Passenger: *putting his bags into the X-ray machine* “Oh, I have pies in these…”
Me: “Is something wrong, sir?”
Passenger: “It’s just, won’t they get spoilt?”
Colleague: *sitting at the X-ray monitor* “Well, you don’t get spoilt when you receive an X-ray, do you?”
(I work at the TSA checkpoint, usually standing in front of the metal detector/scanner and helping the passengers on what to do, which includes giving instructions to take all the metal objects out of their pockets. A passenger lady is in front of the detector, and I’m listing the objects to put out:)
Me: “…including coins, keys, trinkets, lighters and cigarettes.”
Lady: “I don’t smoke, I am a decent woman!”
(After the lady is over with her check and off to the waiting zone. A female colleague, who is a smoker, pipes in:)
Female Colleague: “Apparently, that makes half of us whores here.”
(My wife and I are out to dinner at a small Italian place of which we’ve grown fond. The family at the next table orders a Chicken Vesuvio pizza. If you read the menu description, it says that they use a hot pepper aioli on the pizza, giving it a nice bit of heat and justifying the reference to Mount Vesuvius. Apparently, this is lost on the man who ordered it.)
Customer: *yelling at the waiter* “Hey! This is spicy hot! I didn’t want spicy hot pizza! Why didn’t you tell me it was spicy hot?!
(My wife and I gave each other our mutual “WTF” looks and continued with our meal as the guy continued to whine and grumble.)
(When I move to St. Petersburg and get a phone number [in the days of all land lines], the number I receive has previously been that of an electrical contractor. I receive many calls from people looking to contact them. I usually just say that they no longer have this number, and I don’t know if they are still in business, and then hang up. But late one night, nearly midnight, I get a call from what is obviously an elderly lady. I go through my usual spiel, but before I can hang up, she becomes so obviously distressed that I continue to talk with her.)
Her: “Oh, dear. I don’t know what to do.”
Me: “About what?”
Her: “None of my lights are working.” *I immediately suspect a power outage.*
Me: “So, why are you trying to call the electrical contractor?”
Her: “They did work for me last year, and I thought they could help.”
Me: “I see. Well, your area is probably just having a power outage.”
Her: “What should I do?”
(At this point I suspect she’s one of those widows that had a husband take care of everything for her, and she genuinely doesn’t know what to do.)
Me: “Can you look outside and see if anyone else has lights on?”
Her: “Yes, I can see outside. No lights anywhere.”
Me: “Almost certainly a power outage. I have a phone number for you to call. Do you have a flashlight and something to write on and with?”
Her: “Yes.”
(I then told her the local power company’s outage number [brief outages were so common that I had the number memorized], and told her that she’d get a recording asking her to leave her address and phone number. I explained that they monitored the incoming recordings, and if she was the first in her area to call, that she’d be the reason everyone in her area got their power back, because her call would be the one to let the power company know to get working on the issue. She seemed happy about that [neighborhood savior], and bid me goodnight, and hung up. She was pleasant, but she also convinced me to make sure that any wife I had [I was single at the time] would know how to deal with things like that.)
(Back in college I spent a summer living in Russia. Midway through my stay I came down with strep throat. This is the first time I’ve had it since I was a kid, when I got it yearly. My program director takes me to a clinic that specializes in treating foreigners. After diagnosing me, the doctor comes back into my room with a pile of medication, none of which I recognize. Since I take other medications, I ask him if there are drug interactions I should be aware of. He proceeds to take the paper inserts out of every box he has and read them. After a few minutes he looks up and says:)
Doctor: “I don’t know; if the reaction is bad, stop taking them?”
Me: “Great. So, if I die, I’ll stop taking them.”
(Thankfully I never had a reaction but I still have no idea what it was that he gave me. Bonus? My host mother was convinced I got sick from drinking cold beverages in the hot weather.)
