(On a slow Tuesday morning in February, an exceptionally well-dressed and sophisticated-looking, middle-aged woman in a pants suit scurries into the deserted store and up to me standing at the counter. She’s obviously in a hurry and looks a bit frazzled.)

Woman: “I need a pair of men’s slippers, size ten, triple E!”

(Since it’s February, we have maybe half a dozen pairs of men’s slippers left in the store, and I know that only one has a chance of fitting the bill. I bring the box out of the stockroom to show her.)

Me: “This is our last size ten, and it runs very wide.”

Woman: “Is it a size ten?”

Me: “Yes.”

Woman: “Are they triple E?”

Me: “Technically, the width is D, but they fit unusually wide. You could bring them back if they don’t fit.”

(Without a word, she snatches one of the slippers from the box, spreads her legs wide, sticks the slipper between her thighs, and holds it there with her hands on her hips for several seconds. Then she reaches down, grabs the slipper, and slaps it back into the box.)

Woman: “Not wide enough!”

(She raced out of the store.)

(I am answering the phone at an OB-GYN office when a woman calls to make an appointment.)

Me: “[Office], how can I help you?”

Woman: *sounding a little nervous but also very excited* “Ah, well, I need an appointment. It’s the strangest thing; I went sightseeing a few months ago, to see the pyramids. I thought I got food poisoning or indigestion from eating things I wasn’t used to. But it’s lasted for a few months, and this morning I glanced in the mirror and thought I looked a little heavier.”

(I can see where this might be heading, and am almost giddy because I can’t believe the fantastic joke opportunity I’m about to have.)

Woman: *continuing* “—so I took a pregnancy test. I think I’m three months pregnant!”

Me: *cheering internally* “Well, ma’am, it sounds like you did get sick on your trip.”

Woman: “Oh?”

Me: *holding back laughter* “You caught the Egyptian flu. You’re going to be a mummy!”

Woman: *laughs*

Me: “And congratulations. Let’s figure out your due date and get in your with one of our doctors.”

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(I work as a security officer. This means the location where I work is called my post, and what I am expected to do every day are my post orders. This week I get a visit from one of my many bosses dropping off some new equipment.)

Boss: “Just to give you a heads up, some of the higher-ups are coming by next week on Thursday and Friday to look over some things here and at [Other Site]. I’ll warn you: [Higher Level Person] likes to give pop quizzes.”

Me: “On what?”

Boss: “The post orders.”

(I then laughed and had to explain to her the reason this was so funny to me: I have been at my site for nearly five years. Not only did I update the seriously outdated orders after settling in, but I also keep them regularly updated, as the location has had construction and logistics changes over time. I literally wrote what this person plans to quiz me on.)

(Overheard between two employees at a popular fast food place:)

Employee: “[Coworker], can you stop eating the chicken nuggets long enough for me to fill this order?”

(I work for a small business that does horse trails through an area of public forest that is technically “Crown Land” — i.e. belongs to the Queen by default — and has some conservation rules. We have been having difficulty with a man owning a neighbouring property who wants to use the crown land as his own. He has gone as far as shooting at our rides from a distance, and police have been involved several times at this stage. After a long day of work, in which we dismantled some obstacles he left on the land, he pulls up at our worksite to yell out of his car. It is just me, a teenage girl, and my boss, a short, middle-aged lady.)

Neighbour: “You cut my fences!”

Boss: “No, we haven’t. We don’t go on your property.”

Neighbour: “You cut the fence by the river!”

Boss: “The river isn’t on your land. It’s crown land. It’s illegal to fence off public land for your own use.”

Neighbour: *now shouting* “I own up to the river edge—“

Boss: “No, you don’t. Your property line is 30m from the river.”

Neighbour: “I have permission from the owner to use it!”

Boss: “No, you don’t. Crown land has no owner.”

Me: *mostly to myself* “Well, it does have an owner.”

Boss: “What?”

Me: “The Queen?”

Boss: “Oh, my God.” *to the neighbour* “Are you trying to say the Queen was like, ‘Oh, sure, no problem’? How dumb are you?” *loudly, to me* “Hang on while I call the police.”

(The neighbour left immediately. We continued to destroy every fence he built illegally to block our rides.)