(One morning, one of my fellow teachers comes into the office, starts rifling through her papers in her bag, and lets out a heavy sigh.)

Teacher: “I’m not sure how I’m going to explain this to my students.”

Me: “Explain what?”

Teacher: “You know that squid dissection lab?”

Me: “Not really?”

Teacher: “They dissect little market squid. I have them dissect out the squid’s ink sac and use it to sign their names.”

Me: *laughing* “That’s hilarious! Does it work?”

Teacher: “Oh, yeah! And it smells. Unfortunately. You won’t believe this, but my dog ate the labs.”

Me: “Wait, what? All of them?”

Teacher: “Yup. Or at least enough that I can’t grade them.”

(She sighs.)

Teacher: “Screw it. They’re all getting full credit.” *chuckles* “And at least they’ll get a laugh out of it!”

(When I am a kid, my family — parents, two brothers, and me — live in an apartment. One night, we have some family friends over. The adults are in the dining room laughing and talking while the kids are all in the bedroom goofing around. From the dining room, it is a straight shot back to the bedroom, so the door is opened and the adults can mostly see everything. We have a bunk bed that one of my brothers and I share and a toddler bed for our little brother. We also have those pop-up parachute-fabric tents that you can create mazes out of. My brother decides the best thing in the world would be to flip one of the tents on its roof and jump off the top bunk into it in his stocking feet. What the adults hear:)

Brother: “Watch this!”

(They hear the bed creak, followed by a thump as he hits the ground. Then, silence.)

Me: “Um, maybe you should go show that to Mom.”

(Mom, whose back is currently to the bedroom, glances at the family friend.)

Mom: “Do I want to know?”

(My brother went running down the hall to tell her all about it. He’d ended up smacking his face on the metal on our little brother’s toddler bed and given himself a bloody nose. All in all, not the worst injury he’s had. He probably wouldn’t have had as much issue if he hadn’t decided to jump into the tent with his socks still on.)

(I work at a major cell phone retailer. We get a lot of prepaid customers that bring their own devices as we are right in front of the mall’s drop-off point for shuttles from the nearby airport. A gentleman in his 80s with a walker comes in.)

Me: “Welcome to [Store]. How can I help you today?”

Customer: “I need a prepaid account for this phone my daughter bought me.”

Me: “Great. I can help you with that. Which plan would you like?” *goes over available plans*

Customer: “I’ll take plan B.”

Me: “Okay, no problem. I’d be happy to help you with that. Before I set it up, I need to ask if the device is unlocked, because if for some reason the phone does not work on the network, I cannot refund the cost of the service for any reason and I cannot test the device beforehand.”

Customer: “Oh, no, it’s no problem. My daughter bought this phone from [Store]!”

Me: “Great. Let’s set this up. That’ll be $50.”

Customer: “Here you go.”

Me: “Sir, this phone is not activating; let me check a few things that may cause it.” *checks to see if it is reported stolen and it is* “Sir, it appears this phone is reported stolen. May I ask how you received this item?”

Customer: “I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GETTING AT! MY DAUGHTER BOUGHT THIS FROM [STORE]! FIX THIS NOW!”

Me: “Sir, as I told you before, since you provided your own device I cannot refund any service provided, as the sim card is ready to go, but your device is reported stolen so it will not work. I can happily sell you a newer and better phone for $29.99 that will work on the service, if you wish.”

Customer: “You’re just trying to steal my money! I’m not afraid to die, you see! You’re stealing from me and I’ll take you out! I’M NOT AFRAID TO DIE!”

Me: “Sir, all I can do is offer you a solution. Please stop yelling in my store.” *while considering how hard it would be justifying hitting an eighty-year-old man, whether he threatened me or not*

Customer: “I’M NOT AFRAID TO DIE, YOU MOTHERF****** [SLUR]! YOU GET A MANAGER NOW.”

Me: *as my managers are small women and I don’t want to risk them getting them involved* “I can tell you now that they will say the same thing, but with the way you are acting, I will not get one until you calm down.”

Customer: “F*** YOU! YOU NEED TO FIX THIS RIGHT NOW!”

Me: “Sir, where did your daughter buy this phone?”

Customer: “OFF AMAZON, YOU MORON! NOW, REPLACE MY PHONE FOR FREE THIS MINUTE OR I’M NOT AFRAID TO DIE OVER THIS!”

Me: “Your daughter bought this phone from someone whole stole it and put it on Amazon. We don’t sell phones on Amazon and we aren’t responsible for your daughter’s stupidity. If you want to threaten me again, I may take it personally.”

Customer: *finally defeated, walks out*

(I’ve loved books from a very early age, so when I was growing up it was only natural that whenever I went to a new school, I would very quickly become quite acquainted with the school librarians and their assistants. My high school librarian, an elderly woman, has a reputation for being quite strict, but has been nothing but lovely to me since the first day of school when I eagerly sought out the library to scope out the fiction section. In the second semester of my sophomore year — my 11th year of schooling for the non-Americans — I end up with a free period at the end of the day, which I choose to make into a teaching assistant period for the librarian. One day, I come in during flu season feeling a bit under the weather and I start to check in newly-returned books like I do every day.)

Me: *grimacing as I sniffle a bit but continuing work*

Librarian: “[My Name], are you feeling all right?”

Me: “Hm? Oh… I’m feeling a little sick, yeah. I’m okay, though.”

Librarian: “Oh, well, if you’re feeling sick do you want to just sit in the back today?”

(She’s told me this before on another occasion a month or so ago, but both times I felt guilty about the idea of sitting out when there’s work to be done and I’m not really feeling TERRIBLE, per se… but I have been having a pretty annoying day.)

Me: “Uh… yeah, actually. I think that’d be good.”

Librarian: “Yeah, you can sit and read in the back!”

Librarian’s Assistant: *a woman in her 40s* “Oh, yes, take it easy.”

(I grab a graphic novel off the shelf that I’d been eyeing and head to the back room. [Librarian] follows me soon after, placing a box of tissues on the back desk.)

Librarian: *opening the cupboard* “Would you like a cup of tea?”

Me: *surprised* “Oh, uh… Yes, please!”

Librarian: “Well, we have green tea, some strawberry lemonade, earl grey… What would you like dear?”

Me: *still astonished* “Earl grey is black tea, right? That sounds good.”

Librarian: “All right, then!”

(She put a mugful of water in the microwave to heat up, then gave me the tea box and made sure I knew where the honey and stirring sticks were before going back to her duties. After a few minutes, I was sipping my tea — warm as my heart was by this point — and reading the graphic novel, and I thought about all the mean things my classmates had said about [Librarian] that they would never even dare to suggest if they knew how sweet and grandmotherly she was once you really got to know her. Not only did she and [Librarian’s Assistant] care about me and my well being, but [Librarian] always thanked me for my work when I walked out the door, despite the fact that I was obligated by the school rules to show up and do all tasks asked of me! I’m pretty busy this year, but I still stop by the library to say hi to those ladies, and whenever I hear someone saying something snippy about [Librarian] in passing, I scoff to myself and think about that cup of tea.)

(This happened several years ago at the call center for a local pizza chain. We stop taking orders at 11:00 pm but most activity dies down at 10:00, so most of the employees have gone home. I’m alone, aside from the manager, and bored at 10:55 pm when I get a call.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Pizza Chain]. My name is [My Name]. What can I get for you today?”

Customer: “Hi, [My Name]. So, we have a bet going.”

Me: “Um, okay.”

Customer: “Can you spell ‘pterodactyl’?”

Me: “Yes? P-T-E-R-O—“

Customer: “Thanks.” *yelling* “She got it! I knew [Pizza Chain] could spell.” *to me* “Thanks again.”

Me: *laughing* “You’re welcome. Have a great night.”