(Our failing local newspaper, desperate to sell more subscriptions, has resorted to telemarketing. Despite being on the Do Not Call list, we get calls from them every day for a month. I finally pick up the phone.)

Me: “Hello?”

Telemarketer: “Hi, this is [name]. Can I interest you in a subscription to [newspaper]?”

Me: “No, thank you. I’m not interested.”

Telemarketer: “Why not? Is it too expensive? We also offer Sunday/Wednesday-only subscriptions.”

Me: “There are hundreds of free news sources online now. I get all of my news online. I just don’t need it; I’m sorry.”

Telemarketer: “But ink cartridges are expensive. Doesn’t it cost a lot more to print all your own news?”

Me: “I’ll have a 16 oz. quad mocha, please.”

Server: “Quad?”

Me: “Yes, four shots, please.”

Server: “But it comes with two.”

Me: “And I’d like four.”

Server: “But it comes with two!”

Me: “I’d like two extra.”

Server: “So, that’s four?”

Me: “Yep.”

Server: “I’ll have to charge more.”

Me: “No worries.”

Server: “So, that’s a 16 oz. mocha with two shots and two shots of espresso.”

(Her phrasing is a bit weird, but I assume she gets it.)

Me: “Yes, thanks.”

Server: “That will be [price].”

(Shortly after…)

Barista: “16 oz. mocha and two shots, [my name]!”

(What do I find? 16 oz. mocha and two, separate shots sitting on the counter…)

(I’m buying a common cold medicine that is OTC, but you have to be 18 to buy. At the time, I’m 19.)

Cashier: “I need to see your ID.”

(I hand it to her.)

Cashier: “Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t sell this to you.”

Me: “What? Why not? ”

Cashier: “Well, I have to be able to verify you’re over 18.”

Me: “Is there a problem with my ID?”

Cashier: “You were born in 1989.”

Me: “Yes, and it’s 2008, so I’m 19.”

Cashier: “But you could be lying because I don’t know how to figure out how old you are if you were born in 1989. It’s too hard to subtract!”

(At our laboratory, we recently changed the way we clean glassware after doing a chemical test. The new cleaner is cheaper and more ‘green,’ but lower in acidity, so it often leaves pale spots of calcification on the glass. This unfortunately interferes with the test unless scrubbed off, doubling the time for cleaning.)

Manager: “Hey, how come you’re grinding away at those retorts?”

Me: “That new cleaner doesn’t do such a good job. The white spots mess up the reading.”

Manager: “Oh… but that always happened, didn’t it?”

Me: “No, the spots only started after we switched the cleaner. They never happened—”

Manager: “Where’s the paperwork on that?”

Me: “Pardon? I’ve been reporting the spotting problem—”

Manager: ” Yes, I’ve read those. But where’s the paper trail showing that there were no spots on the glassware with the old cleaner. Eh?”

Me: “Well, we didn’t write down that there were spots, because there weren’t any. So—”

Manager: “Ah, exactly my point! You didn’t write down that there were no spots. So, how can you prove that this problem only started?”

Me: “I’m not following.”

Manager: “If you didn’t write down what wasn’t happening, how can you prove it wasn’t? You can only prove what you wrote down, correct? Yes, correct! So, if you didn’t report a lack of spots before, you can’t prove there were no spots before, right?”

Me: “…I really can’t argue with that.”

Manager: ” Which is why I make three times what you do!” *smiles*

Coworker: “I hate working on Tuesday… that’s sign change night.”

Me: *joking* “Maybe I should tell [manager] that you’re bad at sign changes, so you’ll never be scheduled to work those nights!”

Coworker: “…but If I had every Tuesday off, I’d never get another day off.”

Me: “Sure you would. You always get two days off.”

Coworker: “Nuh-uh. I’ve been working five days every week.”

Me: “How many days do you think there are in a week?”

Coworker: “I know there’s seven days in a regular week, but not in our work week.”

Me: “…How?”

Coworker: “It’s from Sunday to Saturday.”

Me: “Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday… that’s seven days.”

Coworker: “Oh. I guess I get two days off, then…”