(I had a morning appointment where the doctor scheduled a surgery for a month later. At the time, he requested that I make my post-op appointment on my way out, so that I would be on his schedule and get the time I wanted. Later in the day, I noticed that the receptionist scheduled the appointment for two weeks PRIOR to my surgery, so I called in.)

Receptionist: “[Doctor]’s office. How can I help you?”

Me: “Hi! I was in earlier today and [Doctor] recommended a surgery. We’ve scheduled that for date], and he asked that I also schedule my post-op for two weeks after [date]. But, I just checked my appointment card, and you’ve scheduled me for two weeks BEFORE my surgery.”

Receptionist: “Well, ma’am, I see here that you are scheduled for a post-op appointment on [date]. That is two weeks after your surgery.”

Me: “No, I’m sorry, but it’s two weeks BEFORE. My surgery is [date next month].”

Receptionist: “No, I have you here for surgery today. You had surgery this morning.”

Me: “No, I didn’t. I think I would remember a major surgery requiring general anesthesia…”

Receptionist: “My records say you had surgery today.”

Me: “Well, your records are wrong. Can you please update them and reschedule my post-op appointment to [date in six weeks].”

Receptionist: “No, your records say your surgery was today, so your post-op must be in two weeks.”

Me: “Can I talk to the nurse?”

(My colleague is looking for iced tea but can’t appear to find any.)

Colleague: “Do we have any peach?”

Me: *unable to find any* “Looks like it’s in another castle.”

Colleague: “What?”

Me: “…never mind.”

(I’m at work and find a spider in my clinic room. I gently nudge the spider onto a piece of paper and walk outside to release it on a tree. My boss sees me come back in.)

Boss: “Why did you let the spider go? I would have smashed it with my hand.”

Me: “You shouldn’t kill spiders because they’re your friends. They eat all the flies and mosquitoes that you hate.”

Boss: “Nope. I say smash first and clean up later.”

(My boss walks away and comes back.)

Boss: “Say… HOW do spiders catch flies and mosquitoes?”

(I’m not sure whether this is a trick question but my boss honestly looks puzzled.)

Me: “They… build… a… web.”

Boss: “Oh, is that it? No, I mean HOW do spiders CATCH those flying insects?”

Me: “Spiders build a web which traps the insects when they fly into it.”

Boss: “Right. No, I knew that.”

(My boss walked away looking a tad embarrassed. I’m not sure how he finished primary school science, especially as he was always boasting about how intelligent he was.)

(Our local art gallery was showing a special viewing of the classic movie musical “Gigi”. My mother, who loves musicals and adores that movie, decided to take 14-year-old me. The art gallery’s theatre wasn’t a typical movie theatre, and the copy of the movie was in Cinemascope, for which the theatre did not have the right screen. As soon as it started, we knew there was a problem: Maurice Chevalier looked like he was about two feet tall. My mother and I left when we realized that the gallery wasn’t going to fix the mistake.)

Mum: “We’d like a refund, please.”

Ticket Taker: “Why?”

Mum: “There’s a problem with the movie. All the actors look two feet tall!”

Ticket Taker: “Um … I’ll have to call my manager.”

Manager: “What’s the problem?”

(Mum explains.)

Manager: “We can’t give you a refund for that. Are you sure that’s even what you saw?”

Mum: “Just wait. There will be more people out here in a minute looking for refunds. Better get ready.”

Manager: *scoffs*

(Less than five minutes later, the foyer was full of angry, disappointed movie buffs all demanding refunds.)

(My wife is in labor with our first child. The fetal heart monitor has flat-lined. I rush into the hallway and find the nurses drinking coffee at their desk.)

Me: “My baby’s heart is flatlined. We need help right away!”

(They take their time to come down the hall. By the time they arrive, the baby’s heart is beating again. They check the records.)

Nurse: “The machine was acting up. It was nothing.”

(About five minutes later, the monitor flatlines again. This time the nurses come running. The doctor approaches me.)

Doctor: “The baby is in distress. We could lose the baby and we could quite possibly lose your wife. What do you think we should do?”

Me: *flabbergasted* “I think one of us went to medical school, and I sure as h*** hope it was you!”

(My wife had no further complications and we are proud parents to a healthy baby girl.)