(I am in maths class. We are learning about algebraic equations.)

Teacher: “…12 equals 4q.”

Student #1: *sniggers* “4q…”

Class: *giggling*

Teacher: “What? Oh… 4q…”

Class: *laughing*

Student #2: “I don’t get it.”

(And that is how the maths teacher ended up having to explain how to swear to a student.)

Our department is horribly understaffed, and has been all day. My coworker and only coverage comes up and asks me if he can leave ten minutes early to catch his bus; I haven’t yet had my first break and need to go before he leaves.

As I turn to check the computer at our desk for the time, I spot a couple obviously waiting for help. I try to do three things at once: let my coworker know I need a break before he can go, greet the customer, and check the time.

What I end up doing is turning to the customer with a giant smile on my face and proclaiming in my cheeriest customer service voice, “Hi, what time is it?”

Fortunately, they thought it was funny.

(I’m putting a splint on a patient who broke his thumb working on heavy machinery. I’m trying to keep him talking to help with the pain.)

Me: “So, how did you get into this kind of work?”

Patient: “F*** if I know… Oh, sorry!”

Me: “I don’t mind; this is a f****** ER.”

Patient: *laughs*

(A guest has been telling me a VERY rambling story in which he describes his friend as “nefarious” — I think he actually means “notorious,” based on context, but I digress. Then, he turns to me, and in the most condescending tone I have ever heard, says:)

Guest: “Do you know that word? Nefarious?”

Me: “I do.”

Guest: *drawing back in mock surprise* “Wow! That’s a hard word! That’s a college word! Good for you!”

Me: *turns back to my paperwork and tries very hard not to punch him*

I used to work in a very international office. There were two classes of workers: analysts — mostly Canadian-raised — and phone researchers — mostly international. For whatever reason, the analysts almost all bought their lunches. I was the only analyst who consistently brought lunches from home, and I ate them with the researchers in their lunch room. I was the only native English speaker who ate there.

One of the researchers was from France. He was friends with a neighbour of his, a fellow who was into hunting. One day, my French colleague came in very excited. His neighbour, the hunter, had gone on a hunting trip and had brought him some cooked moose meat and beaver meat, figuring that he’d never had them before. My French colleague brought the meat to work to share with the rest of us.

I found out about this as I was on my way to the lunch room when my French colleague yelled down the hall, “Who wants to eat beaver with me?”

I had to explain to everybody in the room why that was both completely inappropriate and hilarious.

He was so flustered after that that he put the beaver meat into the microwave still in the tin foil, which caused sparks and made the meat explode all over the inside of the microwave — so none of us actually got to taste the beaver meat. We did all share the moose meat, though, and it was fine.