Hammed Up That Story

, , , , , | Related | March 16, 2018

(I am a mother to a wonderfully cheerful six-year-old. Despite grasping things like numeracy and literacy very quickly, she tends to muddle them up after a little while unless they are quickly reinforced. On this day, I have promised her that we can go and see my parents a few miles away after school.)

Daughter: “Mummy, I learned a joke today from my teacher!”

Me: “Wow, really? Are you going to tell me what it is?”

Daughter: “No, I’m going to wait and tell Grandma!”

(The entire journey, she is squirming excitedly at the thought of this joke. I let her out of the car eventually, and she runs to see my mother.)

Daughter: “Grandma, I learned a joke today from my teacher!”

Grandma: “Oh, yes? What is it?”

Daughter: “What country can you put in a sandwich?”

Grandma: “Hmm… I’m not sure. What country can you put in a sandwich?”

Daughter: *with all the optimism in the world* “Ham!”

(It took us ten minutes to realise she meant Turkey.)

It Takes A Marathon Effort To Make Her Realize

, , , , , | Right | March 16, 2018

(I am volunteering at my local half-marathon race, as a marshal at a junction where the road is closed to let the runners through. The race has happened on the same Sunday for the past four years. Before the race, the organisers and local council send letters to local residents who will be affected by road closures on the morning of the race, signs are put up six weeks before the event advising people of road closures, and volunteers go out a few days before the race to put leaflets on cars along the route warning drivers that the road will be closed while the event takes place. Still, people have trouble grasping the concept. The following takes place approximately five minutes before the last of the runners has passed my location. A woman in a car comes up to the “Road Closed” sign.)

Me: “Good morning. I’m sorry, but the road is currently closed for the half-marathon. Can I help you with an alternative route?”

Woman: “No! I only live on the next road. You have to let me through.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but the road is closed by law until the last runner has passed and we have permission from the sweep car to reopen.”

Woman: “This is nonsense! There is no one on the road! I only want to go just down there. I’m not going to run anyone over!”

Me: “I’ve been informed that the last runner is five minutes away. Once they have passed, we will reopen the road.”

Woman: “I can’t wait five minutes! I have ice cream in the car! I have desserts in the car! They are all going to be ruined!

Me: “Okay, well, I can offer you two options. Either you can park your car here and walk–” *she interrupts to tell me she can’t possibly walk “all that way”* “–or, as I said, you can wait here for five minutes until we open the road.”

Woman: “NO! You must let me through!” *picks up box of ice creams and waves it at me* “I HAVE ICE CREAM IN THE CAR! I demand you give me the telephone number of whoever organised this ridiculous event. I DEMAND COMPENSATION FOR MY ICE CREAM!”

Me: “You can find contact details for them on the website. I cannot let you through until I have permission to reopen the road. There are still runners on the course, and they all have a right to run their race safely.”


(She executed a screaming three-point turn and zoomed off in the opposite direction. Lo and behold, two minutes later, the last runner came past and we were given permission to reopen the road.)

Unfiltered Story #107369

| Unfiltered | March 16, 2018

I work in the School of Modern Languages. We often collaborate with the School of Linguistics, but we’re separate departments in different buildings, about 10 minutes’ walk apart. Someone has a meeting with a linguistics researcher in her office, but has come to my department instead.

Me: Hi, so sorry about the mix up! [Researcher]’s office is in the linguistics building, so I’ll walk you over there now.
Visitor: Oh yes, she told me to meet her in linguistics, but we’d had a meeting in this building before so I thought I’d just come here instead.

What Happens When You’re Spoon-Fed Religion

, , , , | Right | March 15, 2018

(I work at a canteen inside an office building. I have served a woman who has gone to pick up the cutlery for her meal. She returns with a fork in hand.)

Woman: “This is a fork. I want a spoon.”

Me: “Spoons are right next to the forks.” *points at the table she was just stood at*

Woman: “But I want this to be a spoon.” *grabs my arm tightly* “Let’s pray.”

(She closes her eyes and starts muttering. I think it’s Hebrew, but as I have never been religious, I’m not 100% certain. She opens her eyes and glares at the fork in defeat before shouting at me:)

Woman: “YOU DIDN’T PRAY HARD ENOUGH!” *throws fork at me and leaves*

Know Where You Can Stuff Those Cancer Pipes

, , , , | Right | March 15, 2018

(Due to the sheer volume of stock we have donated to our charity shop, only a small percentage of our bric-a-brac is on display. Customers know to ask us if they want something they can’t see.)

Older Gentleman: “Do you sell pipes?”

Me: “Pipes? Copper pipes? Wind pipes? Glass pipes?”

Older Gentleman: “Yes, pipes.” *mimes a smoking pipe*

Me: “Sir, we are a cancer charity; we will not sell anything to do with smoking.”

Older Gentleman: “Yes, that was a bit of a stupid question, wasn’t it?”

(I must admit it did make me giggle throughout the day.)

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