(I work in Los Angeles. Washington D.C. is being hit by a big snowstorm. The company I am working for needs an updated student visa form for one of our clients that is coming in five weeks, and the form is not available online. I send an e-mail to the visa agent, explaining the situation, but I add that I understand the reply would be delayed because of the snowstorm and to send it at their earliest convenience. Three weeks pass with no reply. I send a follow-up e-mail and call them two times, with the same results. My bosses are getting on my case, so I call for the third time and the agent finally picks up:)

Me: “Hi. I am calling regarding about the visa for [Client] from [Company]. I understand that you guys had a snowstorm, but it has been three weeks and it is very urgent.”

Visa Agent:*sighs with a condescending tone* “Yes. I saw your e-mail.”

(I ignore it, trying to be civil.)

Me: “Great! I thought it got lost in cyberspace. Would it be possible for you to send us the updated visa sometime today?”

Visa Agent: *continuing on with her tone* “You know, we did have a big snowstorm a few weeks ago.”

Me: “And I appreciate your time in helping us when you are busy catching-up because of the storm.”

Visa Agent: “Look. I know you are from LA, so you wouldn’t understand this whole concept of snow or snowstorms and how it causes delays and—”

Me: “Ma’am, let me stop you right there. I grew up in a suburb of Chicago and got my undergrad in Colorado. So please, enlighten me about this whole concept of snow and snowstorms and how it causes delays, while I wait for you to send the updated visa to me.”

Visa Agent: …I will send it to you right away.”

Me: “Thank you.”

(After we hung up I received the visa within five minutes.)

Doctor: “And what about allergies?”

Me: “I’m allergic to ASA and NSAIDs, as well as—”

Doctor: “I’m sorry, what?”

Me: *slowing down* “Oh, sorry. ASA and all NSAIDs, and—”

Doctor: “I heard you. What do you mean by that?”

Me: “Uh… ASA is aspirin. I’m allergic to aspirin as well as all related non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs, or NSAIDs. I’m sorry, is that not correct? I’ve been saying it that way for years.”

Doctor: “Oh yes, that’s correct. But you shouldn’t use the medical terms. Regular people get it wrong. Only doctors should use the medical terms.”

Me: “But I didn’t get it wrong.”

Doctor: “No, but it’s confusing.”

(I am quite short. I have been asked to hang up some sale signs, but the ladder provided to do so is too short. I have to reach dangerously on tip-toe to get the job done, so I don’t finish the job. The next day:)

Manager: “Why didn’t you hang the signs last night? I had to do them this morning!”

Me: “The ladder was way too short for me to finish the job. I almost fell a few times. I refuse to put myself at risk because the ladder is too short.”

Manager: “Fine, whatever!”

(A few months later, we finally get a new, taller ladder.)

Me: “Maybe I might be able to start hanging signs.”

Coworker: “Yeah, they sent one to every store. The horrible thing is knowing that someone would have actually fallen off a ladder for them to finally acknowledge that the other ladders were too short.”

(I am going through the drive-through and someone previously has tossed a cigarette which has started a fire beside the ordering box.)

Me: “Hey, there’s a fire out here by the order box.”

Voice: “Okay, we’ll let someone know.”

(I get to the pay window.)

Me: “Hey, you know there’s a fire next to your order box?”

Cashier: “Oh?” *looks at the cameras on the area* “I don’t see anything. Your food will be ready at the next window.”

(I go to the next window.)

Me: “Excuse me, but there’s a fire at the drive-in box.”

Clerk: “Okay, I tell manager.”

(She clearly does nothing, so I drive back around to the box and try to stomp out the fire myself. I get back to the box and call the attendant.)

Me: “The fire out here has gotten worse. Can you send someone out with some water?”

Voice: “I’ll tell a manager.”

Me: “Are you guys trying to have your place burn down?”

Voice: “What?”

Me: “You have a fire out here. F. I. R. E… FIRE!”

Voice: “Okay, I’ll send someone out with some water.”

(Three minutes later a woman comes out with a large drink cup with water and just looks at me and the fire and just stands there. I take the cup from her hands and douse the fire. I gave the cup back to her and drove off.)

(The drinking age in NZ is 18. If you look under 25, we have to ID you. We have a liquor warden who has final call on all alcohol sales: how drunk someone is, lack of ID, etc. My coworker has been checking the IDs of almost everybody today, just to be safe, and also because it leads to some fun banter. The women in this story doesn’t look 17, but it would only take a little stretch to say they could be 25, so the ID check was arguably valid.)

Woman #1: “Can I get two red wines?”

Coworker: “Two pinot noirs? Certainly. May I see your IDs?”

Woman #1: *speechless and laughing* “I… my ID? But I don’t have it!”

Coworker: I’m sorry, ma’am but if you look under 25…”

Woman #2: *disbelieving laughter* “I’m 35! And this is my older sister! You are going to be so embarrassed when you see her ID…”

Woman #1: *laughing* “I don’t have my license with me; I don’t carry my wallet everywhere, you know?”

Woman #2: “…so, so embarrassed…”

(I see our liquor warden standing to the side. He had been talking to the boss and the big boss, so all three of them are now watching the proceedings with interest and amusement.)

Coworker: “Well, I, um…” *calls out* “Hey, liquor man! Do these women look under 25?!”

(Everyone in the area freezes, the women looking towards the bosses, the bosses looking at the women, and me looking back and forth between them. After several long seconds we all burst into laughter.)

Big Boss: “Well, I can either compliment you or deny you alcohol!”