I worked for a call center that serviced a direct-mail program for mass-market romance novels — you know, the kind that you usually see near supermarket checkouts. The publisher would take out ads in magazines for a free month’s subscription with three to six books, depending on the series, with a gift — most often trinket boxes or cheap glassware you might find at a dollar store. Most callers were paying invoices in those days before e-commerce was the thing it is now; very often, we’d get complaints about service or content.

A little old lady called one day asking to talk to someone about her free month of books within a certain series that included graphic sexual scenes. It was nothing illegal or kinky, just sex within the typical romance formula. I braced myself for the onslaught; I fully expected an uptight old church lady to ream me out for peddling smut. I was pleasantly surprised when she said she would like to continue her subscription.

Lady: “I’m seventy-eight years old, and every month I go to the seniors’ dance at the VFW hall. I like to take home a nice gentleman, and we read the books together and act them out.”

And she proceeded to give me, in excruciating detail, an account of her last night out where she picked up a retired fireman and what she did to his “little helmet.” And because I knew my boss would hand my tuchas to me if I laughed or showed any emotion, I was a captive audience for live granny smut.

I went home and got smashed. Granny had a better sex life than I did.

Customer: “This is disgusting! This cable is called male to female! That’s very sexual and totally inappropriate!”

Me: “Would you like me to get an adaptor so that it’s male to male?”

She gasped and rushed out of the store.

I work in a multinational European institute where the common working language is English, which is a second language for many of my colleagues. Although they all have excellent English, there are some times when you can tell they are not native speakers.

A group of us are chatting just before our weekly team meeting kicks off. I’m the only native English speaker in the group. The weather is going to be very hot this weekend, so we are discussing what we will do to cool down. One guy mentions going to the local outdoor swimming pool, which provokes this response from a female colleague.

Colleague: “I hate going to the outdoor pool. People are always teabagging me!”

Me: *Shocked* “What?!”

Nobody else seems fazed by the comment.

Colleague: “Yes, the whole time I am swimming, they are teabagging me. It really annoys me!”

Me: *Spluttering* “Uh… What? Huh?”

Colleague: “I am trying to swim in the swimming lane, and there are people teabagging me — always in my way, not swimming but staying in one place, just up and down in the swimming lane like teabags.”

She mimes dunking a teabag up and down into a cup of hot water.

Me: “We really need to have a discussion about English idioms after the meeting!”

I sold hosiery at a major department store.

Many, many times I had customers expose their naked a**es… on the sales floor… in front of everyone… to ask me:

Customer: “Can you read the tag on these and tell me what brand they are?”

You know, the tag adhered to their sweaty hindquarters.

I’m a concierge. A man angrily comes over to me accompanied by a woman.

Guest: “The credenza is too far away from the foot of the bed!”

A credenza is a small table, common in hotel rooms. He isn’t angry, like normal ”I’m pissed!’ angry; he is TOP-OF-THE- LUNGS-SCREAMING-PISSED angry.

In customer service, you don’t react to upset guests; you just ask what you can do for the guest.

Me: “What exactly is the problem? I would love to help you.”

Guest: “You can get me two more tables, or you can f*** her.” *Points to his lady friend*

Me: “Not into girls, sir, but I can get you more tables. But what exactly is the problem?”

Guest: *Surprisingly calmly* “I like to rest my a** on a table in between f***s.”

Me: “Sir, I can get housekeeping to bring you two more tables, or you can just turn your table longways. It’s four feet long. You can rest your a** up there.”

Guest: “Good idea!” *Runs off*

I saw him at checkout the next day. No weirdness. We chatted about all kinds of things, and he gave me an $80 tip.