I put my foot in my mouth at work today. I had a customer returning a bra.

Me: “I don’t really know about bras. I once went into a [Lingerie Store] and asked if their wireless bras came with a data plan.”

She sort of laughed and said:

Customer: “Maybe.”

I thought about it for a second.

Me: “You know, these days, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

I then added, as if it was the best idea ever:

Me: “They could call it The Hotspot!”

I immediately facepalmed.

Me: “Sorry.”

The customer started giggling hysterically.

Customer: “Why aren’t you in marketing?”

Me: “I don’t know.”

I was already warned by the hosts that I had an annoying cornball at my table when he wrote his name down on the waitlist as “Hugh Jazz” and asked them to repeatedly call it out when his table was ready. I’m in the weeds but can handle getting triple-sat. The first two tables are chill, expedient, and flawless.

Then, I reach the “hero” of our story. He has a female companion with him; I don’t know how he landed a date.

Me: “Hi, can I get you anything to drink?”

Customer: *With a dumb grin* “I don’t know. Can you?”

I groan hard on the inside.

Me: “Yep, it’s my job. Couple coffees?”

Customer’s Date: “Sure!”

Customer: “I’ll have a non-decaf!”

Me: “So… two regular coffees?”

Customer: “Yes!” *To his date* “This guy’s sharp!”

I’m just not in the mood, and I bail to go fetch the coffees. I have a feeling this guy must have murals of “Marmaduke” and “Garfield” comics lining his walls.

I drop off the coffees on the table and his date asks me for creamer. I point at the caddy on the table.

Me: “We have half-and-half right here.”

Customer: “Then I’ll have a whole!”

Me: *A bit perplexed* “Whole milk?”

Customer: “Suuuuure.”

I am just not getting a good read on this guy, but I am getting annoyed. I turn around to take care of other tables but eventually work my way to the kitchen walk-in and grab a small pitcher of whole milk.

I come back to the table, and the guy has already dumped a few creamers into his coffee.

Me: “Uh, did you ask for milk?”

Customer: “Already got it. A half and a half make a whole!”

He starts cackling. For the record, his date is not reacting or laughing at anything, either.

I pretty much lose it and break character.

Me: “No, bud, that is just awful. I’ve got a million things to do. You can’t just be wasting my time.”

He clammed up and apologized, and he was quiet for the rest of the evening. Sometimes it’s the small victories.

For the record, I don’t have anything against people trying to be funny. I know they mean good cheer, but at least rehearse in front of an audience at the local dive’s open mic night to find out how awful your material is instead of holding employees hostage who don’t have a choice.

Someone once put up a nameplate in our engineering office:

Nameplate: “Herdaing Katz, engineering manager.”

I have no idea if it was an actual person or not. I was afraid to ask!

I work for a big box store as a backroom employee. The core of my job is to unload trucks and stock shelves, which means I handle a lot of product and open a lot of boxes. Unfortunately for me, I have delicate hands that seem to get cut on just about anything I touch, including deodorant and blankets. I’ve tried various gloves, and I’d rather face the paper cuts than rashes from the gloves I can find. It’s a running joke at work that I consume an excessive amount of bandaids daily.

This time, I’m helping to stock refrigerated items, and lo and behold, the edge of a package of cheese nicks me pretty good. Recounting this event later in the break room, I tell my coworkers this:

Me: “It was some sharp cheddar.”

Cue a room full of groaning.

I work in a small engineering office. It’s the last day of work before the Christmas shutdown, and I’ve taken the opportunity to try and finish filing the massive pile of paperwork on my desk that has accumulated over the past year into a bin bag. The only other person in the office is my coworker, who is doing a similar job. It’s his last day here, as he has a new job starting in the new year.

We’re chatting away, and as so often happens in any conversation that has me in it, the topic turns to puns. I’ve just told a joke and received a huge groan in response. 

Me: “Yeah, that was a bad one.”

Coworker: “By definition, all your puns are bad.”

Me: “That’s true.”

Coworker: “Have you seen the new film Jungle Cruise?”

Me: “I haven’t, but I’ve heard The Rock tells lots and lots of bad puns. You know, I never thought I would hear anyone comparing me with The Rock.”

Coworker: “I meant just the bad puns.”

Me: “No, I prefer to believe my first thought.”

Coworker: “He said in it, ‘My girlfriend was cross-eyed.’”

Me: “Let me guess: we could never see eye to eye?”

Coworker: “Yup! And he thought she was seeing someone on the side.”

Me: “A lovely example of vitreous humor.”

My coworker says nothing but gives me a blank look.

Me: “The liquid inside the eye is called Vitreous Humor.” 

Coworker: “Yeah, that went straight over my head.”

Me: “Next time, I’ll do something a little bit cornea.”

My coworker groans and collapses onto the desk.

Coworker: “You know, this is one bit of the job I’m not going to miss!”