My brother and his fiancée were getting ready for their wedding and were checking out wedding photographers. They were interviewing one of the candidates.

Photographer: “…and quality photography is such a crucial part of your wedding. Because really, when your big day is over, what else do you have left of it?”

[Brother] and [Fiancée] paused and looked at each other for a moment.

Brother: “…the marriage.“

They picked a different photographer.

In the mid-1980s, I was working as a copier repair technician. One of my customers was the local hospital, and one of their copiers was an old model with a large top. Half of it was the platen cover (where you put the original), and the other half was to access some parts, mainly the toner hopper (Xerox 3100, if you’re curious). That large surface was ideal for sorting documents before and after printing but also as a table to… remove staples and paper clips.

Now, I’m sure anybody can figure out what a staple or a paper clip can do INSIDE a machine.

So, I got a call where an old staple had found its way inside the copier and scratched the photoreceptor drum. A stapler and a staple remover were resting on top of the copier.

I showed the culprit to the nearby secretary, who immediately wrote a note advising not to staple or remove staples on the machine and moved the devices to the nearby for-purpose table, saying that she was sorry, but lots of other people used that copier and moved the stapler all the time.

This copier was under a full-service contract, so no fees for them.

About a week later, another call for the same issue, although the previous “do not” note was well visible, pinned on the wall behind the copier.

One week later: yes, another one. After the third time, it was obvious that nobody was reading the note, so I took a blank piece of paper and wrote a message on it. I figured that, in a hospital, you may have to talk “hospital language”.

Message: “This copier contains moving magnetic organs. The introduction of a microbe (e.g., a staple) can cause great trauma to vital organs, requiring the intervention of a qualified copier surgeon. Please help the copier maintain good health by avoiding spreading viruses and other microbes around it by keeping the microbe host away from it. Thank you. Signed: your local copier surgeon.”

I taped the “virus” found that day on the paper and simply left that message on the copier, under the stapler (because it was no use to put it back on its table). I did not mention the note to the secretary or anyone else.

Oddly enough, the next time I went there was not for a service call but for a scheduled maintenance, almost two months later. When I came in, I smiled. The machine did not have a stapler or stapler remover on it. They were nicely stowed on the nearby table. In place of the “do not” note was my message, handwritten and skewed, pinned on the wall behind the copier. Never got another staple-related incident after that. 

I guess you have to speak the right language.

I’m in line in a national chain of auto shop to pick up my car after leaving it for an oil change while I went shopping in the attached store. There are two clerks; one is helping a customer choose tires, and the other is behind the counter on the phone. There’s already a customer waiting, so I go behind him.

While the clerk is on the phone, it rings. He answers.

Phone Clerk: “[Store] Auto Shop, one moment, please.”

And he goes back to the first call.

When the call ends, instead of helping the customer waiting in front of him, he simply picks up the other line. [Customer Ahead Of Me] lets out a sigh, visibly upset. While on that call, we hear a page.

Page: “Auto shop, line three.”

When [Phone Clerk] ends that second call, again, he picks up the third call instead of helping the customer in front of him.

[Customer Ahead Of Me] sighs again, looks behind himself at the line forming, and after a few moments, pulls out his phone. I’m kind of looking everywhere, bored, and slowly getting p*ssed off with the wait.

The phone rings again, followed by, “One moment, please.” I sigh myself. The other clerk is still serving the customer buying tires.

As expected, the clerk picks up the next line. I’m looking down when I hear:

Customer Ahead Of Me: “I’m here to pick up my car.”

I look up. I thought the clerk was on the phone. He still is, but he looks puzzled.

Phone Clerk: “Erm… sorry?”

[Customer Ahead Of Me] approaches the counter and gets very close to the clerk, his phone up to his ear.

Customer Ahead Of Me: “I said I’m here to pick up my car. Since you seem to take phone calls as priority, I figured it was best for me to call instead of standing there, waiting for you to acknowledge my presence.”

I was called by the other clerk, who was done with his customer, so I was unable to follow the rest of the transaction with [Customer Ahead Of Me], but man, the expression on [Phone Clerk]’s face was priceless.

This story reminds me of an incident when I was riding the bus, gabbing to a friend on my phone.

Me: “…so, after my first murder trial…”

Here I noticed that decent people were staring at me and apparently forming Opinions.

I continued, slightly louder.

Me: “…that I interpreted for, in my job as a court interpreter…”

Related:
Just Catching Up With The Soprano Family

I’m sitting inside a large chain coffee shop one summer afternoon, waiting out a brief rain spell. For the most part, it’s pretty calm in there and I veg out my phone for a bit. The rain stops while I’m inside. 

Suddenly, a lady bursts in with great energy and heads to the counter. What she says is directed at the baristas but is loud enough for half the shop to hear.

Lady: “You have to go outside and see the double rainbow!”

She says with such gusto and confidence, that I at first figured she knew the baristas or was at least a regular customer… the more the conversation goes on though, the more I doubt this. The following is paraphrased, but the gist of the conversation goes like this:

Barista: *Feigning interest.* “Oh, that’s cool.”

As any normal person would expect, neither barista (there are two, though only one does most of the talking here) actually leaves their station to go outside. The woman watches them, growing concerned.

Lady: “You have to go outside and see the double rainbow!”

Brief pause. The baristas don’t answer right away this time, because they’re dealing with actual customers.

Lady: “You have to go outside and see the double rainbow!”

Barista: “Miss, we’re working. We can’t actually leave right now.”

Lady: “Well, you could take turns. One of you could go now and then the other could go in a few minutes.”

Barista: “Still, we can’t leave now.”

Lady: *Seriously growing more offended now.* “But it’s a double rainbow!”

Barista: “I’ve seen double rainbows before.”

Lady: “But this one’s so bright!”

Barista: “I’ve seen double rainbows many times before.”

The old woman stands there dumbfounded for a moment, before turning and retreating out the door, muttering “seen them many times before…”, as if not believing the barista’s claim.

No one else said anything to the baristas about the double rainbow. Later in the day, I did see that a friend had posted pics of it online… and yeah, it was a pretty nice double rainbow.