(I have taken a couple of days off work due to the flu. On the first day off I had been too ill to even think about driving anywhere and slept all day. I am a little better on the second day so take myself to the doctor.)

Doctor: “You don’t look well at all.” *gives me prescription* “Here take this; do you need a medical certificate?”

Me: “Yes. Are you able to date it for yesterday, too?” *I have no problems doing this with my regular doctor*

Doctor: “No, you should have come in yesterday.”

Me: “But I was too sick to drive yesterday; I was very woozy and seeing double.”

Doctor: “Doesn’t matter. I didn’t see you yesterday; how do I know that you were even sick then?”

(I am working in NJ. I have just bought a used car for my fiancé’, who lives in IN. This is a Monday, she’s due to arrive that Friday, and will be driving it back that weekend. I am at the NJ DMV to get a transport tag, so she can drive it legally back to IN and then get an IN plate. The clerk has just passed the tag to me, and I’m reading it to make sure it is what I want. It specifically states that it is valid in the state of NJ, the other 49 states, D.C., and Puerto Rico for 10 days from the date of issue.)

Me: “Great, that’s what I want. She’ll be able to drive the car home on Sunday and get her IN tag on Monday.”

Clerk: “So the car will be here until Sunday?”

Me: “Yes.”

Clerk: “That’s illegal. You have to leave NJ today. If the car is still in NJ after midnight tonight it will be impounded for not having valid registration.”

Me: “But it says right here that it is valid in NJ for 10 days from the date of issue.”

(This goes back and forth a couple of times, but she refuses to believe that the text on the tag is correct, and keeps insisting that I MUST get the car out of NJ that day, and if I’m not going to do that, she can’t sell me the tag.)

Me: “Okay, I’ve got a friend in Philly.” *which I actually do* “I guess I’ll take it to his place, and she can take it from there.”

(The clerk sold me the tag, and I kept the car in NJ until my fiance’ left with it the following Sunday.)

(My store sells stuffed toys. Some of them are prone to falling over, the owls especially. We have recently acquired extra-large owls, and they rather predictably fall off the shelves at least once a day. I have recently discovered that, with a bit of effort, the stuffing in their bottoms can be rearranged to make them “lean” back and stop falling forward so much.)

Coworker: “The owl fell down again…”

Me: “PUNCH IT IN THE BUTT!”

(I ordered a couple pizzas and told them I had a coupon. When the delivery guy arrived I looked at the receipt.)

Me: “$95.30…? No way am I signing this! It should be $25!”

Delivery Guy: “What?”

(He looks and then calls his boss. He talks outside for a while, then comes back in and hands me his cell.)

Manager: “Hi, sorry about that. Can you write a tip on the back, and then I’ll fix everything when the delivery guy gets back.”

Me: “Um, okay. Please get this taken care of.”

(I bring up my credit card statement 20 minutes later and see that the $95 is pending, along with another $35 charge. I decide to call the store.)

Me: “Hey, I am the guy who you guys charged $95. I noticed it is still high. It should be $25.”

Manager: “Oh, yes, sorry about that. The guy who rang you up is new and gets 9’s and 2’s mixed up. Please hold for a sec.”

(She then hands the phone to whatever poor soul rang me up.)

Employee: “Sorry. I get 2’s and 9’s mixed up.”

(I and friends all face-palm.)

(I am 20 years old at the time of this incident and have had my license for three years. My dad lets me borrow his car to do some shopping. As I’m getting back into the car after leaving the store, I’m about to pull out when someone steps up to my window. I pause and roll it down to find a police officer standing there.)

Me: “Uh, can I help you?”

Officer: “License, please.”

Me: *hands it over* “If you don’t mind my asking, what’d I do? I haven’t even pulled out of the parking lot yet.”

Officer: “And you won’t be for a long time, kid. Out of the car. ”

Me: “Huh?”

Officer: “Out. Now.”

(I scramble out of the car. He glares at me, still holding my wallet with my license on the inner fold.)

Me: “I’m no expert at law, but, what cause do you have to stop me?”

Officer: “You have any proof of ownership for this car?”

Me: “No, it’s my dad’s car.”

Officer: “And how old are you, missy?”

Me: “I’m twenty.”

Officer: “I wasn’t born yesterday, kid. How old are you?”

Me: “Uh… you’re the one holding my license and ID, sir. Check it yourself.”

(He finally opens my wallet and glares at my license. I see his eyes bug in amazement that I am indeed twenty. He snaps the wallet shut and demands registration, which I get from the glove-box and hand to him. His face grows an interesting shade of purple and white as he realizes that the car is registered under my dad’s last name, which I share. He tells me to stay put and wait while he goes to his squad car. I do so and when he comes back, he shoves a piece of paper in my hands.)

Me: “What’s this?”

Officer: “A ticket. What’s it look like?”

Me: “For what?”

Officer: “Wasting my time.”

(He storms off and I gape at him. I rush home and inform my dad. Naturally, he’s astounded at this and we immediately call the number provided. When we mentioned the reason stated, the manager on the other end was very quiet for a while and my dad asked if he was still there.)

Manager: “Yes… I am still here. Ignore that ticket, please. I’ll see what I can do.”

(He hadn’t quite hung up the phone all the way when we heard the following:)

Manager: *slightly in background* “THIS IS THE FOURTH TIME THIS MONTH HE’S—” *click*