We are at a regional sales dinner. This takes place in October 2016, when a certain baseball team that hasn’t won a World Series in over 100 years is in the postseason. The sales dinner is scheduled during a “win or go home” game.

I’m sitting at the back, sneaking the occasional glance at social media to see how it’s going, when I notice that a coworker at the table in front of me is stealthily live-streaming the game on his phone, but I can’t see the score.

Me: *Quietly* “Psst, [Coworker #1].”

He doesn’t respond.

Me: *Slightly louder* “Hey, [Coworker #1]!”

A different coworker turns around.

Coworker #2: “What’s up?”

Me: “I’m just trying to check the score.”

Coworker #2: “I got you.”

[Coworker #2] nudges [Coworker #1].

Coworker #2: “[Coworker #1], turn your phone to the left.”

Coworker #1: “What? Why?”

Coworker #2: “[My Name] wants to see the score, and so do I!”

Coworker #1: “Sorry! Hang on.”

He angles his phone so all three of us can watch. My boss jabs me in the arm.

Boss: “[My Name], what are you doing?”

Me: “Um… watching the game?”

Boss: “It started?! What’s the score?”

Somehow, we got away with this right under the regional sales manager’s nose, who would’ve absolutely had a fit if he’d caught us.

I am a bartender for one of the top soccer clubs in the country. The other members of the crew and I don’t have a set spot in the stadium, and on this particular evening, I am bartending at the opponent’s side. It’s around Christmas, and all of us are wearing Christmas hats with the logo of the club on it. Then, this happens.

Me: “Hello, sir, how can I help you?”

Customer: “Why are you wearing that hat?”

Me: “Well, since it’s almost Christmas, [Club] handed out these hats to the fans and the crew.”

Customer: “Yes, but why are you wearing it here?”

Me: “I… I’m not sure what you mean, sir?”

Customer: “You’re working for us [the opponents] now, not for them. You shouldn’t wear that logo here. F****** moron.”

He then walked away without ordering anything.

For years, I’ve tried to convince my son to play golf, but despite a very promising start, he never had the interest and stopped after his crush stopped going to the golf classes. I’ve tried to drag him back a few times, but he’s been vehemently opposed, and hence, I gave up.

Ten years later, he suddenly comes out of the blue and asks if I still have his old golf clubs.

Me: *Surprised* “Yes, I do, but you won’t fit them anymore. You haven’t played since you were eleven.”

Son: “Ugh. Got a spare set I can borrow, then?”

I’m just trying to figure out what is going on.

Me: “I’ve got several.”

Son: “Great! Can we hit the range together at some point?”

Me: *Dumbstruck* “Of course. You have… had… such a wonderful swing. Let’s see if you can still remember.”

Son: “Okay. Thanks, Dad.”

I spend the next few days in a daze, wondering if I’ve stepped into some strange bizarro world. My son DOES NOT just come out of the blue and ask to play golf. He’s even gone on record saying that golf is a sport for old men like me.

And yet here we are, a week later, driving to the golf range.

Me: “So, why the sudden interest?”

Son: “[Girlfriend]’s dad. He’s a stereotypical old [slang for Caucasian] man.”

Me: “And what does that have to do with anything?”

Son: “What do all old white men do?”

Me: *Sudden realisation* “They play golf.”

Son: “They play golf.”

Me: “So that’s why you’re suddenly so interested!”

Come to think of it, he really only played golf to be with his crush. When she stopped, he stopped. It made total sense that he’d come back if a girl was involved. He didn’t play golf for a decade because none of the girls he’s liked since then — or their parents — played golf. This alone is honestly enough to get me to approve of his girlfriend.

Son: “That, and I realised that in the future, I’m going to have to deal with a lot of old men, so I might as well learn how to play this old man’s sport enough that I don’t embarrass myself.”

Me: “Don’t forget tennis, as well. That’s another thing old men like to play.”

My son swore violently in Malay.

Like golf, he has no interest in tennis. Unlike golf, he’s got no talent for tennis. Too many years of playing badminton have given him some seriously sloppy habits.

Nevertheless, I’m so happy that my son has finally come around to playing golf again. That girl is definitely a keeper.

I am a terrible student and a huge baseball fan growing up.

In sixth grade I have an English teacher who knows I’m not dumb, just hard to motivate. She privately offers me an extra credit assignment.

Teacher: “All you have to do is write a two-page essay on any topic you like at all, explaining why you like it so much.”

I straight-up turn down her offer, being content with my C grade. So, she flips it around on me and speaks to another student in the class.

Teacher: *Loudly* “Since you’re the biggest Red Sox fan in the class, you should write a two-page essay about the Red Sox and present it to the class.”

I practically jump out of my seat.

Me: “I am a way bigger Red Sox fan than he is and I should be the one writing that essay!”

 She let us both write one. She was a really good teacher.

Related:
Time To Assay The Essay Situation, Part 9
Time To Assay The Essay Situation, Part 8
Time To Assay The Essay Situation, Part 7
Time To Assay The Essay Situation, Part 6
Time To Assay The Essay Situation, Part 5

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I meet up with a friend after a busy day at work. We decide to grab a bite to eat and go to a pub just a couple of minutes away from my store. As we enter, there are signs advertising that a big football match is on tonight, starting in about an hour’s time. The pub is already full, except for the table directly beneath the (currently muted) big-screen television as you can’t really see the television from there. Neither of us is interested in football, and we are pretty sure we’ll be long gone before the match actually starts, so we take the table and place our orders.

After a while, our drinks have still not shown up. I’m quite thirsty after dealing with customers all day and eventually go to the bar to ask where the drinks are.

Barman: “I’ll bring them over.”

Another ten minutes go by and I have to chase them up again. The drinks finally arrive, but now we are waiting for our food. By this point, we have been there nearly an hour and suddenly, the television is unmuted as the buildup to the football match begins. As we are directly below it, all we can hear is the very loud audio from the television. We can’t hear each other speak.

I go to the bar.

Me: “Excuse me, but we have been waiting a long time for our food. Is it going to be ready soon?”

The barman is clearly annoyed that I am interrupting him watching the match.

Barman: “Yeah, sure.”

Minutes later, my friend’s meal arrives, but mine doesn’t. I tell my friend to begin eating and he has nearly finished by the time my meal arrives. I put a few chips into my mouth and they are cold! My meal was obviously left on the counter and forgotten about. I go to the bar once more and this time I ask for the manager.

Me: *To the manager* “Look, I really don’t want to complain. I work with the public myself—” *points at my work uniform* “—so I know what customers can be like, but we waited ages for our food and then my meal was cold. It’s inedible. I would like a new meal, please.”

The manager huffily says he will refund the entire order. After the refund has gone through…

Manager: “Do you still want your food?”

The temptation to just leave is great, but I have been waiting too long for this and as it is now free, why not?!

Me: “Yes, thank you.”

My new meal arrived, and it was warm, but by this point, the football match was at halftime and the fans in the pub were getting louder. Once I finished my meal, my friend and I left, and we haven’t returned. The pub itself closed a few months later.