(I work tech support for a small US-based cell phone company. A customer calls in with an issue with the phone’s clock.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Company]. This is [My Name]. How can I help you today?”

Customer: “Sometimes my phone is in military time, and sometimes it’s not.”

Me: “Oh, okay. Is there a pattern? Are there certain times it shows military time?”

Customer: “Yes, actually. It shows the regular time between like midnight and noon, but as soon as it’s one pm it goes into military time until midnight again.”

Related:
A Lack Of Military Intelligence, Part 2
A Lack Of Military Intelligence

My newly-pregnant sister-in-law and my grandfather are both doctors. Over lunch, they were discussing the stereotype of doctors making the worst patients. They both admitted they’re bad at making appointments for yearly check-ups and the like.

My brother spoke up, pointing to my sister-in-law’s baby bump, “Yeah, look what I had to do to get her to see a doctor!”

(I am on a call with a client who’s a president of sorts for a pretty big-name company. I’m walking him through the process to install a few company applications on his phone. As we’re speaking, I hear someone trying to get his attention to ask him something. After a few moments of this, the client turns to that person speaking and says, loudly I might add:)

Caller: “Shut up, will you?! I’m on the phone with someone more important than you! You’re a VP; you figure it out!”

(I had to mute the call for a moment, I was laughing so hard.)

(I am a service leader at my local grocery store. Service leaders are in charge of getting breaks done on time, handling alcohol and tobacco sales, and answering whatever questions our cashiers have. We have to ID anyone who we believe is under the age of 30 for tobacco and 45 for alcohol, and if there are multiple people in a group I need all IDs, unless it is clearly a parent/child relationship. A cashier has to call us over whenever there is alcohol. A cashier calls me over to a group of eight twenty-something kids, with nine types of beer.)

Me: “Hi, how are you all doing today?”

Customer #1: “Good!” *hands his ID to me*

Me: “Thank you! But I need everyone’s ID.”

Customer #2: “But he has his!”

Me: “I know, but in a group I need everyone’s ID.”

Customer #1: “Guys, go get your IDs.”

(The other seven customers leave, and my cashier and I cash out the rest of the order and chit-chat with the first customer. A few minutes later, four of the group comes back.)

Customer #3: “[Other Customer] had something to do, but here’s our IDs!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I have to decline the sale. There are three of you missing. And I needed everyone’s.”

([Customer #3] starts freaking out on my cashier and me, calling us b****es and w****s.)

Me: “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I will not have that language around this store.”

(He turns in a huff and tries to take a twelve-pack of beer.)

Me: “Sir, you need to put that down before I call security!”

(He pouts, but puts the beer down. The first customer pays for the rest of his groceries.)

Customer #1: “So, can I buy this six-pack?”

(I’m looking this man straight in the eye, and he is dead serious.)

Me: “No, I cannot sell that to you. Have a good day.”

(He looked so confused as he was leaving my store.)

Related:
No ID, No Idea, Part 36
No ID, No Idea, Part 35
Has ID, Still No Idea

(It’s my 18th birthday party, just after I’ve officially come out of the closet to my family. It is snowing outside, which means the rest of my family is surprised when my grandfather and step-grandmother arrive, as they NEVER go out in the snow. It soon becomes apparent why when my step-grandmother asks to speak to me in private. She tells me that she and my grandfather heard about my “decision” and she wants me to reconsider. She and I have never been even a little bit close, but I make the mistake of humoring her for over an hour. She tells me about how hard it was for her to have a lesbian daughter, and how wonderful it was when she then came back to the Mormon church.)

Step-Grandmother: “And I had to work very hard to speak frankly with my daughter about her… um… lesbozism.”

(Suddenly it felt like my soul had left my body as I contemplated the word “lesbozism” until she stopped talking. Needless to say, she didn’t convince me, and years later my friends and I still speak of “lesbozism,” and its practitioners, “lesbozoos.”)

This story is part of the misunderstood-lesbians-themed roundup!

Read the next misunderstood-lesbian-themed roundup story!

Read the misunderstood-lesbian-themed roundup!