About one weekend a month, I do archery competitions where I walk with a group of four through the forest, shooting foam animals along a path. It’s idyllic, and it’s great to keep up with my archery friends.

One such weekend, the first target to shoot was a deer. We were standing 15 meters from it, one of us aiming, when a woman came screaming from her car which was haphazardly stopped at the side of the road.

Astonished, my friend quickly un-nocked his arrow as she lept between us and the target. We were shocked at her ranting until we deciphered that she was under the impression that our target was a real deer and it was tied in place. We tried to explain and to tell her to turn and look, but she was having none of it.

With other archers coming out of the woods to see what was going on, I slipped past her — a feat in itself because she was still desperate to protect this “poor animal” — and pulled the removable head off the deer.

Rendered speechless for a really long time, she then snapped out of it, yelling at us for shooting at tied-up animals as she stormed back to her car.

The people putting on the shoot traded out the deer — the only target visible from the road — for a two-meter-tall cobra that had been further down the path. No one bothered us about shooting at that thing.

(My boyfriend has very curly hair and isn’t a fan of haircuts, so his hair has a tendency to puff up into an afro-like style around his head. He hasn’t cut it in over a year and we’ve just moved in together.)

Me: *squinting at his hair* “Have you been using my conditioner?”

Boyfriend: “Um… Maybe. How did you know?”

Me: “Your hair isn’t as frizzy. It’s hanging down more than sticking up.”

Boyfriend: “Oh. Is that what it’s for?”

Me: “You know how you like to play with my hair because it’s all soft and shiny? That’s how I keep it that way. You really didn’t know what conditioner is for?”

Boyfriend: “I have two brothers and my parents are hippies. It wasn’t really a thing in my house growing up.”

Me: “So, why did you decide to put it on your head if you didn’t know what it was?”

Boyfriend: “I was taking a shower and I got bored.”

(I work in a toy and game store that specializes in board games and other novelties. One of our sections is for adults — mostly drinking games, shot glasses, and other adult novelties. One of the items happens to be a pair of metal handcuffs that can be locked and unlocked with a key. They are definitely not a toy for kids.)

Kid: “Do you have handcuffs?”

Coworker: “Uh… technically, yes. But they’re not a toy. They’re metal.”

(The kid’s mom catches on pretty quickly and laughs. The kid, of course, does not understand.)

Kid: “Well, can I see them?

Mom: “No, they’re not meant for kids. We’ll look somewhere else.”

Kid: “Who are they meant for?”

Coworker: *getting desperate* “They’re, um… decoration. They’re not toys. You wouldn’t want to use them. They might get stuck, and you don’t want to have metal handcuffs stuck on you.”

Kid: “What are they used for?”

(The mom can’t hold back a laugh at this point.)

Mom: “They’re not used for anything. Let’s go.”

(The family left, though the kid still seemed disappointed to not get a pair of toy handcuffs. When they were out of the store, my coworker and I burst out laughing. We sometimes get kids asking about toy handcuffs, but none of them asked for as much detail as this kid.)

(I’m talking on the phone to my cousin shortly after a big family party.)

Cousin: “Oh, by the way, I was so sorry to hear about [Daughter]’s problem.”

Me: “Huh? Which problem?”

Cousin: “Well, that she’s… not able to have children.”

Me: “What?! [Daughter] isn’t infertile, at least that I’ve heard.”

Cousin: “She told me she was!”

(Immediately after finishing this conversation, I call my daughter.)

Me: “Why is [Cousin] under the impression that you’re sterile?”

Daughter: “Probably because I told him I was.”

Me: “Was there some reason for this or was it just a passing fancy?”

Daughter: “He kept bugging me about [Son-In-Law] and I having kids, and I didn’t think it was any of his business, so I told him I couldn’t get pregnant to get him to shut up.”

Me: “[Daughter]! He feels terrible!”

Daughter: “What? Telling someone they ought to be having kids is rude. You’d tell me off if I did it to someone. He acted like a jacka**; now he feels like a jacka**. Maybe another time he’ll stop and think about it before he says something similar to someone who actually can’t get pregnant.”

Me: *after a pause* “I blame your father. You turned out too clever.”

Daughter: “Love you, too, Mom.”

Like most of the larger grocery stores, the one I work at has a bakery department full of fresh bread. Also like most grocery stores, the quality of our free bags is not exactly stellar, and this extends to the paper ones we package our bread in.

One night I am working as a cashier when three teenage boys start hovering at the end of my till, like they can’t decide whether or not to get in line. They only have a few items, including a baguette, so I assume they haven’t finished with their shopping. I tune them out so I can pay attention to the customer I am currently serving.

All of a sudden their voices get louder, and I turn to see that the bottom of the baguette bag has split open, and the baguette has slipped out. One of the boys picks it up, and proceeds to turn the bag around and slide the baguette back through the ripped end. Of course, it promptly falls through the other end, since it’s open. For some reason, this baffles all three of the teens, as if they expected ripping one end of the bag would magically seal up the other.

My customer and I have a hard time not laughing. We then have to convince them to go get another one to replace the damaged one, since they don’t realize that eating dirty food might not be the best of ideas.

They may be tears of laughter, but I weep for the next generation.