My mum is the area manager of a chain of betting shops. She travels around them all making sure nothing shady is going on and everything is running smoothly. One day, we receive a panicked call from her.
“Yeah, this is going to sound nuts but can you come to get me? Someone is in the shop with a gun threatening to steal.”
At hearing this, we all freak out. For reference: guns have been illegal in Scotland for many years unless you have a specialised license. So, we make the 20-minute drive there only to find a police car and someone in an oversized onesie being escorted out screaming that he has no idea why he is being taken in.
Confused, we walk in to find out what happened. We find my mum and two other employees struggling to contain their laughter. After a few minutes, we manage to get it out. Someone came in wearing a balaclava and all black, and carrying a loaded gun. When the panic button was pressed, he ran… only to turn up a measly ten minutes later after changing clothes and ask to make a bet. By that point, the police arrived and he was escorted out immediately.
(We are watching “The Wizard Of Oz” on TV.)
Eight-Year-Old: “Mummy, they need a brain, a heart, and… what does the lion need?”
Me: “Well, think about it; if the lion is scared of everything, what does he need to feel powerful?”
Eight-Year-Old: “A sword!”
(My sister is trying to help my six-year-old nephew write a Christmas list.)
Sister: “Okay, [Nephew], what’s something that you need?”
Nephew: “A toothbrush and toothpaste?”
Sister: “I meant, what do you want for Christmas?”
Nephew: “Oh, presents.”
Sister: *laughing to herself a little* “Yes, but what presents?”
Nephew: “I don’t know. A square one, maybe?”
(My brother and I have an ugly Christmas jumper exchange every year, where we each purchase the jumper that the other must wear for Christmas dinner. The jumpers have been getting increasingly horrific and the exchange more competitive. This year I have been determined to win and have found the perfect jumper. We do the exchange, and it becomes evident my jumper is the winner. We both change into our ugly jumpers. Soon after:)
Brother: “I can’t wear this jumper for dinner.”
Me: “Oh, come on. You’re just sulking because you didn’t win. This is the deal!”
Brother: “No, seriously. I have to take it off.” *pulls his sleeve up to reveal a red rash spreading up his arm* “I’m literally allergic to the ugly!”
(Talk about a sore loser…)
(Usually, my best friend is a brilliant customer. She’s worked for years in many different aspects of customer service and knows how to be an awesome customer. The other day, however…)
Barista: “Hi! How can I help?”
Friend: “Hi! I’d like a medium extra hot, please.”
(Pause.)
Barista: *patiently* “An extra hot, what?”
Friend: *now confused* “A medium, extra hot… please?”
(Pause. The barista and I look at her, willing her to finish the sentence.)
Friend: *completely confused* “What?!”
Me: “She’d like a medium hot chocolate, extra hot, please. She likes it to be like lava.”
(The barista laughs and my friend finally gets it.)
Friend: “I never mentioned what drink, did I? Sorry! I’m an idiot.”
