I am getting multiple emails from a client whose project is a grainy YouTube video of a cheetah chase (wildlife documentary). The client has a specific vision for the final product:

Email #1:

Subject: “My Project – Edit it to be AWESOME!”

Client: “Hey, Chief!” *’Dear Editor’ was apparently beneath him.*

“Just sent you that cheetah chase video I was talking about. Make it EPIC! Fast cuts, dramatic music, the whole shebang!”

Email #2: *Received three hours later.*

Subject: “Re: My Project – Edit it to be AWESOME!”

Client: “Hey, Chief,

Just a quick question. Can you make the warthog FASTER? Like, way faster? It seems a little sluggish.”

Me: *Confused but polite.* “Hi, Mr. [Client]. No problem! I can adjust the video speed for the warthog. Can you give me a little more detail on how fast you’d like it?”

Client: *Reply same day.* “Chief, just make it a BEAST! Like a Mr. Twin Turbo V8 engine, running 300km per hour! It’s the only animal I’ve ever seen outrun a cheetah!”

My jaw dropped. This client clearly hadn’t noticed the cheetah catching the warthog in the original video. My next email, carefully worded, explained the limitations of reality and video editing.

The email chain devolved into a hilarious (at first), then frustrating series of demands. The client insisted on the warthog defying nature, adding sound effects of roaring engines, and even requested a CGI flamethrower attached to the warthog’s rear.

It became apparent that the client was trying to capitalize on the recent trend of viral warthog videos. He wanted his own creation to stand out, even if it meant completely disregarding the laws of nature and physics.

Finally, after countless emails and a firm (but respectful) explanation of my limitations, the client accepted a slightly sped-up warthog and a soundtrack more befitting a wildlife documentary. The saga ended with a curt:

Client: “Fine. Just send it.”

The experience left me with a newfound appreciation for clear communication and the occasional laugh at a client’s outlandish requests. But next time someone asks for a warthog with a V10 engine, I’ll politely decline and enjoy the memory of this client’s “Mr. Twin Turbo V8” masterpiece.

I am giving a tour of our safari park to a group of tourists.

Me: “We won’t see too many of the animals being active in the daytime. As it’s late October, which is our border of spring and summer, it’s quite hot and dry. They tend to be more active at night.”

Tourist: “You mean fall?”

Me: “If by fall you mean autumn, that’s March through to May in South Africa.”

Tourist: “Oh, so if it’s March back in the USA, what month is it here?”

Me: “It’s… still March. The month is the same, it’s just the seasons are reversed.”

Tourist: “So it’s March right now?”

Me: “No… it’s still late October. The date is the same, it’s just the season is different.”

The tourist nodded but I found out later he didn’t understand because he was complaining to his wife that his “expensive and new” smartphone wasn’t updating the display time automatically because “it’s March over here and the d*** thing is still saying October!”

I’m driving a group of tourists around our large safari park. We’re observing some Giraffe from a distance. One of the American tourists asks:

Tourist: “Do giraffes hunt in packs?”

Me: “They don’t hunt.”

Tourist: “Yes I know you feed them, but like, out in the wild?”

Me: “Giraffes are vegetarians.”

Tourist: “God! Even the animals have gone woke.”

I’m taking some tourists around at the large and open safari park where I work. Our tour truck has just pulled up within sight of a herd of Zebra.

Me: “…and as no two zebras have the same stripes, it’s easy for us to recognise some of them by their patterns alone.”

One of the tourists raises their hand and asks a question.

Tourist: “Do the zebra eggs come out striped as well?”

Me: “Uhm… Zebras don’t lay eggs. They’re of the Equus line of the animal kingdom, like horses.”

Tourist: *Blank stare.*

Me: “Horses don’t lay eggs. They give birth to live young… like people.”

Tourist: “Zebras give birth to people?!”

I wish I could say it was a language barrier, but the tourist was English…

I have a high wall around my house that is ringed with electrified razor wire and peppered with “Beware of the dogs!” signs. There are more signs on my front gate that read, “Do Not Enter!”, “Ring the bell to speak to the homeowner,” and, you got it, “Beware of the dogs!” Come within a foot of my gate, and you will hear the full-throated roar of my three Boerboel, South African mastiffs that are roughly the size of ponies. They’re sweeties, but they’re huge, no-nonsense boys who could rip you apart and leave no evidence. 

I wake up to hear a dreadful shrieking, and I run outside to find a man lying in my garden in the foetal position, hemmed in by my puppers.

Me: “What the f*** are you doing here? Can’t you read?”

Man: “I just wanted to—”

Me: “Wanted to what? Get torn apart? Leave a bloody mess on my porch? Why are you here?”

Man: “I came to bring the light of Jesus into this house!”

Me: “Seriously? Didn’t you read the signs?”

Man: “I knew I could enter because I wear the armor of Christ’s love!”

Me: “Right. Well then, I will leave you to pray on your terrible choices. Boys… watch!”

My dogs immediately go into a guard position as I walk back into the house.

Man: “Waaaaaaait! Don’t leave me.”

Me: “Don’t worry. Jesus will protect you or, if you move, will probably offer you tea and sympathy when you see him.”

I then went inside, called the police, and had them come trespass him from my property. I haven’t seen him since.