Me: “I just realised working in an immunology lab would be a good cover for a vampire because you can just ask for some human blood anytime.”
Clinical Study Coordinator: “I’m going to watch you VERY carefully the next time you put in a sample request.”
(There’s a local pizza place we’ve been loyal to for several years now, due to both price and quality. However, they keep their ovens VERY hot, and many things end up quite dark or outright burnt. We always ask for ours to be light, but check to make sure anyway before going home.)
Husband: “Oh, d*** it, they burned my calzone!”
Me: “Crap. Want me to bring it back?”
Husband: “Please, you keep a level head better than me.”
(I come back inside and step to the counter.)
Me: “Excuse me, I don’t mean to complain but the calzone was—”
(The guy at the counter grabs a ten dollar bill from the register and slaps it down.)
Worker: “Just take it and go.”
Me: “I don’t want my money back; I just want food that isn’t burnt.”
Worker: “You’re always in here doing this. I don’t have time. I’ve got other customers to take care of.”
Me: *turning to look at the three people sitting down* “Well, I didn’t want to make a scene; you got loud first. And, I haven’t had to complain in three or four months. I love your food, just not when it’s charcoal on the bottom.”
Worker: “Oh, quit exaggerating and get out of here.”
Me: *smacks the calzone on the counter, sounding like a wood block* “Still think I’m exaggerating?”
Worker: “Just go! Just go!”
(I go out to the car, take a long breath, and explain to my husband.)
Husband: “WOW I’m glad that wasn’t me!”
Me: “I’M not! I almost had to murder someone with a calzone!”
(I work in a hospital laboratory as a lab scientist. Before testing some sample, you have to mix them. Every lab scientist has their own technique, but will put the tube in their hand and flick their wrists while inverting the tube. I’m across the lab when one of the other lab scientists (a late-20s male) squeals in a stereotypically girly manner.)
Coworker: “Blood EVERYWHERE!”
Me: “What did you do?”
(I rush over there and see that there is, indeed, blood all over his lab coat and up the walls and across the floor. I also see a tube cap on the floor.)
Coworker: *holds out the tube, which is capless* “Remember when we sent out the friendly reminder to all the nurses to make sure that they firmly cap all their tubes? Someone didn’t get the memo.”
(Luckily, getting more blood at least didn’t mean stabbing the patient with a needle again, but just pulling it out of an indwelling line. But still. There was a lot of blood.)
(I went through a rocky marriage. We tried couples therapy but it didn’t help. After we split up I kept seeing my 70-year-old therapist by myself.)
Me: “I am totally depressed and I have been drinking way, way too much. If I am awake, I am drinking.”
Doctor: “Are you under the influence of alcohol right now?”
Me: “Absolutely.”
Doctor: “You aren’t driving are you?”
Me: “Of course not. I got a ride here from a friend. He’s waiting for me outside in the lobby.”
Doctor: “You know what; I met with you and your wife many a time. She was an evil b****. I think it’s perfectly understandable if you fall off the wagon for a bit, just don’t wallow in it for too long. Now I know this is incredibly unethical, but screw it, I should already be retired years ago. I don’t care if I get fired. Let’s cut this session short, grab your friend in the waiting room, and let me buy you a drink.”
(Best / worst therapist EVER!)
(My dad and I have traveled to Philly from Canada to see one of our favourite bands in concert. I am about 23. We go up to the bar.)
Me: “Two beers, please.”
Bartender: “You got any ID on you?”
(I hand her my Canadian ID.)
Bartender: *in a snarky tone* “Oh, you’re Canadian?” *scoffs*
Me: “Yup, and in Canada we only tip bartenders who aren’t b****es.”
