(The deli in our store has only recently reopened, and with that has come a number of new coworkers, so we’re all just getting to know each other. With old coworkers, I’m known for my murder humor.)

New Coworker: “So, my boyfriend of five years and the father of my child was apparently cheating on me, and now he’s just going around talking trash and hitting on all the girls here in the store to annoy me.”

Me: “Just letting you know, I have a car trunk big enough to hold a body and can line it to prevent evidence or leakage.”

New Coworker: *stares then starts laughing* “Well, okay, then!”

(Fast forward a few hours and the new coworker is sharing her tale of woe with another old coworker.)

Old Coworker: *turns and points to me* “You know, if you need to get rid of someone, [My Name] has a big trunk and likes knives.”

Me: “Told ya!”

(Almost every Sunday a large family comes into the mall to eat lunch together in the food court. Five of these people frequent our restaurant. They spend a lot of money and are decently behaved, but they are always demanding, and the old man among them always likes to reach into our container of potato chips with his bare hands. We have developed methods to deal with them and keep them out of things they shouldn’t be touching for sanitary reasons, so luckily the family has become less of a dreaded Sunday chore. I’m working the cash register for this particular visit.)

Me: “Hello, I see you’re having the full salad with soup today? Anything to drink?”

Old Man’s Middle Aged Son: “No, thank you. Could you punch these coupons for me, though?” *he hands me three punch coupons, all of them with a varying number of punches, and rattles off what the rest of his family is having*

Me: “I can certainly punch these for you once the order is complete, but I’m not supposed to punch them until everything is paid for.”

Old Man’s Middle Aged Son: “What? You expect me to walk all the way to my table, and then all the way back up here to get my coupons back? That’s just stupid!”

(The coupon policy is in place mostly because sometimes people’s cards won’t go through after we punch the card, so then we have to give the punch card back to them with a free punch, basically. I know the old man, who usually pays, has never had such a problem or pays with cash. As the supervisor on duty I could probably make the exception, but the son is rude so I decide to be difficult.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but that’s just our policy.”

(The son continues to act like a spoiled child despite his age, when one of the women in the group, presumable his mother based on her age, speaks up.)

Mother: “What is he angry about?”

Me: “I can’t punch his coupons until the order is complete and paid, so he’s angry with me because he has to walk back and get his coupons.”

Mother: “Oh, for cripes sake! [Son], we can bring your d*** coupons back to the table!”

(The son walks away in a huff as the rest of his family completes their order with no problems. The old man approaches the cash register, and after I’ve repeated the order to him he hands me money.)

Old Man: “You all did a very good job. I’m sorry he behaved that way.”

Me: “That’s okay. I hope he has a better day.”

(The man ended up giving us a $10 tip, and the family, minus their rude son, still came back every Sunday)

(I have broken the screen on my phone and am calling to find a place to get it fixed. Since I live in such a small town, there isn’t anywhere I can get it done locally. I am calling on a Tuesday.)

Me: “Hello, I have a [phone] and need to get the screen replaced, and I was wondering if you could do so?”

Owner: “Sure, but I don’t have the parts to do so today, but I can order it for tomorrow.”

Me: “That’s fine. I live over an hour away, and couldn’t bring it in until Friday afternoon, if that’s all right.”

Owner: “Oh, I can definitely have the part by then. And we have time, if you would like to set up an appointment. I just need a name and phone number.”

Me: “Okay, I’m [Name] and my number is [number].”

Owner: “Can you repeat that number for me?”

Me: “Sure. It’s [number].”

Owner: “Okay, thanks. I’ll see you Friday.”

(Friday comes around and I drive to the shop.)

Me: “Hello, I talked to someone a few days ago about getting my phone fixed.”

Owner: “Yeah, you talked to me. Sorry, my supplier is out of stock for your phone, so I can’t get it replaced, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to get the part in. And I didn’t write your number down, so I couldn’t call you.”

(Due to anxiety, I don’t have a driver’s license, though I’ve been working to overcome it. This means that while my parents are away, my brother has to give me rides to work. It’s Saturday morning, and he’s dropping me off on his way to visit a friend. Suddenly, I start panicking.)

Me: “[Brother], did I turn the stove off?”

Brother: “I’m sure you did.”

Me: “But what if I didn’t? No one’s home. The house could burn down!”

Brother: “You’re being paranoid. You didn’t leave the stove on.”

Me: “Please, we have to check!”

Brother: “If we turn around, you’ll be late.” *annoyed* “Fine! I’ll go back and check after I drop you off.”

(I settle down and get to work on time. Soon after, I get a message from him, telling me that the stove was off. Relieved, I get on with the day. Lunchtime comes, and my manager takes her break. She pops into the break room, then goes into the back office. I think nothing of this, as she often goes into the office during break to talk to her new boyfriend. Ten minutes later, as I’m helping a customer, I smell something off. I run into the break room to find it full of smoke, and a smoldering lump in the microwave. After making sure the fire’s out, I calmly walk past curious customers into the back office.)

Me: “Hey, [Manager]? Just thought you should know, your food has been reduced to a carbon form.”

Manager: *looking up from her phone* “Huh?”

Me: “Your food was on fire.”

(She sprints past me. She had been so distracted by messaging her boyfriend that she set the timer to 40 minutes instead of 4. The store now reeks of smoke and burned food, and the microwave is busted. She buys me lunch, since I now can’t cook my own, and I settle into the back office to eat. I pull out my phone and call my brother.)

Brother: “What’s up?”

Me: “You know how I was freaking out about the stove being on and the house burning down?”

Brother: “Yeah?”

Me: “Well, my boss’s food just caught fire in the microwave. The store is full of smoke.”

Brother: “Oh, my God! Are you okay?”

Me: “Yep. I just wanted to let you know I am not paranoid. I just had the wrong place and the wrong time.”

(Regrettably, our local university is the main reason that county STD rates are the second-highest in the state (the highest-ranking county is home to a naval base). Outbreaks are common and rather a grim joke with local healthcare providers. The county has purchased a new emergency radio system and one of their officers has arrived to train our staff on how to use the equipment.)

Instructor: “The great thing about this system is that it is linked to over two hundred towers, state-wide. This means that if you need to, you can communicate not only throughout the county, but with other jurisdictions as well. For example; let’s say you have to set up some kind of emergency clinic at the University for… I don’t know, what’s an epidemic that the students might experience there?”

Me: *without thinking* “Probably chlamydia.”

(My boss shushed me, but our director of nursing almost fell off her chair from laughing so hard.)