Chips Trump Love

, , , , , , | Romantic | October 15, 2017

(My fiancé and I are eating Mexican takeout at home. He holds out his hand, and I take it.)

Fiancé: “No, I wanted chips, not your hand.”

You’re Not Regarded Highly

, , , , , | Working | October 10, 2017

(An online order to pick up in store comes in. My manager goes to check it. Traffic is slow at the moment. I am 4’11” tall.)

Manager: *sighs* “That’s a heavy piece of furniture; I’m going to need help to get it to the loading bay door.”

Me: “I can give you a hand if you like.”

Manager: “Thanks, but I need something higher.”

(Later, I’m replacing a large basket on the top shelf of one of our displays.)

Me: “[Manager], help! I’m not high enough!”

You Spelled It Spelt It

, , , , , | Working | October 9, 2017

(I’m a Canadian immigrant working for an American company, and one of my jobs includes copy editing and writing for various projects. One of the things I playfully gripe about is my boss’s insistence that I use the Americanized English, for example, “color” instead of “colour”, across projects for consistency. It’s sometimes a struggle for me, because after ten years in the US, I still instinctively use British English spelling while typing and have to manually correct myself for work. He calls to check in since I work remotely, and I’m editing a batch of text while listening to a randomized playlist. We joke around with each other a lot.)

Boss: “Now, don’t forget. None of this extra ‘U’ nonsense.”

Me: “You’re so mean. I won’t stand for this.”

Boss: “Oh, I think you will. Don’t forget to kill the extra British ‘L’ in ’fuelled,’ there.”

Me: “This oppressive American regime isn’t going to last, you know.”

Boss: “Whatever. Just do it.”

Me: “I want it on record that this is detrimental to my emotional well-being. This makes me very sad.”

(Right on cue, my playlist randomly switches over to one of the saddest, most depressing songs known to man: Gary Jules’ “Mad World”.)

Me: “There, you see?! Even the soundtrack to my life is sad because of you.”

Boss: “You’re ridiculous.”

Me: “Everything’s gone all rainy and black and white, [Boss]. The ennui, [Boss]!”

Boss: “I’m hanging up.”

Accept The Result Magma-nimously

, , , , , , | Working | September 5, 2017

I was in a manager’s meeting. All the managers were new to their positions and were trying to learn their jobs as quickly as possible. Everyone had been working themselves ragged, as we had a company-wide audit coming up. The managers all got along very well, as we all liked to have a good time to lighten the seriousness of the work. Meetings lasted for hours, and because I can’t sit still to save my life, I was sitting on the floor. The meeting was wrapping up, as there was a meeting of the board of trustees shortly after ours. Thinking we had more time than we did, a coworker shouted, “The floor is lava!” Everyone in the room jumped to get off the floor, including me, but I was stopped, because a coworker and close friend decided to use me to keep off the floor.

An argument ensued, as she cheated in “killing” me to save herself. Everyone got involved in the argument. The trustees walked in to find everyone still standing or sitting on desks, chairs, counters, and me. No one really noticed until a very cliche throat-clearing was heard. Everyone looked over to see very professionally-dressed men and women in the doorway. Before they could even ask what was going on, I explained what had happened and how my coworker cheated. I then asked them to find a final ruling, as they were technically an impartial third party. The trustees (thankfully) found the situation hilarious and agreed to deliberate. After a few moments, they decided that my coworker had cheated, and because I had been murdered, I was now immune to lava, and in some superhero-like event I became the “Lava Master.”

A few weeks later, I got a manila envelope in my mailbox. Inside was a certificate stating that I was the “Lava Master,” making me immune to lava, and an Olympic style medal stating, “I am the Lava Master.” I framed the certificate and hung it in the offices, and I wear my medal all the time. My coworker still grumbles about the unfairness of the situation, and is constantly reminded she was the murderer that gave me my powers to begin with.

What A Supersplendidiferous Valentines

, , , | England, UK | Romantic | May 10, 2016

(My sister is getting married and my girlfriend goes along to her Hen Night (Bachelorette Party), which coincidentally falls on Valentine’s Day. Since a lot of couples will be apart for Valentine’s Day my sister thinks it will be a great idea to have everyone’s partners write Valentine’s Day messages which can be read out on the night. To make it even more interesting the messages are distributed at random among everyone attending and each person takes a turn to read the messages out loud. So whilst others wrote typical Valentine’s day messages, filled with affection and gooey, squishy declarations of love, I might have decided to go for something a little different.)

Message: “To [My Girlfriend], it is Valentine’s day and as a ridiculous man I must express my feeling for you in a ridiculous way. Which is why I will now make the person reading out this message say the following words for your amusement; Wingardium Leviosa. Honorificabilitudinitatibus. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. Happy Valentine’s Day!”

(I was later told that the Maid of Honor was the one who had to read out my message and it took her five attempts to pronounce the entire list, commenting that she had had far too much wine to deal with it. My girlfriend was very amused, so mission accomplished.)

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