A while back, my brother-in-law was waiting in the checkout line when a couple nearby started arguing. They had one container of ice cream in their cart, and the woman was trying to convince her husband to go back and grab the last one. It was a slightly unusual flavor from a popular local brand, and she was in full panic-buying mode. If it’s almost gone, we have to buy it all!

To hear my brother-in-law tell it, the exchange went something like this.

Woman: “Come on! Just go grab the last one.”

Man: “But we don’t need two tubs of ice cream!”

Woman: “But there’s only one left!”

And so on and so forth. They argued back and forth until my brother-in-law got fed up listening to them. He walked over to the nearby ice cream cooler, grabbed the last tub of ice cream, and put it in his cart.

They quit arguing after that.

This is not word for word, since I don’t think I will be able to translate it properly that way, but I still tried.

I like being a little troll when I can, and those kiosks in shopping centers with overly pushy workers are usually a great way for me to do so. I usually only do this when they go overboard and get too pushy; I don’t mess with the decent ones since nobody likes their time wasted.

This kiosk was selling some sort of subscription for some makeup and body care products. As I went by, the lady almost jumped in front of me to get my attention, which worked. I couldn’t process what happened at first because she appeared in front of me so fast, and she took the time while I was processing to start her spiel about the products and subscription plan. I remember that when she finally took a breath, I told her that I was not really interested. She didn’t take it too well.

Customer: *With a slightly disgusted look* “Well, it would only benefit you!“

And with that, she grabbed me by my arm and pulled me toward the kiosk to try and sign me up for this garbage. This is when I decided that she was a perfect candidate for one of the little plans I had been coming up with in the past month. Thankfully, she even started with the exact question I needed.

She finished looking for her papers and looked at me with a disgustingly sweet smile.

Customer: “All right, I will just need you to give me your name, email address, and phone number!

Me: “…what?”

Customer: “Ugh, your name?”

Me: “I don’t want to give it to you, though.”

Customer: “But I will need you to.”

Me: “I can’t; it’s mine.”

Customer: *Confused* “Uh…”

I started to look incredibly scared in a really fake way.

Me: “I… I can’t give it to you; it’s mine. If I do that, I will have no name! What will I do then?! I will have no identity!”

The lady started to look more worried. Her smile was gone, and she was trying to respond, but she only managed to act like a fish outside of water.

I took my chance, turned around, and started fast-walking away, only to be greeted by the sight of a mall security guard staring at the situation and trying his hardest not to laugh.

I had to book it out of there faster to not burst out laughing myself. At least I made someone’s day better other than mine with my tirade.

This happens while I am working as the emergency planner for our county Health Department. I am in a training session with, among other people, six members of a local fire department. Let it be said that I love working with first responders, if only because they are very funny in a dark sort of way.

Two of them are discussing a piece of equipment.

Fire Dude #1: “Is [radio] firefighter-proof?”

Fire Dude #2: “If you can use it as a wheel chock, it’s firefighter-proof.”

The instructor is a quiet gentleman from Utah who really should have known better.

Instructor: “So, what is the single most dangerous item in your house?”

Fire Dude #2: “My wife.”

The training ends with a tabletop exercise simulating a flood in a resort town.

Instructor: “You still have over fifty people stranded at the (imaginary) hotel. What is your recommended course of action?”

Fire Dude #3: “They’re tourists. Let ’em drown.”

The best part of the training? After lunch, all of the fire dudes showed up wearing hot pink T-shirts with the breast cancer ribbon printed on them. TIGHT hot pink T-shirts.

I used to work in a pretty nice pet store that, like many others, sold betta fish. Once a week or so, we’d switch all the bettas from their old, dirty cups into clean new ones. As anyone who’s had fish or worked in a pet store can tell you, catching a slippery little fish in a three-inch-by-three-inch cube is surprisingly challenging.

One evening, I’m moving the fish into their new cups, and one is being just PARTICULARLY difficult. At this point, I think it’s only my coworker and me in the store. I’m muttering to myself as I chase the fish with the little net scoop.

Me: “Get in the net… in the net… in the net… in the— I AM YOUR GOD, FISH!”

I hear unfamiliar laughter behind me and freeze. Slowly, I turn around and see a customer I hadn’t noticed standing at the cash register, obviously amused by my little outburst. My coworker is grinning at me. I’m a little embarrassed, but I laugh.

Me: “Well, it’s true!”

Customer: “No, no, I get it. it’s just really funny!”

All bettas were eventually successfully transferred to clean cups without further incident.

I am making up bags of sliced lunchmeat for our grab-and-go area. While I am weighing and pricing them, the scale spits out a tag giving one of the bags the price of six dollars and sixty-six cents.

Me: “Look, it’s evil ham!”

Boss: “Change that!”

I take out a piece of ham to change the price. I weigh it up again. The printer on the scale promptly jams.

Me: “It’s cursed ham!”