Back in 2008, the Large Hadron Collider at CERN was turning on and showing up in the news. It was my mum’s first exposure to particle physics, and so, of course, she aligned herself with all the ‘end of the world’ misinformation that fed all the clickbait at the time.

Mum: “But they said it might make a black hole!”

Me: “Mum, do you know what a black hole is?”

Mum: “Well, no, but I can’t ever think of falling into any kind of hole as a good thing.”

I try my best as a layman to explain what the LHC actually does, and tell her what subatomic particles are for the first time in her life.

Mum: “But… but what happens if all the subatomic particles spill out and get everywhere?”

Me: “Mum, you’re gonna blow a gasket when you find out what you’re made of…”

A customer asks me for exterior house paint.

Me: “What are you painting?”

Customer: “My baby’s nursery.”

Me: “Then you need interior paint, preferably a low- or zero-VOC paint designed for nurseries and bedrooms.”

Customer: “No, I want exterior paint. It’s tougher.”

Me: “Exterior paint isn’t intended for use inside a home. It can contain additives and produce fumes that you shouldn’t expose a baby to.”

Customer: “Paint always smells.”

Me: “Interior paint is formulated for indoor spaces. Exterior paint is formulated to withstand weather, mold, and mildew. Those are very different requirements.”

Customer: “But the exterior kind lasts longer.”

Me: “Outside, yes. That doesn’t make it safer inside.”

Customer: “The smell will disappear after a few days.”

Me: “The smell fading doesn’t mean the paint was safe to use in an enclosed nursery.”

Customer: “I’ve used it indoors before, and it never hurt me.”

I open the can just enough for him to smell how strong the fumes are.

Me: “Do you smell that?”

Customer: “Yeah. It smells like paint.”

Me: “Exactly. Now imagine that lingering in a room with a baby.”

Customer: “You’re making a big deal out of nothing. It never did anything to me.”

Me: “Sir, the fact that you’re still asking me to sell you exterior paint for a baby’s bedroom makes me think it may have done something to you after all.”

Related:
A Brush With Stupidity

Our British family is visiting the USA for the first time. Mum, Dad, my two siblings and I enter the lift from a high floor in a very tall hotel, and make our way down. We keep stopping, and more people get on every few floors.

Every time a new person boards, Dad can’t help but convey a ‘dad joke’ to his growing captive audience.

Dad: “Did you know that in England it’s called a lift, but in America it’s called an elevator? I guess people are just raised differently.”

Cue his entire family (myself included) groaning, and the strangers smirking slightly.

Dad: “Personally, I’ve never cared for elevators. In fact, I usually take steps to avoid them.”

Brother: “Okay, Dad, you can stop now.”

Dad: “That being said, I don’t trust stairs either. They’re always up to something.”

Sister: “Help.”

Me: “How many more floors to go?”

Mum: “Thirty-five.”

Me: *Squeaks.*

Suddenly, one of the other hotel guests, who is a complete stranger to us, turns and says to my dad in an American accent:

Stranger: “Conversely, I love elevators. I get to know people on a lot of different levels.”

Brother: “Oh no… It’s spreading.”

Sister: “Let me out! I don’t wanna catch it!”

We couldn’t all spread out into the lobby fast enough. Dad and his new friend swapped socials, and they were drinking beers in the hotel bar together that night, sparing the rest of us…

I was standing in line at a major supermarket. Directly ahead of me was a woman with a little girl who looked about four. In front of them was a young mother with a boy of about three.

The boy pointed toward the display of sweets (candies).

Boy: “Can I have a chocolate bar?”

Mother: “No.”

A few moments later:

Boy: “Can I have a chocolate bar?”

Mother: “No.”

The boy promptly threw himself onto the floor and began screaming and crying.

Boy: “You’re a stupid-head!”

His mother calmly leaned over and whispered something to the woman behind her. The two mothers smiled while the boy continued his full-scale tantrum. Then, his mother took a chocolate bar from the shelf and placed it in her cart, and the boy immediately stopped crying.

The mother paid for her shopping, then turned around and handed the chocolate bar to the well-behaved little girl behind them. She looked directly at her son.

Mother: “Children who behave are rewarded, and children who throw tantrums and embarrass their mothers get nothing.”

She turned on her heel and walked away. The boy followed in stunned silence, with his jaw practically on the floor.

My dad grew up on an old farm built into the side of a valley. The surrounding fields are rented to a neighbouring farm, but during winter, they become one enormous two-hundred-metre-long hill.

One snowy day, Dad and I build a ski jump at the bottom of it.

Dad: “I have some work to do inside. Be careful while I’m gone.”

Me: “I will.”

Naturally, I decide that the first test jump should involve riding my sled from the very top of the hill.

Partway down, I worry that I am not going fast enough, so I start paddling against the snow with my foot.

Mom is washing dishes in the kitchen, which gives her a perfect view of the jump.

Mom: “Oh, no.”

She watches me hit the ramp, fly high into the air, and disappear from view.

Mom: “GO GET HIM!”

I face-plant into the snow and lose consciousness. Dad runs outside, wakes me up, and checks that I haven’t suffered a concussion or any other serious injury.

Dad: “Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?”

Me: “Yes.”

Dad: “Are you dizzy? Does your head hurt?”

Me: “Dad, get the tape measure.”

Dad: “What?”

Me: “We need to know how far I went!”

The jump measures 18.4 metres, and I estimate that I was airborne for four to six seconds.

It remains both my greatest achievement and the strongest evidence that Dad may have checked the wrong end of me for brain damage.