(I have called to make an appointment to begin physical therapy.)

Clerk: “What is your email address, so I can email you the forms to fill out for your first visit.”

Me: “It’s [email], but my printer is just about out of ink. How many forms are there?”

Clerk: “Um… about six?”

Me: “I don’t know if I can print that many before it runs out. Can you snail mail them to me?”

Clerk: “I don’t know how to do that.”

(There is a brief silence while I gape in astonishment.)

Me: “Uh… you don’t know how to fold up papers and put them in an envelope?”

Clerk: “No, I don’t know what the forms are.”

(We are looking to move house. As I’ve dealt with some pretty crappy estate agents in the past, I decide to keep things real simple, and mass-email estate agents to get on their books. The idea is that they will show you the most relevant properties as soon as they come to market.)

Me: “We are looking for a house in the [Name] area. It must have three bedrooms, detached, and the price range is £X price for a fixer-upper and £Y price for a ready to move in property.”

Estate Agent #1: “Hi, [My Name], take a look at this property. It is new to the market.”

Me: “Looks great, although really out of budget. Will they take low offers?”

Estate Agent #1: “No this is an accurate price. Don’t you have savings to make up the difference?”

(I stopped reading her emails after that.)

Estate Agent #2: “Hi, [My Name], we have had this one on the market for a while. Great house, a bargain!”

Me: “This isn’t in the area we are looking for. Please only send information on properties in [Name] area.”

Estate Agent #2: “Are you sure? It’s a great price!”

(It was a great price because it was the roughest area of the city!)

Estate Agent #3: “Hi [My Name Spelt Wrongly]! I have sent you some property details below.”

(The guy had sent EVERYTHING they had in that area: two- and three-bedroom houses, one-bed flats; no help whatsoever. After this I stopped responding and found a nice house on my own. We are due to move in before Christmas!)

(Our library has recently started a new policy where you have to physically bring in the person you want to allow to pick up your books for you to put them on your account. My dad and I dutifully go in one day to that. Also, inter-library loans are books that come from outside of the city’s system and have extra rules.)

Me: “Picking up.”

(I hand the library assistant my card, which she scans then heads into the back to retrieve my book.)

Librarian: “This is an inter-library loan. I need to see your ID.”

Me: “No problem.” *I hand it to her*

Librarian: *looking at my ID* “I’m not really allowed to do this. [My Name] is supposed to pick up her own books.”

Me: “Uh… that’s me.”

Librarian: “Well, it’s just for security reasons. You aren’t listed on her account to pick up her books.”

Me: “But this is my account…”

Librarian: “I’ll let it go this time, but you need to tell [My Name] that in the future she has to come in and pick up her own books or come in with you to put you on her account.”

Me: “That’s fine, but that’s my book. I’m [My Name].”

Librarian: *finally scanning my book to finish the check out* “Remember to tell [My Name] about the new procedure.”

Me: “Thanks.”

(I haven’t seen this woman since and what’s really funny is that the other librarians know my dad’s and my name and face, and head to the back to get our books before we even get to the desk.)

(I have known my boss for years; he is a nice guy but a bad boss. I’m waiting outside his office. A worker comes out looking angry. I enter the office after he leaves.)

Boss: “I have had enough of [Worker]. How hard is it to get in on time?!”

Me: “Yeah, I know, he is always making up the most stupid excuses. Oh, are you still picking me up tomorrow?”

Boss: “Yes, of course. About 6:30?”

Me: “Yeah, sure.”

(The next morning, I’m waiting outside in my work gear. I get there early so I don’t make him wait for me. 6:30 and nothing. 6:35 and still nothing. At 6:40 I am starting to get concerned. At 6:45 I call him.)

Me: “Hi, [Boss], er are you nearly here?”

Boss: “Hmm, what?”

Me: “Are you nearly at my house?”

Boss: “Oh, c***, what time is it? Where? What? I will be there in an hour.”

(He turned up an hour-and-a-quarter later. The worst part: he doesn’t clock on, but I was marked down as late!)

(Even the Army has fool’s errands for the recruits to run, as is tradition in many other professions. Usually, instead of being sent in search of “sky hooks” or “anvil grease”, these tend to be a bit more specific. This was a few years ago when conscription was still a thing in Germany.)

Instructor: “You know, the conscripts are getting dumber every year.”

Me: “Nah, you’re exaggerating. They’re just not adjusted yet. Think about it: some of them are away from Mommy for the first time, they’re getting yelled at for the most ridiculous things, and they’re suffering from sleep deprivation. Don’t you remember your boot camp?”

Instructor: “Sure, but even though some were simple, they weren’t this stupid. You know, there’s something I always wanted to try… If this doesn’t work, I owe you a case of beer.” *he yells down the hallway* “[Private #1], [Private #2]!”

(They come running.)

Private #1: “Reporting, sir!”

Instructor: “I need the two of you to go to [area within the base] and report to Sgt. [Name]. He is with the maintenance guys; his office is by the garages for the recovery tanks. Do you know where that is?”

Private #2: “Yes, sir.”

Instructor: “Good. For our upcoming training unit tomorrow, I need a UTM grid from him. He should have it ready; you just need to get it over here.”

Privates #1 & #2: “Yes, get a UTM grid from Sgt. [Name], sir!” *they leave*

(UTM is a specific coordinates system for maps.)

Me: “Seriously? They just had a course on reading maps and coordinates last week, and field-training on that two days ago. There’s NO WAY they’re that stupid. They were probably just too scared to tell you off.”

Instructor: *grins at me and dials a number on the phone* “Yeah, Sgt. [Name]? This is [Instructor]. I sent two recruits your way to get a UTM grid.” *pause, then laughter* “Perfect.” *he hangs up* “And now, we wait.”

Me: “Isn’t Sgt. [Name]’s office like 700 metres from here?”

Instructor: “Yup. I’m telling you, they’re gonna do it.”

Me: “You’re on.”

(About half an hour later, the two recruits come back, struggling with an exhaust grating of one of the tanks, which weighs around 120 kg/260 lbs. We watch them through a window as they arrive on the plaza in of the entrance to the barracks. The instructor opens the window as they put it on the ground for a short pause.)

Me: “You gotta be s****ing me.”

Instructor: “This is fantastic…” *yelling out the window* “What the f*** is that supposed to be?”

Private #1: *audibly panting* “Sir, the UTM grid you wanted, sir!”

Instructor: “Are you f****** with me? If I’d wanted a small one, I would’ve asked for it! Take that thing back and get me the big one!”

(Their faces visibly dropped and they looked at each other, Private #2 quite obviously cursing under his breath. Still, they picked it up and started carrying it back. They eventually reported back empty handed and sheepishly. When told about the prank, they were pretty good sports about it in spite of the hard work and very thankful for the apologetic beers we bought them afterwards.)