Customer: “Vodka on the rocks.”

I pour a single of the house vodka over some ice and slide it to him.

Customer: “That’s… it?”

Me: “That’s vodka, on ice. Were you expecting something different?”

Customer: “I thought it was, like, a cocktail.”

Me: “On the rocks means a liquor, poured neat, over ice. The rocks are ice.”

Customer: “Oh…”

Me: “Did you want this to be more like a cocktail?”

Customer: “It’s just… it looks like water.”

Me: “Fun fact, the name Vodka comes from the Slavic term ‘Voda’, which means water, with ‘ka’ added at the end, making the meaning ‘little water’.”

Customer: “Oh… that’s kinda cool, I guess.”

Me: “Would you like me to add something to it?”

Customer: “Coke?”

Me: “You got it.”

I turn his vodka into a vodka and Coke. He takes a sip.

Customer: “Much better! I much prefer fancy cocktails!”

It’s a Seagram’s vodka and some cola, but hey, as long as the customer is happy!

A new hire walks into the office building at the same time as I. We’re on the first floor (ground floor to you Europeans), and I see them repeatedly push the ‘down’ button to summon the elevator.

Me: *Pushing the ‘up’ button.* “You’re on the same floor as me, right?”

New Hire: “Yup!”

Me: “Oh, it’s just you’re pushing the down button. There’s nothing in the basement.”

New Hire: “Oh! Haha.” *Gestures to the entire two-button elevator summoning system.* “I can never understand how these things work.”

They were hired as an engineer…

I worked in a furniture store. If a customer is buying a heavy piece of furniture that needs to be secured to a wall, they have to complete a form acknowledging they know that before they can buy it (too many lawsuits, I guess?)

I’m explaining the form to the customer as they’re interested in buying a large cabinet.

Customer: “I don’t want to do that. I hate d*** forms!”

Me: “I’m afraid it’s policy. We can’t sell it to you without it.”

Customer: “Look, son, I have the d*** cash, you have the d*** item. In the olden days, this would be real d*** simple.”

Me: “I’m afraid the olden days disappeared when every-d***-one started suing every-d***-one else for every d*** thing, sir. These days, we need the d*** form.”

The customer squared up to me, and with some weird macho-cowboy kinda vibe, pats me on the back and laughs.

Customer: “Ha! I like you! Fine, I’ll squiggle some d*** nonsense on yer form that says I ain’t stupid enough to sue you if my own d*** furniture falls on me in my own d*** house.”

D*** straight.

My brother is an a**hole driver. The kind of person who will pull right up to the bumper of someone at a stoplight and start pounding their horn, even when there is no way for those in front of them to go. The kind of person who will swerve around to get ahead of a car, and then brake check them to ‘teach them a lesson’ for getting in his way. The kind of person who will swerve across lanes of traffic, cutting cars off, to swerve into the exit ramp. Just terrible, whenever he is behind the wheel of a car.

And no matter how much we call him out, he refuses to admit that he is wrong. 

Well, about a month ago, he pulled up to our house for a visit, but the front of his car was beat to hell. Dents on the hood, cracks in the windshield and driver’s side window, and the driver’s mirror was missing entirely.

Me: “What happened?”

Brother: “This guy just jumped out and attacked me!”

Me: “What?! Someone jumped out into the road? Did you just have a hit-and-run?”

Brother: “No, he jumped out of his car and attacked me. I barely got out of there.”

Me: *Now somewhat suspicious, given his history.* “Were you behind his car at a traffic light?”

Brother: “Yeah, just minding my own business, and he just jumped out—”

Me: “—After you started honking your horn at him?”

Brother: *Silent.*

He kept circling back to the story during the visit, and clammed up when asked what had happened right before the ‘attack’, but, from what I know of him, I’m pretty sure the sequence went something like ‘he pulled up behind them, started laying on his horn, and the other driver then hopped out to get him to shut up’.

Still, not great road rage, but I honestly can’t say my brother isn’t a deserving recipient of it.

I’m working in a bookstore, and I overhear two girls browsing the young adult section. One of them is on their phone.

Girl #1: “Girl, I think he might be the one!”

Girl #2: “How do you know?”

Girl #1: “He texts me back!”

Girl #2: “Yeah, he’s the one.”

Girl #1: “And get this, he texts in complete sentences!”

Girl #2: “Lock… that… s***… down!”