(I am at the Department of Licensing, transferring the titles to a pickup, a trailer, a four-wheeler, and snowmobiles to my name after the passing of my grandfather. I have the “Inheritance” form filled out and a copy of the death certificate laid out on the counter.)

Worker: “Hello. What can I help you with today?”

Me: “I am here to transfer these titles after the passing of my grandfather.”

Worker: *looks at how many titles I have* “Well! Aren’t you lucky?!”

(I let her have it, instead of doing the whole, “No, I’d rather have more time with my granddad instead of his truck.”)

(I’m the idiot in this story. My husband and I are at a museum featuring an oceanic exhibit. In one hall there is a large touch tank. Being the wuss I am, I am very nervous to touch anything, but my husband convinces me to try. I pick a smooth-looking creature close to the edge of the tank, and carefully stroke it with one finger. The girl supervising the tank smiles at me.)

Worker: “Doesn’t that one feel like a rock?”

Me: *with excitement and wonder* “Yeah! It really does!”

Worker: “That’s because it is.”

(I’m a cashier, ringing out a customer. She’s buying five cases of soda. She had other items before the sodas, so math would be needed to check how much the sodas were together.)

Customer: “Those sodas were on sale, right? Five for five dollars?”

Me: “Yep! The last one rang up for free.”

Customer: “No, I should be getting them for one dollar each.”

Me: “You are, see? These four are $1.25 each and the last is free. So it still adds up to five for five.”

Customer: “I’m not getting one free. I’m getting them for one dollar each.”

Me: “It’s still five for five. Even though the register shows it weird, it still adds up. Don’t worry.”

(She was still insisting it was one dollar each and that she was not getting one free as she ran her card, then left.)

(A guest walks up to my lane with nothing but a produce bag filled as full as possible with tomatoes. My store is strange in that we sell produce by quantity, not weight.)

Me: “Hello! Do you happen to know how many tomatoes you have here?”

Customer: *shrugs* “Don’t speak good English.”

Me: “All right. One moment.”

(As I begin counting the tomatoes, the customer speaks to me in a combination of Russian and broken English. I can only make out one phrase repeated multiple times.)

Customer: “Sister big boss.”

Me: “So, twenty-one tomatoes. Your total is [price].”

(I soon found out he was a regular, always getting a bag filled to the brim with produce — usually tomatoes, but occasionally bananas — and always talking about his big boss sister.)

My newly-pregnant sister-in-law and my grandfather are both doctors. Over lunch, they were discussing the stereotype of doctors making the worst patients. They both admitted they’re bad at making appointments for yearly check-ups and the like.

My brother spoke up, pointing to my sister-in-law’s baby bump, “Yeah, look what I had to do to get her to see a doctor!”