I am working with a hypnotherapist to stop grinding my teeth. He is a crass-humoured, grey-bearded man about twice my age. He is Jewish and knows I am a Christian, and every so often, we have the following conversation, if you can call it that:

Therapist: “I am one of God’s chosen people.”

He then seems to expect me to be fazed by the statement. I am not. I mean, even if there was any theological disagreement, that’s not something to get fazed by. Eventually, however, he comes out with something a little different.

Therapist: “I am the Chosen One.”

Me: “You’re not the Messiah; you’re a very naughty boy!”

I work at a community mental health agency as an outpatient counselor, assessing a client’s overall emotional functioning. 

Me: “I have some questions for you today, just to check in and see how you’re doing.”

Client: “You know what? I’m sick and tired of you and your f****** questions. I’m sick of people telling me what to do. I’m not coming back to this f****** place after today.”

Me: “If you prefer not to do this now, that’s okay. You can decide not to do the assessment; I’d understand.”

Client: *sighs* “Fine, I’ll do it. Let’s get this done.”

Me: “Would you say you feel irritable always, often, sometimes, rarely, or never?”

Client: “Never. I’m doing pretty good with that.”

I maintain composure and complete the rest of the assessment.

Me: *Finishing session* “I think we’ve done enough for today. Would you like to meet next week?”

Client: “Sure, this time works because I get out of work at three.”

I’m a professional and qualified aromatherapist. I work in a local shop that specializes in selling all-natural bath and body products, as well as therapeutic quality essential oils. The customer — if you can call her that — enters the store.

Customer: “Yuck, it smells gross in here!”

Me: “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

Customer: “Seriously, how can you work here?”

Me: “I personally enjoy the scent. I find natural fragrances tend to be much nicer than those of toxic synthetics.”

I can smell the cheap perfume she’s bathed in from across the store.

Customer: “Well, I don’t like it! It’s a terrible smell!”

Me: “No one is forcing you to stay here. You came in on your own accord, and you are more than welcome to turn around and leave.”

Customer: “I will! Tell the owner this is a horrible shop!”

Me: “Our clients say otherwise, but I’ll be sure to pass your comment along. And please be sure to take your disgusting attitude and terrible perfume with you when you leave. Have a wonderful day!”

The customer’s face was priceless.

We have had a new counselor start with our agency who is one of the most socially awkward people I have ever met. She asks inappropriate questions, talks about weird topics, and is just generally odd.

Our agency has two separate locations that meet weekly for meetings. My husband works on one team and I work on the other. We are very conscious about not showing that we are together and at the max, we occasionally sit next to each other. While we don’t just come out and tell new hires we are married, most people figure it out due to us having the same last name.

The new hire is in our boss’s office when I walk by and she asks me a question.

New Hire: “Hey, [My Name], are you and [My Husband] having an affair?”

I stop and for a moment I’m unsure what to say. My boss is momentarily stunned, as well. I finally manage a response.

Me: “Uh, no. We’re actually married. To each other.”

[New Hire] thinks for a moment.

New Hire: “Oh, okay. That makes a lot more sense. I saw you sitting next to each other at the meeting.”

My boss was trying really hard not to laugh and waved me out of her office. I heard her telling [New Hire] that that was a “completely inappropriate” thing to ask.

My husband found it hysterical, as did our coworkers. I’ve been asked many times if my husband and I are together, but never like that!

(I’m a physical therapist. My next patient is reportedly frail; she’s wheelchair-bound and doesn’t leave her bed.)

Patient: “Can you teach me to do a wheelie?”

(I couldn’t help but laugh. She ended up being a fairly healthy girl, albeit with less muscle tone due to her condition. The reason she hadn’t left her bed? The nurses had put a bed alarm on her — standard procedure for someone like her — and she hated moving with an IV.

I wasn’t allowed to teach her how to do a wheelie, but I was able to teach the basic concept. Get a friend to pull you back, practice balancing for a while, and then try it on your own. Shove the wheels, hard, and have someone catch you when you fly backward. I think she’ll be just fine.)