I work the front counter at a fried chicken place, and today I witnessed something I am never going to forget.

I’m restocking sauces when I notice a guy standing just outside the door, leaning on the wall, happily eating from one of our big takeout boxes. Along comes another customer, walking past with her head turned toward the menu boards in the window.

Without breaking stride, she reaches right into his box and takes a tender.

Guy With Box: “Uh… excuse me?”

Accidental Chicken Thief: *Freezes mid-grab, hand still hovering over the chicken.* “Oh… my God. This isn’t… free samples?”

Guy With Box: “No. This is my lunch.”

They look at each other. The thief slowly retracts her hand.

Accidental Chicken Thief: “I just tried to steal your chicken.”

Guy With Box: “Sure did.”

She turns beet red and, looking like she’ll never recover, starts power-walking away.

I swear, the guy just takes another bite of his chicken, looks at me through the window, and says:

Guy With Box: “Think I could get her arrested for assault and batter?”

Me: “I was about to give you a free top-up of your chicken, but that just ruined your chances.”

I’m in the hospital, as my unborn baby is head up and we are trying to turn him head down. The doc tries a couple of times, but I am in too much pain for it to be done without anaesthesia. Therefore, I ended up with an epidural.

However, I start feeling really unwell, and I mention this to my husband, who is sitting by my head. As I start feeling better, my husband blurts out of the blue:

Husband: “Tell me a terrible joke.” 

I tell him one, but I am still groggy and slightly out of it.

It’s probably about thirty minutes to an hour later that I feel back to normal, and I ask him:

Me: “Why did you want me to tell you a bad joke? You hate my jokes!”

Husband: “Your blood pressure dropped quite badly, and you went really white. I wanted to make sure you were coming back; I was really worried about you.”

Nice to know my bad puns are a way for my husband to keep track of my health. I got back home no worse for wear and with a now upside-down baby! Fingers crossed for the birth.

Reading this story reminded me of my own similar encounter.

Our café loves a good pun. We have little table tents with silly sayings, and today’s reads:

“You can’t buy happiness, but you can buy a latte — and that’s basically the same thing.”

It’s a slow afternoon when a woman comes in and glances at the table sign.

Customer: “Hello. I’d like to order the ‘Happiness Latte,’ please.”

I pause for a second, confused.

Me: “I’m sorry, the… Happiness Latte?”

Customer: *Pointing at the sign.* “Yes, the special one. The Happiness Latte. I saw it on your table.”

I follow her finger to the pun sign and realize what’s happening.

Me: “Oh! Actually, that’s just a saying, not a menu item. But I can definitely make you a latte! Any flavor you like.”

She frowns like I’m trying to upsell her on something shady. Her husband comes over to see what’s what.

Customer’s Husband: “Everything alright, dear?”

Customer: “They’re not selling the happiness!”

I try my best not to laugh at that particular phrasing.

Customer’s Husband: “So you’re telling me I can’t order the happiness here?”

Me: *Deadpan but friendly.* “If you could, I think I’d be out of a job by now.”

They stare at me for a moment and then break into a laugh.

Customer: “Well, alright then. I’ll take a caramel latte instead… and maybe a tiny side of happiness, if you’ve got it.”

Me: *Grabbing the cup.* “Coming right up. No extra charge for the happiness; today only.”

I’m getting groceries at the supermarket. One shelf had grapes for a low price, and they’re now sold out. As I’m looking, another customer walks up.

Customer: “Well, I had grape expectations. But it looks like they’ve sold out.”

I just had to laugh at that one.

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.”