(I’ve had the same phone number for about nine years. I have been getting calls for [Stranger] the entire time. The calls never stop, no matter how many numbers I block, so I decide to start answering them in German. My dad speaks German, and I have picked up some very simple phrases from him, but I can in no way speak German, so apologies for my German grammar mistakes. Most of the spammers hang up quickly, but this guy didn’t give up easily.)

Me: “Hallo?” *Hello?*

Caller: “Hi I’m calling for [Stranger].”

Me: “Ich liebe dich.” *I love you*

Caller: “Is [Stranger] there?”

Me: “Schlafen Sie gut!” *Sleep well!*

Caller: “I’m sorry…”

Me: *angrily* “NEIN, ich bin ein Krankenwagen!” *NO, I am an ambulance!*

Caller: “I’m sorry; I don’t speak Spanish.”

Me: *in my best thick German accent* “No… No Spanish… German.”

Caller: “Oh… uh… okay… bye..” 

(The calls haven’t stopped, but I get them about once a week instead of multiple times daily. I actually look forward to getting a spam call now!)

(I work as a manager at a clothing store where corporate has a bag check policy. Before clocking out, all employees must check out with a manager. The manager has to check inside their bags or purses if they have them and pat down any jackets they are wearing. If the employee is trying to hide merchandise, we can’t discipline them either, just confiscate it and send them on their way. It is annoying, insulting, and a complete waste of time. After about a year of this, corporate suddenly announces they are ending the bag check. I’ve just gotten off a conference call with the other stores in our district. They’ve been wailing doom and gloom that this new policy will magically turn all their employees into kleptomaniacs. I’m a little discouraged because, while I hated the policy, we are a highly-targeted area for shoplifters and I don’t want our shrinkage to go up any more than it already is. After I hang up, the resident practical joker comes into the office. He’s wearing a coat that’s three sizes too big. The pockets are stuffed full and I can see price tags and shirt sleeves dangling out. He’s also carrying a backpack that’s clearly full of jeans.)

Coworker: *with the most over-the-top shifty-eyed expression* “Hey, so, I straightened the denim wall like you asked and… um… cleaned out… um… I mean, cleaned off the T-shirt table.”

Me: *struggling not to laugh* “Oh, did you now?”

Coworker: “Yep. I’m going to clock out now and because we don’t have bag check anymore you can’t look in here. Bye!”

(Once he left, I laughed for about a minute straight. It put me in a good mood all day. It’s been a year since bag check was rescinded and our shrinkage numbers are still the same. Our customers may still be thieves, but our employees are on the up-and-up… even the practical joker.)

(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 work at an assisted living facility. I’m sitting at my desk, typing up the next day’s menu as I talk to a coworker.)

Me: “Why do I always have to put ‘with dressing’ when we have a salad? Are we forcing residents to have dressing or no salad for you?”

Coworker: “Well, what else would you put on it?”

Me: “The blood of my enemies.”

Coworker: “I thought you were vegetarian?”

Me: “I’d make an exception.”

(My sister and I are at a concert for a band named after a grain. We overhear this conversation outside as an old man drops someone, presumably his grandson, off.)

Man: “Oh, this is a concert!”

Concert Goer: “Well, duh! What did you think this was?”

Man: “When you said you needed a ride to see corn, your grandmother and I thought you were going to some weird farmer show or something.”

(I have no idea what they were expecting it to be like, but I’m certainly curious what a four-hour show about corn would have been like.)