I’m working the register when a dad rolls up with a basket and a grin like he’s been saving material for this moment. His teenage daughter trails behind him, visibly exhausted by existence.

I scan the first item, a bag of oranges.

Dad: “Orange you glad we started with that?”

His daughter exhales like she’s aged a year. I scan a loaf of bread. 

Dad: “That’s the yeast I could do!”

Me: *Half-smile, half-prayer.*

I scan a bunch of bananas.

Dad: “Go ahead, split ‘em!”

Daughter: “I have never wanted to be adopted so badly.”

I scan a can of beans.

Dad: “Looking forward to eating those, it’s bean a while!”

I keep scanning. I don’t break eye contact. I will not lose. I scan frozen peas. 

Dad: “Peas and thank you!”

Daughter: “I should’ve walked home.”

I finally scan a gallon of milk. He raises an eyebrow like he’s been waiting.

Dad: “Udderly essential.”

I blink. He grins. His daughter’s soul visibly leaves her body. I finish the total and hand him the receipt. He’s about to say something:

Me: “You’ve officially hit your pun limit. Next one’s a surcharge.” 

Dad: *Without missing a beat.* “I’m officially out of stock, time to aisle-ent myself.”

I look at the daughter.

She mouths: “Help.”

It’s the kind of slow late shift where time starts stretching and working takes a lull. Two colleagues are deep into a competitive flurry of dad jokes; today’s theme has become woodworking and carpentry for some reason. They’re not even pretending to do real work anymore. Everyone around them is trapped in a sawdust storm of puns.

Colleague #1: “Started a woodworking business. It was going okay… until it splintered.”

Colleague #2: “Mine chiseled into profits before it all plane-d out.”

Colleague #1: “Oak-ay, that was decent.”

Colleague #2: “Thanks, I polished it this morning.”

Colleague #1: “Well, I cedar effort.”

Colleague #2: “Stop before you make a mahogga-mess.”

By now, nearby colleagues are audibly groaning. One guy is mouthing “make it stop” at me.

Colleague #1: “I once dated a lumberjack. She logged all our dates.”

Colleague #2: “That relationship must’ve timber-nated.”

Suddenly, their manager appears behind them, silent like a well-oiled drawer slide. She’s giving them that deadly calm look bosses reserve for office-wide nonsense.

Manager: “Are you two quite finished?”

Colleague #1: “We’re doing teamwork! Just some cross-functional jointing.”

Manager: *Exhales slowly.* “Unless you’re about to table this conversation, I’ll be forced to chair a disciplinary.”

A silence falls across the office. Then a ripple of groans.

Colleague #1: “Okay, we can end it there. That was structurally sound.”

Colleague #2: “And elegantly finished.”

Manager: *Turning away, already walking, talking over her shoulder.* “Unlike those towers of unfiled invoices on your desks.”

My family and I have just finished dinner while on a road trip.

Waitress: “Can I get you guys any desserts? We do a real good pie.”

Me: “Oh, the pie sounds nice, but no cream, please.”

Waitress: “Oh, but you gotta get the cream! It’s actually illegal not to have cream with pie in Texas!”

Me: “Wait, really?”

Waitress: “It’s a matter of Texan pride! Remember the à la mode!”

There is a brief moment of silence before my wife and I break into a strained guffaw.

Me: “Okay, we have to get the pie after that!”

I couldn’t get the cream because of lactose intolerance, but the waitress got me some lactose-free alternative, so I was able to have my Alamo Pie without breaking any Texan laws!

Mid-morning, during the usual coffee rush, a man who has been staring at the menu for a minute or two marches up to the counter where I’m making lattes.

Customer: “I need to speak to whoever’s in charge of that sign out there.”

He’s referring to the chalkboard outside where we write down some coffee specials as well as some slogans and fun little puns.

Me: “Uh, that would be me. Is there a problem?”

Customer: “Yes, there is a problem! That sign is misleading! I came here specifically for an espresso yourself! And nobody knows what it is!”

Me: “Oh… sir, that’s not actually a menu item. It’s just a little pun. You know, like ‘express yourself’… but with espresso.”

He squints at me like he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying.

Customer: “Well, it’s false advertising if you ask me! You should at least put it on the menu if you’re gonna tease people with it!”

Trying to salvage the situation, I grab a menu and point out where our espressos are listed.

Me: “Sir, if you’d like, we can make you an espresso… and you’re absolutely free to express yourself while drinking it.”

He stares at me for a second, dead serious… and then, to my surprise, he chuckles.

Customer: “Fine. One espresso, double shot. And… consider me expressed.”

Related:
Has No Problem Espresso-ing Himself, Part 4
Has No Problem Espresso-ing Himself, Part 3
Has No Problem Espresso-ing Himself, Part 2
Has No Problem Espresso-ing Himself

I work in a brewery that offers tours. I am a twenty-something female and am the most experienced guide in the crew. On the very standard tour we explain how beer is made and how the company started. I am explaining parts of our filtration process when a male guest interrupts me.

Me: “Then we get to the mashing tun, where—”

Guest: “Actually, it’s a tin.”

Me: “No, it’s a tun. It’s the standard name of the vessel where the mixing of the malt and water takes place, which is called mashing.”

The guest turns to my male coworker, who is on the tour with me today as he is new and so is learning by assisting me.

Guest: “Are you training her or something? Should you correct her, or should I?”

Coworker: “Well, she’s correct. Also, she’s the one training me. She has a ‘tun‘ of information!”

My coworker’s quick pun made the rest of the group laugh and defused the situation, but that particular guest looked grumpy for the rest of the tour.