(A delivery driver arrives at our fairly small office, and I’m the one who was free to go to help bring in the shipment.)
Delivery Driver: “So what’s in all these boxes anyway?”
(As he asks, he grabs the first box and SLAMS it down on the tailgate of the truck.)
Me: “…that would be light bulbs.”
Delivery Driver: “…oh.”
(Luckily for both of us, we deal with LED lights – which are made of plastic, not glass!)
(When I was two, I was diagnosed with Celiac disease, which means that I can’t eat gluten. So I’m gluten-free, but most definitely not by choice. The most difficult part is eating out, because often employees won’t know what to do.)
Me: “Is this item gluten-free?”
Employee: “No, nothing is free.”
Me: “No, does this item have any gluten in it?”
Employee: “Gluten? What is gluten?”
Me: “Wheat, barley, rye, oats, or spelt — are any of those ingredients in this product?”
Employee: “One second.”
(He then gets out his iPhone, and I presume it’s to call someone who created the product to make sure. Instead, he goes onto Google to search up “gltin.”)
Employee: “How do you spell it?”
Me: “Uh, never mind. I’ll just have [product that in no way could have gluten].”
Related:
A Recipe For Disaster, Part 4
A Recipe For Disaster, Part 3
A Recipe For Disaster, Part 2
A Recipe For Disaster
This story is part of our Celiac Awareness Day roundup!
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(I’m riding a subway and working on a crossword puzzle one day when an elderly woman carrying a Bible sits down in the seat across from me. After a moment or two of staring at me, she points at my T-shirt, a collage of AC/DC album covers.)
Elderly Woman: “You listen to rock music, young man?”
Me: “Yes.”
(She then points at my crossword puzzle.)
Elderly Woman: “And you’re left-handed!”
Me: “So?”
Elderly Woman: “You’re going to the 12th circle of Hell, young man!”
Me: “I’ve read ‘The Divine Comedy.’ There are only nine circles, according to Dante. So apparently, I’m getting my own private home in Hell? Thanks!”
This story is part of our Subway roundup!
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(I’m taking my cat to the vet in a carrier. I don’t have a car, so I’m taking the streetcar; it’s mostly empty except for an older woman.)
Older Woman: “You go to vet?”
Me: “Yeah, it’s time for my girl’s checkup.”
Older Woman: “May I see?”
Me: “Sure.”
Older Woman: *pets my cat* “Oh, such soft fur. What dog?”
Me: “Oh, she’s not a dog. She’s a cat.”
Older Woman: “Rare to see such soft dog. Good brushing!”
Me: “Again, thank you, but she’s a cat.”
Older Woman: “And well behaved! Dogs bark!”
Cat: “Meow!”
Older Woman: “You and dog have good day!”
Me: *to my cat* “Sorry, girl, but you’re a dog today.”
(I work for a company that interacts with senior engineers in the US government. This conversation takes place with a senior engineer in a well-known space organization.)
Engineer: “That’s a funny accent you have there. Where are you from?”
Me: “Canada, sir.”
Engineer: “AH! G’DAY, MATE!”
Me: “Canadian, not Australian, sir.”
Engineer: “Well, what’s the difference?”
Me: “Well, for starters, Canada is the country right above you to the north.”
Engineer: “No, it isn’t! Russia is above us!”
Me: “And between Russia and you is Canada, sir.”
Engineer: “Liar! Sarah Palin said that she could see Russia from her backyard! Why do you think that places like New York and Boston are full of communists?! Because of the Russians being so close to them!”
Me: “Sir, I have you here as senior engineer at [Organization]. How does one become senior?”
Engineer: “You have to have worked hard in the field for 20 years.”
Me: “And to clarify, Canada is Australia, and Russia is above you?”
Engineer: “Right! I don’t see why this is so hard to understand!”
This story is part of our “Where are you from?” roundup!
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