(I am nine months pregnant with my third son, and am sitting down at a Chinese restaurant. I have soup and a plate of stir-fried vegetables. Across the aisle from me is an elderly couple.)

Older Man: “Look at that girl. What a cow. Look at her, honey. Just stuffin’ her face full.”

(The older woman glances over, then looks down at her own plate.)

Older Man: “See what I mean? Someone should just take the plate away and make her walk everywhere. No one wants a woman that big. Poor thing will be single for her life at this rate.”

(The older woman sits silently and eats. By this point, I can feel tears starting, and now I don’t want to eat. But just as I think about waddling away, and thanks to what I hope are hormonal mood swings, I get angry. So I stand up and waddle over to his table.)

Me: “Yeah, real nice. See this?” *I rub my pregnant belly* “It isn’t made of food. It’s a baby. My third, actually, and I’ve been happily married for a few years as well. Anything else horrible you’d like to say about a pregnant woman you don’t know? Maybe remark on my horrible complexion, or that I can’t tie my own shoes?”

(The old man shakes his head and looks deflated. The older woman is suddenly angry.)

Older Woman: “See, this is why I hate eating with you! Why do you got to be that old grumpy a** who keeps doing this? Apologize to her now! Poor thing!”

Older Man: “I’m sorry. It was rude of me.”

Me: “It definitely was. I’ll be leaving now.”

Older Woman: “You’re such an a**! You are so lucky I said ‘yes’ 33 years ago, or someone would have killed you by now!”

(At my job we keep a large rack of hot sauces for our customers to use for their food, with the bottles marked with a number 1 through 10 on a scale of how hot they are. While organizing and restocking them my coworkers have the following exchange:)

Coworker #1: “Hey. So, how do they figure out how to number how hot these are?”

Coworker #2: “I think they take someone’s temperature before having the hot sauce, then take it again after.”

(I am talking to a guest who walked out of the dining room and came into the gift shop to look around.)

Me: “If you need anything or have any questions let me know.”

Guest: “Well I do have a question: are you single?”

Me: *hesitant* “Yes… Why?”

Guest: “Well, I have as son who just got a promotion and needs a girlfriend. I was wondering if you would marry him for his money, power, or love?”

Me: “I’d marry someone for love.”

Guest: “Good. I don’t want to introduce him to someone who is just after his money and power.”

Me: “Well, that’s good. Where does he work and what is his new position since he got his promotion?”

Guest: “He’s the head operator of the ’tilt-a-whirl’ at the fair!”

Me: *trying hard not to laugh* “Oh, well then, I’d marry him for his crazy amount of power!”

(I am traveling with a group from my American university for a conference, back when the Netherlands still used guilders as currency. At the time they were at about two to one dollar.)

Classmate: “Wow! Beer is so expensive here!”

Me: “Not really… they’re only three or four dollars each.”

Classmate: “But it says beer is $6!”

Me: “No, it’s 6 guilders. That’s the currency here. Remember when we changed our money?”

Classmate: “No. That must be in dollars.”

Me: “Why would it be in dollars? We’re in Amsterdam!”

Classmate: “But stuff was in dollars at the airport. And I don’t get why [American beer] is so expensive and the [Dutch beer] costs less.

Me: “Because they have to import the [American beer] from America.”

Classmate: “But it isn’t an import!”

Me: “We’re in AMSTERDAM now!”

(By now, the guy behind the bar is doing an increasingly bad job of hiding his laughter.)

Classmate: “Oh, my god. How will I order? I don’t speak… uh…”

Me: “—Dutch? I’ll do it. You go sit down.”

Me: *in English, to the bartender* “Two beers, please.”

(The bartender gets me the beers, but only charges me for one of them, and winks at me. I tip him well and go back to my classmate.)

Classmate: “Wow! I didn’t know you spoke the language!”

Me: “I’m a fast learner.”

(We currently have a promotion for nine pieces of chicken for $9.95. This is only available on Tuesdays. This story occurs on a Wednesday afternoon. A car pulls up to drive thru window.)

Me: “Hi. How can I help you?”

Customer: “Yes. Can I have the Tuesday special for $9.95?”

Me: “Erm… Today is Wednesday.”

Customer: *blank stare*

Me: “I can’t sell you the $9.95 deal today.”

Customer: “Why not?”

Me: “Because it’s a special only for Tuesdays. Today is Wednesday.”

Customer: “But why can’t you do it for me?”

Me: “Because we can only do it on Tuesdays. That’s why it’s called the Tuesday special. We have another deal with ten pieces and two chips, that’s $19.95 though.”

Customer: “No, that’s too expensive. I don’t get why I can’t get a Tuesday special on a Wednesday!” *drives off*