(I work in a movie theatre. A customer approaches the kiosk.)

Me: “Hello. Can I get you anything?”

Customer: “A large popcorn, please.” *as I’m filling a box* “It’s very pretty in here. Is it always like this?”

Me: “Oh, no. Two of our managers just got engaged to each other, and seeing as it’s Pride Month, we decided to celebrate a little.”

Customer: “Oh!” *looks around* “So, this is what it’s like to be inside the Gay Agenda. It’s very colourful.”

(He then left the kiosk and walked into his screening, while I stood there shouting, asking if he still wanted his popcorn.)

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(My professor was born and raised in California, and decided to move to Texas for more experience. The university is in a small town full of hunters, farmers, and ranchers, so people know how to shoot a gun. Since he teaches Federal Government, we are on the topic of the Amendments, more into the Second Amendment.)

Professor: “I’m glad I live in Texas now. It’s because you guys are into the Second Amendment, so I know you all have a concealed firearm. So, if something happens, I’ll have free bodyguards and all I have to do is duck.”

(A group of woman out for a hen-do have just left my pub. I see them walking around the building through the windows. They spot our side entrance and come back in. They spend another hour with us until they ask to pay their tab.)

Woman: “Hey, do you know there’s a pub just around the corner that looks just like this? You should be careful, or you’ll get arrested for copying.”

Me: “Actually, this is the same building you left an hour ago. See? You left one of your balloons on the table you were sat at.”

(They all looked, screamed in shock, and then drunkenly tried to retrieve the balloon. Some of the workers thought they were probably a little too drunk, and we called for a community officer to help them get home. They left in good spirits. We found out a week later, from the same officer, that he was called for them another three times after he saw them off in a taxi. Two were bars and one was a fast food place. They weren’t troublesome, but the bars assumed, like us, that they were too drunk. They either sobered up or went home after the fast food place, as there were no more calls.)

(There’s a small gate you have to go through to reach the door to my apartment. It’s really squeaky, so I can tell when someone’s coming to the door. On this particular day, I’ve ordered pizza, and I happen to be near the door when I hear the gate. I open the door before the pizza guy knocks. Unfortunately, my face ends up right where he’s about to knock, so he knocks on my forehead.)

Pizza Guy: *going dramatically pale* “Oh, my God! I just punched you in the face! I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean—“

Me: *laughing* “It’s okay, really. It didn’t even hurt. I probably shouldn’t have opened the door before you knocked, but I could hear the gate.”

Pizza Guy: *hopefully* “So… You don’t want to speak to my manager?”

Me: “No, there’s no need for that. I know you meant to knock on the door, not my face. Do I need to sign anything for the pizza?”

Pizza Guy: “Oh! Yeah, here you go.”

(The pizza guy looked incredibly relieved that I wasn’t going to cause any trouble over it. From then on, I made sure to wait to open the door until the person knocked.)

(My British friend and I are on a road trip in the USA that started in California and wound around to Kansas before heading back. She’s been to the states before, but a lot of what’s going on around us still involves some minor cultural differences. She’s also a massive fan of the TV show “Supernatural,” which is how we ended up in Kansas to begin with. We’re stopped at a red light on a four-lane highway when she asks me a question out of the blue.)

Friend: “Are Dodges small vehicles?”

Me: *knowing that’s a question that has an ambiguous answer at best* “Why do you ask?”

Friend: “There’s a story in the fandom that the car in Supernatural was supposed to be a Dodge Charger, but they changed it to an Impala on the day of the first shoot because they couldn’t fit a dead body in the back of the Charger.”

Me: “Ah. Next lane, two cars up. That’s a Charger.” *it is, indeed, a smaller car but I don’t think it’s particularly noteworthy* “And that white thing coming at us is also a Dodge.”

(She looks across at the oncoming traffic and sees a Dodge Ram 3500 with a long box, extended cab, duallies, and a lift kit.)

Friend: “Oh.”

Me: “North American vehicles will fall anywhere between ‘can park it on the sidewalk’ and ‘built to tow a house up a mountain.’ Usually from the same brand.”

(Later, after getting back home, I’m relating this story to my mother. I get as far as telling her about the switch in vehicles before she cuts me off.)

Mom: “You can so stick a dead body in the back of a Charger! Just keep folding! Your grandmother once brought a moose home in a Gremlin, for crying out loud! Heck, given the right incentive, I could fit a body in the hatch of that Fiat we rented in Montreal, and that thing was tiny! They are showing that dead body far too much respect!”

(For the record, every single one of my relatives had the same reaction to this story. Mom’s particular spiel was just the most memorable.)