(In the UK, doctor appointments are generally booked in advance, although there are a few reserved for people who phone on the day for emergencies. The phone rings.)

Me: “Good morning, medical centre.”

Patient: “I’d like to make an appointment with a doctor, please.”

Me: “Okay, if it’s urgent, I can fit you in today, or if it’s not urgent I have an appointment in two days.”

Patient: “I don’t know if it’s urgent or not.”

Me: “Okay, well, if you give me a brief idea of what it’s concerning, I can help you decide.”

Patient: “It’s private. I’ll only discuss it with a doctor.”

Me: “Okay, fair enough. So, did you need an urgent appointment or can it wait a few days?”

Patient: “I’ve told you I don’t know if it’s urgent or not!”

Me: “As I’ve said, if you give me some idea of what it’s concerning—“

Patient: *interrupting* “It’s private! I’m not telling the receptionist!”

Me: “That’s fair enough but then I need you to tell me whether or not it’s urgent.”

Patient: “How many times?! I don’t know!”

Me: “Okay, I’ll give an example. If it’s just something like a sick note–”

Patient: *interrupting again getting increasingly angry* “I don’t need a sick note!”

Me: “It was just an example to help explain the difference between urgent and non-urgent appointments. If you don’t tell me which you need, I can’t book you in.”

Patient: “Well, how am I supposed to know if it’s urgent or not if you won’t tell me?!”

(They then hung up without ever having booked an appointment, or even given their name. I guess it wasn’t that urgent after all.)

(I work in a small, four-person office for a restaurant and catering company doing events management. The owner is something of a control freak and tends to micromanage everything, which means that the busier we are, the more stressed out and neurotic he becomes. During our busiest time of the year, the holidays, it isn’t uncommon for him to be more of a hindrance than a help. On this particular day, we have several events happening around town as well as in the restaurant, one of which is a simple delivery. My coworker gets a call from someone at the company with instructions for the day. Unfortunately, the owner is crossing through the room as he rushes around, getting things ready, as she gets off the phone.)

Coworker: *to me* “Hey, who’s doing the delivery today?”

Me: “It should be [Assistant Catering Manager].”

Owner: “No, it’s [Catering Manager]. Why? What’s going on?”

Coworker: “Oh, it’s nothing. The person from [Company we will be delivering to] just called and said that when [Catering Manager] is getting close with the delivery, to call the manager and they’ll get him in the garage.”

Owner: “No no no, we’ll call her, and she can call the manager and tell them to let him in.”

Coworker: “But then, he’ll have to still call us?”

Owner: “Yes.”

Coworker: “So… you want him to call us when he’s getting close, so we can call her, and ask her to call the manager?”

Owner: “Exactly. So, you can just tell him that when he comes to get the food.”

Coworker: *long pause* “Okay.”

(We just gave the catering manager the number we had been given to call in the first place.)

(I’m taking a class on sustainability. We’re currently talking about the footprint humans leave on the earth and how damaging it is.)

Professor: “So, our current way of life would only be sustainable if we were able to inhabit 1.5 Earths.”

Student: “Is that a problem?”

Professor: *upon realizing she’s serious* “Uh, yeah, it is, actually.”

Student: “Why? I don’t see a problem.”

Professor: “Well, do you have another half-Earth lying around somewhere?”

Student: “No.”

Professor: “Well, then, there’s a problem.”

Student: “Can’t we just make another Earth?”

(I’ve heard lots of dumb things said over the years, but I think that takes the cake.)

My dad likes to share this story of when he worked in a science lab.

There were massive security protocols in place for everything, but one day, a pile of what looked like rags was left in a high-traffic area. People were basically forced to step on the rags to walk through. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to them, or be concerned that they were just lying there.

My dad saw them when he arrived for the day and was finally the one who followed protocol and called it in.

Apparently, the response was something to behold. The lab was shut down. Nobody in the entire lab facility was allowed to leave until they went through thorough decontamination; since it was a high-traffic area, basically everyone had to be considered “exposed” to… whatever it was. Their clothes and shoes were confiscated. People in Hazmat suits came, collected the rags, shut down the wing for decontamination, and left everyone sitting around for hours, unable to do anything or leave.

At the end of the day, an all-clear was given: “We’ve determined that there’s no contamination or exposure from the rags. However, if anyone develops a fungus-like infection or rash, please report it immediately.”

My dad commented, “That’s so comforting to hear.”

The entire staff got to be dragged in for a refresher on safety protocols and “why we don’t just walk through a potential contamination hazard.”

(I am updating our electronic complaints system as we received a complaint earlier in the day before I got in. I read it to myself and ask the manager on duty about it. He tells me the secure vehicle usually used to take our revenue from store to bank had an accident and was rescheduled to six am the next morning to meet the submission deadline. Said manager opened the door for the courier and kept it open until he came back. A woman walking by noticed the open door and assumed we were open.)

Manager: *blocking the door* “I’m sorry, madam, but we are closed until eight am.”

Woman: “But you have the door open.”

Manager: “I am keeping it open until a colleague leaves.”

Woman: “But the door is OPEN!”

Manager: “I’m sorry, but we’re aren’t open until eight am.”

Woman: “BUT THE DOOR IS OPEN!”

Manager: “I’m sorry, but we aren’t open until eight am. If you could please step aside, as I hear my colleague coming.”

Woman: “BUT THE DOOR—“ *stops, smiles, and steps aside for the courier* “—IS OPEN!”

Manager: *taking his chance to close the door* “Thank you for being so considerate to my colleague.”

(He locks the door and leaves. Every time he walks by he sees the same woman glaring in. It seems she stands there until opening time, at which time she storms up to the front desk, and demands to make a complaint. She is given the form by the manager, fills it in, and sprints out of the store.)

Me: “Did you read it?”

Manager: “No. I just stuck it in the basket.”

(I hand him the form.)

Manager: *looking up at me* “A complaint that she was two hours late for work because she couldn’t complain when she wanted to complain?”

(I submit the complaint with the manager’s account, and get a response back from our HR team almost immediately.)

HR: “Why did she wait? Couldn’t she have just come back later?”

(They requested we send the form over. Apparently, they framed it and hung it in their meeting room with the award for Most Ridiculous Complaint.)