(We farm goats. Sometimes first-time nanny goats have twins, and sometimes they reject one of the twins. When this happens, we have to bottle-feed the rejected kid. The first few weeks, it’s pretty much a 24/7 proposition, but not one that’s too hard to take as kids are mobile pretty much from the get-go, and small enough to be portable. It also helps that they’re adorable. Rather than cancel a camping trip, I take a red-brown female kid trailer-camping with my family.)

Campers #1, #2, and #3: *all separate occasions* “What kind of a dog is that?”

Me: “She’s not a dog; she’s a goat. I’m bottle-raising her.”

(Reactions range from “cool!” to “that’s stupid,” and I quickly grow weary of folk who can’t tell a goat from a dog.)

Camper #4: “What kind of a dog is that?”

Me: “She’s a Chupacabra-doodle.”

(I am working a long shift at the thrift store, and have not eaten for a while. A customer approaches me with a plastic bag with some white thing inside.)

Customer: “Hi! Who is the manager now?”

Me: “Well, that would be [Manager].”

Customer: “Oh. Well, is she out on the floor?”

Me: “No, ma’am. She’s in the back. Would you like me to call her up for you?”

Customer: “No, no, that’s fine. How many people are working today?”

Me: “Three.”

Customer: “Only three?! Well, I guess you each get a box.”

(She pulled three boxes of delicious-looking caramel rolls out of her bag and walked out, after I thanked her profusely. Not all customers are horrible!)

(We are rehearsing for a performance of the play “Oz.” As a middle school, the acting is about what you would expect. I am a tech, sitting in the audience. [Student] is playing The Wicked Witch of the West.)

Teacher: “You aren’t scary enough, [Student]! When you come onstage I want tiny children crying!”

(A customer barges through our front door.)

Me: “Hi, how ca—”

Customer: “QUICK! Tell me what year it is!”

Me: “Um… 2014?”

Customer: “My machine worked!”

(He runs out the door repeating “My machine worked!”)

(My family is on vacation in South Dakota. I’m eight and my sister is seven at the time. We are going to Deadwood to see the shops and the gunfight. My mom is explaining what it should be like.)

Mom: “It’s going to be just like one of the movies your dad watches.”

Sister: “Will it be in color?”

(30 years later we still give her grief about it.)