Me: “Hi, I need some help finding a book. It’s called Sacre Bleu by Christopher Moore. It’s a French word.”

Librarian: “Okay, let me see…”

(We spend a good half hour looking by title and then author. She can’t find it.)

Librarian: “Well, you can look in our sports section if you want a book about soccer.”

Me: “Eh? Why would I want a sports book?”

Librarian: “Didn’t you want a book called Soccer Blue?”

Me: *speechless*

(I am in an appliance store in Israel. I am a 19-year-old American girl, and the two salesmen are older Russian men. We are all speaking to each other in heavily accented Hebrew, so it is extremely clear that I am an American and they are Russian. I happen to know some Russian as well, but you wouldn’t think so because I seem completely American.)

Me: “How much is this fan?”

Salesman #1: *in Russian* “Should we charge her [normal price]?”

Salesman #2: *in Russian* “No, no. Let’s charge her [very high price].”

(Salesman #1 is now glancing at me unsurely. I continue to smile somewhat expectantly, as if I’m cluelessly still waiting for their final answer.)

Salesman #1: *in Russian* “Umm, what if she understands us?”

Salesman #2: *in Russian* “Nah, she’s just some dumb American girl! We’ll give her [high price]. She doesn’t understand us.”

Me: *in Russian* “I understand.”

(Both salesman looked they were going to melt into the floor. They ended up selling me the fan at a nice cheap price!)

(I’m at a beach supply store shopping with my grandpa and little brother.)

My Grandpa: “Excuse me, young man, could you by chance point me to the children’s thongs, please?”

Cashier: *horrified* “W-WE DONT SELL THOSE HERE!”

My Grandpa: “Really? Well, that’s quite odd. It’s usually fairly easy to find them in stores. See, I need some for my grandson.” *motions to my little brother*

My Brother: “Yeah, grandpa broke my last pair yesterday putting ‘em on me, so—”

Cashier: “YOU TWO ARE SICK!” *runs away, while pointing back at them yelling*

My Grandpa: “What the f*** just happened?!”

(I call my doctor’s office about getting some paperwork.)

Receptionist: “Yes, we can get the papers for you. When will you be in to pick them up?”

Me: “Could you just scan them and email them to me? That would be easier.”

Receptionist: “Sure, what’s your email address?”

Me: “It’s [my first name] dot [my last name] at yahoo dot com.”

Receptionist: “Okay, I’ll send those right away…”

(About 24 hours pass and no email. I call back the next day and get the same receptionist.)

Me: “Hi, my name is [name]. I called yesterday about getting some paperwork emailed to me, but I haven’t gotten it yet.”

Receptionist: “Hmm, that’s odd. I sent it yesterday.”

Me: “Just to double check, you have my email address as [first name] period [last name] at yahoo dot com, right?”

Receptionist: “Oh, you said [first name] DOT [last name], so I was writing the word ‘dot!’”

(Note: I’m a patient in the hospital after shattering my leg. My sisters call a local florist to order flowers for me.)

Sister: “Please address these to Jessika. It’s spelled with a K. J-E-S-S-I-K-A.”

Sales Clerk: “Jessika with a K. Got it!”

(They arrived addressed to “Kessica.”)

Related:
Why Hello, Pheven (Not Always Right)
Let Me Phpell It Out For You