker: “That’s correct.”

Customer: “No, you don’t understand—”

Coworker: “Ma’am. Yes, yesterday, they were buy-one-get-one-free. It’s a new week, so the sale is over and they are now $12.99 a piece.”

Customer: “…No, you don’t understand.”

This went on for a while. The customer did not buy any roses.