(Several years ago, I had an accident that required a skin graft on a knuckle. Present day: I hit my hand while working, causing the skin graft to split open, meaning I need stitches. I get to the hospital at about 4:30 pm, and it is PACKED. It is almost 2:00 in the morning before the doctor can even have a look at me.)

Doctor: “Yeah, you will need stitches, so I’m going to give you some novocaine to numb your finger up. We’ll give it 15 minutes to take effect, and get started.”

Me: “Don’t worry about that. It is a skin graft. You would need to poke me where I can feel it, to numb me up where I already can’t feel anything. Just sew it up, please.”

(The doctor agrees, gets a nurse to bring in the kit and hand him stuff, and starts stitching. I can’t feel a thing. After a few minutes, the nurse leans over and asks:)

Nurse: “So, is the novocaine still working?”

(In my defence, I am tired and incredibly bored, so I just look up with a horrified expression and say:)

Me: “I NEVER GOT ANY!”

(The nurse’s eyes almost pop out, and she is ready to flip out. The doctor just looks up at me and says:)

Doctor: “Oh, shut up, you baby.”

(Sorry, nurse, but the doc and I got a good laugh, at least.)

(I always go to one particular local dry cleaner, because it’s run by an older lady with an amazing personality, and I often get into hilarious conversations with her when I drop off clothes. This is a story she relates to me about some of her other customers.)

Customer: *over the phone* “Yes, hello. How do I get this stain out of my shirt?”

Cleaner: “Well, if you bring the shirt in, I would be happy to clean it for you.”

Customer: “Oh, no, I don’t need you bring it in; it’s just the one stain, so you can just tell me how to clean it.”

Cleaner: *thinking, “that’s not how a dry cleaner works”* “Okay, I’ll try… What kind of fabric is the shirt?”

Customer: *impatient sigh* “It’s my favorite dress shirt!”

Cleaner: “Uh, okay… What kind of stain is it?”

Customer: “You’re supposed to be the expert, here! Why can’t you tell me anything?!”

Cleaner: “I just need to know—”

Customer: “No! I’m the one asking the questions, here! What is your problem?!”

Cleaner: “The problem is that I just don’t know how you expect me to see your shirt down the phone. Good luck with your stain!”

(There is a scheduled power-outage in our area from 9:00 am to 1:00 pm so that our power company can do some maintenance on our power lines. At about 8:55 am, my dad, who is away on a business trip, texts my mom that there is a document that he needs scanned and emailed to him. She, of course, panics, and rushes upstairs to where our scanner is to try and get the document to him before our power goes out. She comes back downstairs, having scanned the document to her laptop, right as 9:00 rolls around and the power shuts off.)

Mom: “Will our laptops even work now that the power’s out?”

Me: “Yeah, they just won’t be able to connect to the Internet, since our wireless router is down.”

Mom: “So, I won’t be able to send this email now, will I?”

Me: “Nope.”

Mom: “Okay, I guess I’ll have to go into town and find a cafe or something with Wi-Fi I can use. I’ll have to text your dad back and tell him… if I can even send a text right now.”

Me: “Yeah, your phone uses cellular data; it doesn’t need our Wi-Fi in order to work.”

Mom: “Oh, okay.”

(Then, as I’m walking away:)

Mom: “Will I even be able to open this document now?”

Me: “You mean the one you just scanned? Yeah, it’s just a PDF on your computer; you don’t need the Internet to open it.”

(And that’s about when I realized just how thoroughly she misunderstood how the Internet works. I spent the last hour reassuring her that her phone doesn’t need Wi-Fi in order to function every time she tries to do anything besides making a call. I love her dearly, and I know she didn’t grow up in the digital age the way I did, but… yikes.)

(I am at an acrobatics fitness center where the staff members have a fun and funky sense of humor. I find this sign posted in the restroom.)

Sign: “Please do not flush the following down the toilet: paper towels, feminine products, q-tips, puppies and kittens, spare prosthetic limbs, hopes and dreams.”

(A woman comes up to the register and complains about how her dogs’ food isn’t where it should be.)

Me: *trying to sympathize* “Well, we are doing a big reset on our dog food section, and it takes a couple days to take everything down and put it back in its new place. I’m sorry that you had a hard time finding it; next time you come in, it should be where it’s going to stay!”

Customer: “It’s always something here! I’m so tired of the drama in this store!”

Me: “I’m sorry if there was any difficulty with the food.”

Customer: “It’s not just the food! It’s the employees, the other customers, everything! Every time I come here, there’s drama. So, you know what? I’m not coming here anymore!”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Customer: *grabs items* “I’m never setting foot in this store again!”

(The customer leaves, but a minute later returns.)

Customer: “My dogs locked my keys in my car! I need someone out here to help me, now!“

(The customer goes back outside. [Customer #2] is being rung up.)

Customer #2: “And she says the store has drama?!”