My parents are very close friends with a couple they met in college, even though the couple relocated to the Washington, DC area over thirty years ago. I rarely met this couple growing up due to the roughly 450-mile distance, but I ended up getting a summer internship in DC during college, and my parents and brother decided to visit me that July. [Wife] owned a catering company, and she and her husband invited us all out to dinner at a nice restaurant opened by one of her former employees.

On the way there, my dad made a joke to my brother and me.

Dad: “At some point, ask [Husband] what he does for a living and see if he’ll actually tell you, because we’ve been trying to get a straight answer for thirty years. We think he might be a spy.”

We laughed.

Mom: “No, seriously! He used to travel a lot without [Wife], and he has all this military knowledge but always says he’s not in the military. And don’t they say all the intelligent people live in Virginia, not DC? We’re dying to find out!”

I asked [Husband] about his job during dinner, as requested. He gave me some vague answer about supply chains, then said he was semi-retired now anyway, and smoothly transitioned to a new topic. We had a lovely dinner, and the couple invited us to their house a few days later for the last day of my family’s visit.

Everyone chipped in to help cook and set the table, and at one point, I was the only one in kitchen when my mom opened a cabinet and gasped. She had found a shelf of cookbooks.

Mom: “Look at this! The C.I.A. Cookbook!”

We looked at each other gleefully. Was this it? Had we finally solved the mystery? Did [Husband] really give himself away by keeping a copy of the Central Intelligence Agency’s cookbook? (Why does the C.I.A. even have a cookbook?) Then, [Wife] came back in.

Wife: “You found my cookbook collection! I know, it’s a lot, right?”

[Wife], the high-end caterer, who had a Master’s degree from the Culinary Institute of America.

The mystery remains unsolved.

Customer: “Is chicken meat?”

Me: “Yeeees? What did you think it was?”

Customer: “Well, my mom lets me eat it during Lent, so I didn’t think it was meat.”

This story takes place a couple of years before the global health crisis. I’ve had a dry cough for a couple of weeks. I assume it’s allergies until I wake up one morning with a horrible cough, shortness of breath, wheezing, and a fever over 101. I call my doctor’s office, and I get a nurse. Usually, they’ll note my symptoms and then consult with the doctor to see if I need to come in or if they can diagnose over the phone.

Nurse #1: “Okay, tell me your symptoms.”

I do this.

Nurse #1: “It’s a virus. Liquids and rest. You’ll be better in a few days. It’s going around.”

Me: “But I’ve had this cough for a couple of weeks with no fever until today. It’s getting worse, not better.”

Nurse #1: “Viruses do that.”

Me: “It doesn’t feel right. Can you talk to [Doctor] and squeeze me in today?”

Nurse #1: “No.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Nurse #1: “We have no openings today.”

Me: “Do you have anything tomorrow?”

Nurse #1: “No.”

Me: “Okay… Can you try to fit me in? I’ll hold while you check. This is really bad. I’ve coughed so much that my ribs hurt.”

I’ve been coughing intermittently during the entire call, and it sounds like I’m coughing up a lung.

Nurse #1: “No. Go to urgent care if you’re that sick.” *Hangs up*

I call the nearest urgent care facility and describe my symptoms. I’m coughing even more at this point.

Urgent Care Nurse: “Can you be here in fifteen minutes? You need to be checked ASAP. I don’t like that cough.”

I get there in the allotted time and they immediately put me in an exam room. I’m diagnosed with pneumonia, given an antibiotic and cough suppressant, and told to stay home for the next seven to ten days. I’m glad they caught it, but I am furious with my doctor’s office! I pick up my prescriptions, head home, and call my doctor. I’m coughing even louder now.

Nurse #2: “[Doctor]’s office, this is [Nurse #2].”

I’ve spoken to this nurse in the past, and she is always very helpful.

Me: “Hi, it’s [My Name], and I called earlier about getting in to see [Doctor]. [Nurse #1] said that I had a virus and said there were no appointments today or tomorrow. I went to urgent care, and I have pneumonia. Are y’all too busy to see patients now?”

Nurse #2: “Wait, what? We have openings this afternoon. With that cough, we would’ve squeezed you in earlier. Did urgent care get you taken care of? If not, I’ll schedule you right now.”

Me: “Yes, they took care of me. I’m on an antibiotic and a cough suppressant.”

Nurse #2: “Okay, good. Let me pull your file really fast…”

I hear typing and several mouse clicks.

Nurse #2: “Hmm. I don’t see any notes indicating that you even called in. All right. We’ll take care of this. Please call us if you’re not better within seven to ten days and I’ll make sure you get in.”

The antibiotic kicks in quickly and I feel much better within a few days. A few months later, I go in to see my doctor for my yearly labs. Guess who calls me back?

Nurse #1: “Hi, I’m [Nurse #1] and I’ll be doing your labs today. You’re… [My Name]?!”

She stares at me.

Me: “And you’re [Nurse #1]. I believe we’ve chatted on the phone. I’m the one who had pneumonia.”

I raised an eyebrow and didn’t say anything else. She silently prepped me for labs and hustled out of the room. I didn’t see her again after that!

I work in the seasonal department of a large superstore. We currently have solar-powered lanterns for your lawn on one of the shelves. A customer with her five-year-old son finds one that’s broken and gives it to him.

Customer: *To her son* “Return this at customer service and ask for a refund.”

She doesn’t realize I am standing a foot away, and I am shocked that a mother would use her son to steal like this, so I just say:

Me: “Oh, that’s broken. Let me get that for you.”

I just took the item and started to walk away, staring pointedly at this morally depraved woman.

I work in a call center for a credit card company. A customer calls in and asks some things about his account. I go through the normal verification steps: last four digits of his social security number, phone number, the usual.

Me: “It seems that the problem has something to do with your card. Please provide the three-digit security code.”

Caller: “I don’t know what that is.”

Me: “It’s the three-digit code on the back of your card.”

Caller: “My card doesn’t have a back!”

Me: “Well, just turn the card over and you should see it.”

Caller: “But now everything is upside down.”