I arrive at work to find my manager standing in front of the glass panel that’s next to my office door. He has his face pressed against the glass and his hands cupped around his eyes as if he’s trying to spy something in the darkness of the unlit interior.

Me: “Uh, good morning [Manager]?”

My manager jumps and whirls around, exhaling in relief when he sees me.

Manager: “Oh, it’s just you. Sorry. Uh, yeah, uh, I actually meant to call you and say you might want to work from home today. We’ve, um, got a bit of a situation here.”

Me: “A situation? What happened?”

My manager jerks his head back to the glass window as something audibly thumps against it. I look over and behold, there’s a bat, a legit winged sky-puppy, flying around my office, occasionally ramming into the windows as it tries fruitlessly to escape.

Manager: “It was on the reception desk when I got in. I… erm… shooed it over to your office cause it’s the closest one. I’ve called animal control, but they’re taking their d*** time getting here!”

I watch as the bat continues madly flying around my workspace, occasionally retreating behind the potted plant I keep in the corner for a rest before resuming its attempts to find a way out of its predicament. My manager continually freaks out every time it gets near the door.

Me: “How…how did it get in here? We’re on the fifth floor, in the middle of the floor, and all the doors require keycards!”

Manager: “I don’t know! I just want it gone!”

Animal control finally showed up an hour later, after most of the staff had turned up and gotten to behold the spectacle of our unexpected visitor destroying my workspace.  

Thankfully, the bat was safely caught and removed without harm (aside from my coworkers wanting pictures of it in the handler’s hands) and I got to spend the rest of the morning cleaning up my desk and scrubbing the ‘parting gift’ from what was technically my first client (at least that’s what my coworkers joked it was) off the windowsill.

My partner is big and scruffy, and our cat ADORES HIM. The cat adores him so much that any time my partner gets into bed to even have so much as a quick snooze, this cat is ON TOP OF HIM, his paws either tucked under him in a loaf, or stretched straight out, eyes shut, purring like a well-oiled (very comfortable) machine.

One evening, my partner is on his phone in bed. He glances at the cat on top of him, who has one paw hanging straight off my partner’s belly at a very particular angle.

My partner is appalled.

Partner: “Sir! SIR! Are you sieging Heil?! WE DO NOT SIEG HEIL IN THIS HOUSE, SIR! That is illegal, sir! SIR!”

Of course, I have to get in on this, too.

Me: “Sir! You are causing a scene!”

With that outburst, the cat tilts his ears the tiniest bit. He then puts his other paw out to do a relatively good Superman impression. My partner nods and pats him on the head, crisis averted.

I’m picking up a new bag of prescription cat food that my vet ordered through the pet supply store’s “automatic refill” system. When I get home, I notice the label says something different. I call the vet to confirm, and then I call by the store.

Names in the story have been changed (both human and animal).

Me: “Hey, I think there’s been a mix-up. I ordered the feline renal support, but this is canine.”

Manager: “They’re practically the same formula. Just smaller kibble for cats.”

Me: “Uh… no, they’re definitely not. Cats can’t process some of the stuff in dog food.”

Manager: “We’ve never had a problem before. Your vet probably checked the wrong box.”

Me: “I just called her, she read me the confirmation email she sent you: ‘Feline Renal Support F.'”

Manager: “Our system must’ve auto-subbed it. It happens when we’re low on stock.”

Me: “So you’re admitting you replaced medical cat food with dog food?”

Manager: “Well, technically it’s still ‘animal nutrition.'”

Me: “So is birdseed. Doesn’t mean I should feed it to a cat. Do I really need to explain how worrying this is to someone who works at a pet store?!”

Manager: “It’s just… we can’t take back opened prescription food.”

So, he knows that they f***ed up, but he just doesn’t want to deal with complicated admin?! The bag is sealed with the store’s own sticker that says ‘Filled by: Tyler.’

Me: “Then Tyler can explain why he wrote ‘dog’ on the order for a twelve-pound tabby named Princess Sprinkles.”

He glances at the label, sighs, and suddenly changes tone.

Manager: “Alright. We’ll replace it… just this once… as a courtesy.”

Me: “Oh, I appreciate the courtesy. I’m sure Princess Sprinkles will, too, once she stops barking.”

I have a client who is way too familiar for my liking. I am always polite, but cold.

He came in, remarking:

Client: *Offended.* “I saw you last weekend! You didn’t say hi back when I called out to you!”

Now, I definitely tend to avoid people when I’m on my personal time, but I’ll be polite if they approach me. I definitely did not see him.

Me: “Where did you see me?”

Client: “The dog park, walking your dog.”

I don’t advertise it, but my dog died in November. I still have his photos in my office because I love him, but he’s dead-dead.

Me: *Politely.* “It couldn’t have been me, so sorry.”

Client: *Insistent.* “It was you! You were walking your dog! Why didn’t you say hello?!”

Me: “It wasn’t me. I know it wasn’t me.”

Client: “Why are you being rude and lying? You should just apologize. Why aren’t you admitting it was you when I know it was you?”

I finally got fed up with him sniping at me. So, I just made the most uncomfortable eye contact I possibly could and said, full deadpan:

Me: “I’m telling you it couldn’t have been me because my dog is f****** dead.”

I got a little bit of a cursory meeting for cursing at a client, but my boss was laughing most of the time.

The TV is on in the background. It’s some nature documentary, and it’s showing bats looking after their babies, or pups.

Mom: “Wait, they skipped the egg part.”

Me: “What egg part?”

Mom: “They just went from the bats having no babies to having babies. When do we get to see the eggs?”

Me: “Bats don’t lay eggs, Mom. They’re not birds.”

Mom: “They got wings! They’re birds!”

Me: “Not everything with wings is a bird.”

Mom: “Yes, it is! If it’s got wings, it’s a bird. That’s the whole point of being a bird.”

Dad: “Hmm, then I’d better update my doctor to let him know I’m allergic to bird stings…”

Me: “Oh no! There’s a bird in my soup!”

Mom: “…Shut up!”