I wrote this story where my grandma, the drama queen, called an ambulance because she had a tickle in her throat and didn’t want to wait at the hospital, and this story where my grandma, the narcissist, refused to understand that my gluten-intolerant mother might actually know a thing or two about what’s in certain foods.

Grandma has been diagnosed with one of the least threatening forms of congestive heart failure, given medication to take, and told to go on a low-sodium diet. Some people in her situation might say, “I’m ninety-two years old; I’ll eat whatever I [expletive] want to eat.” Not her. She insists that she needs to go on a low-sodium diet. The problem is that she doesn’t really know what “low-sodium” means, and she won’t listen to us because we aren’t doctors.

One day, shortly after Grandma gets back home, we have chicken parmesan for dinner. While she was in the hospital, she asked for a grilled cheese sandwich and a nurse told her the cheese had too much sodium in it, so Grandma has written off all cheese. We make her a piece of plain chicken for dinner while the rest of us have chicken parmesan. My mom has prepared a salad and gives Grandma some.

Mom: “What kind of dressing do you want?”

Grandma: “Ranch.”

Dad gives her the ranch and she proceeds to completely drown her salad in it.

Dad: “Would you like some salad with your dressing?”

Grandma: *Laughs* “Good thing it doesn’t have too much sodium in it.”

Mom: “Yes, it does!”

Grandma: “No, it doesn’t.”

Mom takes the ranch bottle.

Mom: “It has [about 300] mg of sodium in it.”

Grandma: “That’s for the whole bottle!

Mom: “No, that’s per serving.”

Grandma: “No, that’s for the whole bottle!”

Mom: “No, that’s for one serving, and one serving is only two tablespoons. You’d be better off with your usual blue cheese dressing, which only has [about 250] mg of sodium.”

Grandma: “I can’t have cheese!”

Mom: “They probably served American cheese on their sandwiches, but other cheeses are lower in sodium.”

Grandma: “I can’t have cheese! It has too much sodium!”

We let Grandma eat her dressing with a hint of lettuce. She also ate three slices of Texas Toast with extra butter, but we didn’t say anything about that.

It wasn’t until about two weeks later when a home-help nurse came over and told her that ranch dressing was high in sodium that she gave that up.

Related:
We Should Totally Just Drug Grandma! (Not Really), Part 2
We Should Totally Just Drug Grandma! (Not Really)
We Should Totally Just Stab Caesar! (Salad), Part 2
We Should Totally Just Stab Caesar! (Salad)

One weekend, my partner and I visit our local zoo. It is a lovely day, so it is quite crowded with lots of people all around everywhere we go. A little boy — maybe six or seven years old — is proudly telling his mother what he’s learned about how humans have evolved. You can imagine what comes next.

Mother: “No, no… I’m pretty sure that’s not true.”

Boy: “Yes, it is! We evolved from apes and—”

Mother: “No, none of that is true. I mean, think about it. If people came from monkeys, then why are there still monkeys, huh?”

Boy: “Uh… but—”

Mother: “You see? It just doesn’t make sense.”

And off they went, the matter settled. I know these people are everywhere, especially in the US, but it was so hard to just keep on walking and not say something snarky.

When I first worked delivering pizza, orders were taken by hand on carbon-copy-like forms. There were no computers nor cash registers; prices were figured by hand by using a pricing guide taped to the front counter. The store where I worked, near a US Army base, had a bank of five phones. Orders were taken either by assistant managers (who also made pizzas) or specifically hired order takers. Drivers were strictly drivers; we came into the store, put our bags down to mark our place in the delivery queue, and then took off again when we were assigned an order or two.

After my second week, I was about fifth in line. A phone started ringing, but evidently, our order takers weren’t in. I went over, grabbed a pen, and answered. As I was picking up the receiver, I saw my store manager gasp in fear that I’d mess things up.

Me: “Thank you for calling [Store] at [Location]. My name is [My Name]. How may I help you this evening?”

I proceeded to take the order perfectly: filling out the order form, tearing off the carbon copies, handing one copy to the pizza line, and gluing the rest to a box. My manager came over and gave me a high five. Within two more weeks, he’d promoted me to driver trainer.

A few months later, my manager was transferred to another store, which was at the time the busiest franchise in the world. One Friday night, he asked if I could help at his store since he was short a few drivers.

It was truly a hectic store, but it ran well. At one point, a phone rang. But there were about six people between me and the phones, so I was going to let them answer. After three rings, my manager shouted:

Manager: “[My Name]! Get the phone!”

I answered and took the order, hoping that they were in our delivery area. (They were.) Afterward, I went over to my manager.

Me: “[Manager], sorry about that. I just saw a half-dozen people by the phones, but none of them went for the phone.”

Manager: “Yeah, well, that’s because none of them speak English. But they’re really good at delivery.”

I had just bought a drink at the movie theater. I have a thing about bugs, so it seemed perfectly logical to smack a fly that had landed on the lid of my drink. The drink flew into the garbage can where it luckily made no mess. I couldn’t help myself, so I looked at the man (an older fella) manning concessions.

Me: “Probably not the stupidest thing you’ve seen in your life, but did I make the top ten?”

Concessions Worker: “It’s not even a contender.”

The look on his face said it all…

We recently got a new puppy, and a friend bought her a lovely box full of toys and treats. Both the puppy and our older dog loved the large femur bones filled with flavors and chewed them almost into nothing.

I went to the pet store to grab some more and a treat bag for training purposes. All the employees wear blue shirts with the logo on the left chest, and I had seen several walk past the aisle I was in. After searching all over, I finally decided I would have to ask someone where the training treat bags were. I saw a gentleman in a blue shirt walk past the aisle and called out.

Me: “Excuse me, I’m so sorry to be a bother and disturb you. But I was hoping you could help me find something?”

Man: *Half turning to me but not facing me fully* “Ah, sure?”

Me: “I’m sorry, I was hoping you might know where the training treat bags are?”

Man: *Looking off to his left and waving a little* “Ah, I have no idea. I need help finding stuff, too.”

My heart dropped into my stomach as an employee came up beside the man. The man’s shirt was maybe one shade lighter blue than the employee’s, and the logo was the same size and color but obviously different.

Me: “Oh, my God, I’m sooo sorry! Oh, God, I’m one of those people!”

My face was burning and I imagine it was a shade of red from embarrassment.

Man: *Now laughing* “It’s okay! At least you weren’t rude about it! Besides, I was looking for an employee to help me find something, too!”

Employee: “Yeah, he can help you find the pet products, and you can give me a call if you need telecommunications and fiber optics help!” *Now laughing, as well*

The actual employee helped us both find what we needed while teasing me the whole time in a good-natured fashion. I’m embarrassed, but at least it all turned out okay in the end!