(I go to pick up an item that is on sale, but I can’t find any of them. There is one on a display.)

Employee: “Can I help you find anything today?”

Me: “Yeah, I’m looking for the [item] that’s on sale, but I don’t see any.”

Employee: *turning away from me* “Yeah, we put all of those out; if you don’t see it we don’t have it.”

Me: “Your website said you had some in stock, but I don’t even see a shelf space for them.”

Employee: *turns back around and points to an empty spot on the shelf* “They belong there, and as I told you, we are out of them.”

Me: *examines shelf spot* “That says it’s for [different item].”

Employee: “Oh, right. We don’t sell [items].”

Me: “I find that hard to believe, since they are on your website, and you have a display [item] right here.” *points to the exact item on display*

Employee: “I don’t know what you want me to say to you.”

Me: “How about you say you’ll look for it?”

(The employee called a manager over at that point. We found the item and I got a discount.)

(My mom is from a Spanish country, and sometimes mixes up English and Spanish accidentally. She goes into a store to buy some ice. The word for ice in Spanish is “hielo,” pronounced “yellow.”)

Mom: “Excuse me, can I get some yellow?”

Clerk: “Yellow what?”

Mom: “Yellow! YEL-LOW.”

Clerk: *wrinkles nose* “Yellow… what?”

Me: *laughing*

Mom: “Why are you laughing?” *realizes* “Oh… ice!”

Me: “She means ice.”

Clerk: *suspiciously gives her some*

(Mom hasn’t lived that one down yet.)

(A customer comes up. She has dark skin, as do I.)

Customer: “I need some quarters for this.” *dumps a bunch of change in my hand*

Me: “Okay.”

(I get her quarters, give them to her, and then get the hand sanitizer and start rubbing it in. She looks up from putting the quarters in her purse.)

Customer: “Why are you doing that? Are you afraid that you’ll catch my germs?!” *scoffs* “Are you afraid of a [race]’s germs? You racists!”

(She is yelling and everyone is looking at me. I feel mortified.)

Me: “Ma’am, I’m am not racist. It was the money. The money has germs, not you!”

Customer: “Whatever! I’m not stupid and you’re being so obvious!”

Me: “Anyway, I have dark skin, too. How do you know I’m not [race], too?”

(She blinks and looks at me like she hadn’t noticed. She then grunts and turns to leave.)

Customer: “Well… Then, you’re racist against your own race! That’s the worst kind of racist!”

Me: “Have a good day, ma’am.”

I work as a medical illustrator, drawing injuries and surgeries for legal purposes — used as courtroom exhibits, mediation materials, etc. Most of the time, the cases that cross my desk are the same run-of-the-mill kinds over and over, but every once in a while, we get very interesting and challenging cases to illustrate.

My most memorable case involved a man with a tumor that had grown in almost the exact middle of his head, sort of at the very back of his throat, near the base of his skull. It had grown monstrously and required a surgery to remove it to improve quality of life. But the only way to get to it required some extreme measures, and I’ll never forget the surgeon’s notes in which he described the procedure. This is a bit gruesome, if you’re squeamish.

It required lifting away the bottom of the face from the skull and cutting the mandible — jaw bone — down the middle, then prying the jaw apart to either side. While the surgeon provided no sketches to help me visualize this, he made it clear enough when he mentioned it was commonly known as “the Predator cut.”

They also then removed half the jawbone. It was surprising to learn how they reconstruct the face afterwards; they simply carve up segments from your fibula — the small bone in your lower leg — and make a new L-shaped jaw out of it!

I worked in a cafeteria-style restaurant. The owner’s new wife would come through and say, “Hi, how are you?” You could tell she never really listened to the replies, as she would say, “That’s nice,” and continue on without even pausing.

One of my coworkers one day decided to check out if she was really listening. So, when asked, “How are you?” she replied, “I’m dying.” The owner’s wife said, “That’s nice,” and continued on her way.