(I have just started working with a crew of cargo loaders/unloaders at the spaceport. As the new guy I have a lot to learn, but the crew seems friendly and doesn’t mind me asking a lot of questions.)

Boss: “Okay, so handle this cargo with care. It’s top quality Bantha fodder.”

Me: “Will do!”

Boss: “It’s perishable, so we’re going to make a very quick hyperspace jump. Ever heard of the Kessel Run?”

Me: “Nope. What’s that?”

Boss: “It’s the quickest way to get the cargo to the buyer. We should be able to make it in about fourteen parsecs or so.”

Me: “What?”

Boss: “That’s how long it should take.”

Me: “But… a parsec is a unit of—”

Boss: “The pilot told me he would be able to do it quicker, and get it done in twelve, but I don’t believe him.”

Me: “That’s all well and good, but in terms of time, a parsec isn’t much help because—”

Boss: “To be honest, I’d never heard of the Kessel Run until I met this pilot either, but he promised quick delivery, so I’m giving him the bonus rate.”

Me: “Bonus rate? Because he could get the job done in… less than fourteen parsecs?”

Boss: “I know! Amazing right?”

Me: “But you’d never even heard of the Ke—”

Boss: “Anyhow, less chatting, more working.”

Me: “Right.”

(I understood right there and then that my boss had been fooled by this ‘pilot,’ but I wasn’t going to argue. I eventually see the pilot and can’t help but comment.)

Me: “Hey, I overheard that you can make the Kessel Run in less than fourteen parsecs.”

Pilot: “Twelve!” *looks at me disdainfully and repeats my number with contempt* “Fourteen…”

Me: “So, I think I am the only one in this galaxy that knows that a parsec is a unit of distance, and not time.”

(The pilot looks me up and down, and then smiles.)

Pilot: “Listen, kid. When it comes to negotiating a price, you have to shoot first. And I always shoot first…” *he then looks up into the sky, as if angrily directing his words to some unseen force in the sky* “…and I always have!”

(I work at a busy spaceport on Coruscant at the ticket sales. A disgruntled customer approaches.)

Customer: “This is outrageous! Why has my flight been delayed?”

Me: *looks up his information* “Well, sir, it appears your flight to Alderaan today has been cancelled because the planet no longer exists.”

Customer: “What?! What do you mean? Where is it?!”

Me: “I apologise, sir, the notes on the system only say that a great disturbance in the Force was felt, as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced.”

Customer: “Well, that’s just typical! When will the next flight be?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but that route has now been cancelled. There will be no more new flights.”

Customer: “Unacceptable! Ugh, when did they start hiring Banthas as staff? I demand you get me on the next available flight or I will have you thrown into the nearest Sarlacc!”

Me: “Sir, please don’t call me names. And again, I apologise, but it will be impossible to–”

Customer: “Now listen here, missy! I’m a frequent flyer, and have personally done the Kessel Run more times than anyone! I know my rights, and I demand you put me on the next… available… flight!”

(My coworker, who has overheard my troublesome customer, runs over to assist.)

Coworker: “Sir, you’re in luck! A ticket has become available, as you requested, on the next available flight.”

Customer: “Finally! Someone with some sense!”

Coworker: “Quite, sir. Please take this ticket and proceed to gate 47 for your flight.”

Customer: “About right, too! I swear I will be writing to corporate about this!”

(The customer storms off in a huff and I turn to my coworker.)

Me: “But there is no more ‘next flight’ to Alderaan.”

Coworker: “I know, but imagine his face when he steps off his flight and realises I have given him a one-way ticket to Dagobah.”