(My dad and I are attending a game for our local football team and, as usual, it is more or less a sell-out. Visiting is a particularly popular London team and there are two fans behind us who seem particularly cocky about their team winning this game. During the match, things are neck and neck pretty early on, and at one stage, one of the opposing strikers is about to shoot the ball.)

Fan #1: “Oh, my God, he’s nailed it… It’s in!”

(The ball sails wide of the post.)

Fan #1: “What?! I was sure that was going in!”

(A couple of minutes later, the same player is about to shoot yet again.)

Fan #1: “Oh, my God, he’s nailed it… It’s in!”

(The ball flies over the crossbar. Later in that half, the same thing happens yet again.)

Fan #1: “HE’S NAILED IT! IT’S…”

(This time, the goalie saves it easily.)

Fan #2: “Maybe you should stop f****** saying that, you idiot! 

(One final time, right before the end of the half…)

Fan #1: “Oh, my God, he’s… 

Fan #2: “If you finish that bloody sentence, you’ll be missing your f****** teeth! 

(My team went on to win four to nothing, and those guys were very quiet for the rest of the game.)

(My brother is interning at a baseball stadium where his jobs mainly consist of doing promotional events. A mother with a young son approach him. This event occurred on a Saturday.)

Brother: “How may I help you?”

Mother: “You need to shoot off fireworks on Saturday!”

Brother: *trying to be helpful* “We usually only use the fireworks on Friday for the-”

Mother: “Well, YOU need to have fireworks on Saturday!”

Brother: “Next Friday we will be having the firework promotion again if you would like to attend.”

Mother: “My son wants fireworks! Get it done!” *storms off*

(I work security at a popular football stadium. My job is to check bags and make sure people don’t try to smuggle any weapons into the stadium. A fan is entering through my gate and I see a rather large pocket-knife clipped to his back pocket.)

Me: “Excuse me, sir, but you can’t bring that knife into the stadium.”

Fan: “Why not? I brought it in last weekend and no one seemed to care.”

Me: “Sir, I’m not going to let you into the stadium if you have a weapon with you. You can either give it to me and you will not get it back, or you can take it back to your car and keep it, but I cannot let you in. If you decide to walk into the stadium, I will have those nice state troopers behind me escort you out, but you cannot bring that in.”

Fan: “Why can’t I bring in a pocket knife?”

Me: “Well, sir, for two reasons. One: it’s for your safety and everyone else’s safety. Two: we have fifty highly-trained state troopers with high-caliber pistols that could potentially blow a hole clear through your chest. So, my question to you is, why do you need a pocket knife?”

Fan: *looking shocked about what I have just told him, he turns around* “I think I’ll just take it to my truck.”

Me: “Thank you for your cooperation, sir.”

Coworker: “Hey, [My Name]! How’s it going?”

Me: “Pretty good, but my watch broke. I’m really ticked!”

Coworker: *starts laughing*

Me: *confused… slow realization* “That… wasn’t on purpose.”

(My boyfriend got us tickets to a race. While he’s scouting out the seats, I see a stand serving spiked hot chocolate.)

Me: “Hi! One spiked hot chocolate, please!”

Server: “Coming right up!”

(She begins making the drink, and starts to make small talk.)

Server: “So, who’s your driver?”

Me: *taken aback* “Err, my boyfriend?”

(She looks at me in confusion, then laughs, realizing I thought she was asking who my designated driver was.)

Server: “No, no, sweetie. I mean for the race.”

Me: *blushing furiously* “Oh! I don’t follow NASCAR; I’m here with my boyfriend.”

Server: “That’s okay. It’s still fun to sit and talk and watch them drive. Enjoy your hot chocolate!”

Me: “Thanks!”

(For the record, my boyfriend’s driver won!)