We used to live in an apartment with a balcony facing the street. There was a unit next to us, so their balcony was a few feet down from us along the side of the building, facing the same direction. It was a busy street and that was our only “outside area,” so my boyfriend and I liked to spend time out there, and we noticed that our neighbor had some odd habits.

He would put up tall pieces of plywood on the side of his balcony when he was out there, facing toward our balcony only, not toward the street. Despite this, it was easy to see that he would sit outdoors, shirtless and only wearing tighty-whity style underwear, and rub his bald head while watching the foot traffic and cars below.

It seemed harmless enough — we could always see his hands, at least — so what did we care? 

Our big ginger cat loved going out on the balcony and would sit for hours on the railing and watch the birds. One day, I had the sliding door open to let the cat in and out as he pleased and not play butler every five minutes. I saw that the cat was sitting on my boyfriend’s grill. It was closed, but it still was probably not the most hygienic place for a giant cat. 

I poked my head through the open screen door and told him sternly, “Get your butt off of there!”

I had barely noticed that the next-door side partition was up and our neighbor must have been enjoying a head rubbing session because, the next thing I knew, there was a half-naked-and-tighty-whity blur visible in the gap between the door and the makeshift partition, diving headfirst into his apartment at my remark!

Thankfully, his apartment’s access was on the opposite side of the building and we never ran into him other than on the balcony, but we’d glimpse him in the parking lot occasionally, always in a very straight-laced banker-type suit!

When I was a graduate student at university, I had a job as a teaching assistant for a Geology 101 lab. Basically, we worked with the students to identify rocks and work with geologic maps, and we had an introduction to looking at rocks through a microscope.

Every week in one particular lab, this very attractive coed would arrive just as the bell rang to start the lab. It was obvious she had run there to make it on time, so the TAs never gave her any grief. The strange thing was that she always wore a long raincoat.

This was in Seattle, so raincoats were a common sight, as were umbrellas. The thing was, she wore the raincoat even if it was sunny outside. One day, I approached her when she asked for help and suggested she might be more comfortable if she took off her raincoat.

She smiled at me.

Student: “I might be, but nobody else would be.”

I looked confused, so she whispered:

Student: “I am a life model in the art school, and I don’t have time to get dressed after working for a class. I’m naked under here.”

To say it was difficult to maintain my concentration in that lab following that disclosure would be an understatement.

I am picking up my seven-year-old nephew from school. I ask how his day went since he looks pretty sour, and after a little pressure:

Nephew: “I was reprimanded in music class and told to write to not say swears in the classroom. It’s so unfair!”

Me: “Oh? What did you do?”

Nephew: “I was told to research and present some stuff about my favorite song, things like rhythm and style, and write what it is about, but the teacher got pissed when I sang mine. She didn’t get angry at others!”

I’m puzzled, and sort of not believing what he’s saying, but I figure it’s worth letting him tell the whole story.

Me: “Uh… but what song was it? Do you remember the lyrics?”

Nephew: “It was [Song], and I remember the lyrics! Listen: ‘Australian Aborigines lay down on the ground and, with a roar of fertility, release their c** into the Earth.’”

I freeze, a little startled by the… unusual choice of song, both because the singer it’s from is not the easiest of songwriters to understand, even for adults, because the sound is pretty atypical, and because, well, the lyrics aren’t the most appropriate. I stop close by his home, trying to keep my poker face.

Me: “Do you actually understand what that stanza is saying?”

Nephew: “Yeah! Aboriginal people sometimes lay belly-down on the ground, and then they spray the boys’ seed of life into the Earth.”

Me: “But you know what that seed of life is?”

Nephew: “No… Actually, do you know?”

I pretended to not know, as I wasn’t exactly thrilled by the prospect of explaining ejaculation like that, but I did get to talk with his dad. Apparently, his father — my brother — and his wife had decided to do away with parental control on media as soon as he started grade school… even if it meant having some very awkward talks with teachers about the child’s language and tastes.

I work at a grab-and-go pizza place. Two guys come up around midnight, obviously having a good time. The first guy points to his friend.

Guy #1: “My pimp daddy is paying for my slice.”

Me: “All right. That will be [total].”

Guy #2: *Laughing* “She didn’t even blink!“

Me: “I’ve worked here for four years, through every holiday and sport event.”

Guy #1: “Fair enough.”

Two of my coworkers are checking and bagging respectively; the bagger, given the global health crisis, is wearing a mask with “SPACEBALLS: THE FACE MASK” in large lettering. A customer comes up through the line and begins unloading her groceries onto the belt. My coworker on the register greets her and asks if she’d like any paper bags. 

The customer, looking right at the bagger and his facemask, says: 

Customer: “Oh, yes, please! I forgot my balls at home.” 

Cue a beat of silence… after which everyone present bursts into laughter.

Customer: “Yes, I would like some bags so I can get my groceries home, seeing as how I can never come back here again now!”