in my city, there are two Chinese restaurants that are located face to face. One of the restaurants wins an award and my sister, as a correspondent for the local branch of the regional newspaper, has to do an article about it.
A few days after the article was published, she received a call from the restaurant manager on her personal phone.
The restaurant manager: (angry) Hello, I am[name], restaurant owner[owner] and there is a problem with the article.
Sister: Uh, yes, I’m listening, what’s the mistake?.
The restaurant manager: Since I won an award, I see more and more cars in the restaurant across the street.
Sister: Uh, I don’t think I made any mistakes in the address.
The restaurant manager: Uh, no, it’s people who get the wrong restaurant. I want a new article that specifies that it is in my restaurant that you have to go, that the food is not as tasty
Sister: I don’t decide the articles, it’s[editor-in-chief of the local branch] I can give the number…, I can’t. And I can’t say that the other restaurant food is not as tasty than yours, that would be defamation.
The restaurant manager: All right, I’ll call[local branch editor]
after the call, my sister prefers to call the editor of the local branch. She explains the story.
editor-in-chief of the local branch: No problem, I’ll settle the matter if he calls. And I’m going to try to find out who gave your personal phone number, just because you don’t have an office with a phone, doesn’t mean we’re allowed to give your number.

A few days later, she had to go to the local station for expense reports (“She works mostly from home”). The editor-in-chief of the local branch met her.
The editor of the local branch: Oh, by the way, I found who gave your number. I recalled that all journalists have the right to privacy, and that if this is called a “personal” phone number it is for a reason. I also circulated a memo reminding journalists to forward the call if someone is unhappy about an article. For the pages of[ city] ,I am the one who has the last word ,sometimes with [newspaper editor] and [ publication manager] ,so people have to complain to me.
My sister: and, uh, for.
The editor of the local branch: for the restaurant manager? He called, I also told him he couldn’t call someone on his personal number. For that, he apologized, he said he didn’t know it was your personal number, but he was still upset about the article. I told him that our newspaper could not publish an apology because you didn’t make any mistakes in the article. I also told him that readers could not be forced to read an address correctly. As he insisted on having another article about his restaurant, I told him I could transfer it to the advertising department.
(best editor in chief)

Potential title: Underpants Gnomes – Step 3.

My car is parked on the side of the street and my family and I have just gotten in. While getting in I notice a guy eyeing us and walking in our general direction but I don’t pay him much attention and just focus on getting settled in. Suddenly I jump from a knock on the window next to me. I roll down the window. Note: while both Latvian ar Russian languages are commonly used in my country, both me and my wife grew up in Latvian families and consequently have only a very basic grasp of the Russian language.

Me: Hello?
Random dude: *In russian* Hello! Would you like to buy some _paplavki_?

Unfortunately while we understand the rest, neither me nor my wife know what “paplavki” means. I assume that it’s some kind of food – door to door salesmen are not common here, but usually they sell potatoes or fish or pastries or something.

Me: Sorry, I don’t really understand…
Guy: *repeats*
Me: Ehmm… what?
Guy: OK, I’ll show you.

He then gets his backpack and starts to pull something out. A moment later he presents us… a pair of green underpants. New and unused by the look of it, but still…

Me and my wife: *Stunned for a few seconds* Uhmm… thanks, but we’re not interested.
Guy: OK, bye!

10 more seconds later we dissolved into laughter and even now still can’t believe how utterly bizarre that was. I’ve had people try to sell me different things on the street, but underwear was a first!

Me: *lying on couch* Ugh.
11yo Nephew: *highly engrossed in the PS4* What?
Me: I’m trying to work up the energy to go to the bathroom. I’m old, it takes a while.
Nephew: Oh, just go in your pants.
Me: Excuse me?
Nephew: Just go in your pants. Don’t get it on the couch, though.
Me: Um, is this something YOU do?
Nephew: Yeah, sometimes. If I’m too lazy to get up and go to the bathroom.
Me: …
Nephew: …
Me: I’m so glad I don’t have a uterus…

Over a year ago, I had gotten out of a fairly abusive relationship. Since I hadn’t told anyone about the abuse until after it was all over, my family becomes pretty wary of anyone I introduce them to. I have been seeing someone new for a while and decided to bring him along on a family trip to New York to meet my family. As a side note, my new boyfriend is over 6 feet tall and has resting bitch face so people are usually too intimidated to even talk to him. As I was getting ready to introduce him to my family, my mom pulled me aside and asks, “Are you sure this guy’s good for you? He seems like he could be aggressive, and I don’t think you’re big enough to be able defend yourself” (I’m about 5 feet tall). Before I could get a word in, she kept talking “I mean, he looks so angry. Who knows how easily he could be set off? What if he hits you?” I just told her not to worry, to which she replied “Why shouldn’t I worry? He looks so mean” Around this time, my boyfriend came up and grabbed my hand. He just looked at me and said in a soft voice “There you are, I couldn’t see you and started getting worried. I know crowds make you nervous, and I couldn’t forgive myself if you got lost in this mess. Maybe you should keep a hold of my hand so that doesn’t happen. Is that alright, sweetheart?” My mom just looked at him like he had two heads. As a side note: my family loved him and think he’s just as kind and thoughtful as I do.

I’m at the front desk, barely over an hour into my shift, when I get a phone call.

Me: [Business Name], this is [My Name].
Caller: Yes, I need the Manor.
Me: I’m sorry, what was that?
Caller: I need to reach the Manor. This is [different business name], isn’t it?
Me: Oh, I’m sorry, no, this is [repeats business name].
Caller: Oh…they transferred me here…*pauses a moment, then hangs up*
Me: Wow, rude. *shrugs it off and gets on with day*

A minute later the phone rings again, and I see on the caller ID that it’s the same lady.

Me: [Business Name], this is [My Name].
Caller: *hangs up immediately*

Well, at least she heard me say the business name the first time that go around. But seriously. It’s not that hard, when you get a wrong number, to say something along the lines of ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve gotten the wrong number.’ Immediately hanging up is just rude. I was going to help her find the number she was looking for if she hadn’t hung up on me. It just goes to show, being rude gets you nowhere.