(I work in a very popular tourist attraction that has very high security, with folks having to go through a screening process to enter. We often get large foreign tour groups that can sometimes slow the process down due to not understanding directions. The outside company guide for an elderly Chinese tour group have the idea to make things easier for me by giving the instructions himself, pantomiming and repeating in Mandarin if he isn’t understood.)

Me: “They know no food, no drink?”

Guide: “Right. No food, no drink! All on the bus?”

Group: *nods*

Guide: “We will now go through security. To go fast, listen to me! We take off our metal!” *takes off watch dramatically*

Group: *take off watches and large jewelry*

Guide: “Good. Now—” *undoes belt* “—we take off our pants!”

Me: *in a panic* “You do not take off your pants!”

Guide: “I meant belt! Take off belts! Because metal! Keep the pants!”

(We then spent a minute reassuring the mortified seniors that they could, indeed, keep their pants on to go through security. Thankfully, everything went fine after that.)

(My mother used to go out to dinner once a month with a bunch of my sister’s classmates’ mothers. At the time, the kids were in middle school, so the mom group was affectionately called Middle School Moms, or MSM for short. They still met up in high school, but less and less. The group somewhat fell apart after high school. My mom and I are discussing how the group is going to be reunited soon.)

Mom: “So, Middle School Moms are back in action!”

Me: “Yeah? That’s cool! Now that you’re not middle school moms anymore, what are you calling yourselves?”

Mom: “I didn’t think about that.”

Me: “Well, everyone is in college or university now, so… College and University Moms?”

Mom: “Yeah! I like it! College and University Moms! C, U… Oh, no, no, no!”

Me: “Oh, no! I didn’t think about that! Okay, so no to that name!”

Mom: “Maybe we’ll just stick with Middle School Moms.”

I used to work in a college bookstore at a university in Texas. In addition to books and school supplies, we sold clothing and other paraphernalia with the university name on it. Naturally, we had mannequins for displaying the clothes in the store windows.

One time, we had gotten new mannequins, as the old ones were getting pretty beat up. These mannequins were fairly anatomically correct on the torso, but none of the management or staff thought anything of it until one day we were informed that a lady had come into the office screaming her head off about our “obscene” mannequins. She demanded that something be done about them and ended up writing a letter of complaint to the regional office.

I still wince when I think about the sight of my male coworker sanding the nipples off of the poor female mannequins with a power-sander.

Me: “Thanks for calling [Company]. This is [My Name]; how can I help you?”

Caller: “I’m an extremely elderly woman, and I’m having trouble placing an order on your new website.”

Me: “I’d be happy to place that order for you over the phone. Could I please get your email address to bring up your account?”

(All the customers for this particular company need to register accounts, which are linked to an email.)

Caller: “I don’t have one. I’m too old; I don’t do computers. I have my kids do that stuff for me.”

Me: “I do need to bring up your account. Is it listed under one of your kids’ emails, perhaps?”

Caller: “Well, I actually do have an email address, but I hate giving it out.”

Me: *thinking she’s afraid of scams* “I can assure you, the only thing I’ll be using it for is to locate your account. It’ll be okay to tell us, and after the order, I’ll clear my screen.”

Caller: “Well, it’s [Caller]lovesto[vulgar word for intercourse]@[email].”

Me: *spends the rest of the call struggling not to lose it laughing*

(I have been the owner of my small coffee shop for about a year when I decide to bow to customer requests to add 20-ounce drinks to the menu. The week before the change, I am spreading the news to customers as they check out. One of my regulars, a polite, retired gentleman, comes in.)

Me: “I just want to let you know that I’m adding a cup size next week!”

Customer: *glancing briefly at my less-than-ample apron front and giving me a big grin* “Well, good for you, sweetie!”

(He was out the door with his coffee before I realized what had just happened.)