We’re all guilty of doing dumb things, and usually, we can just chalk it up to our inherent flaws as humans. But sometimes, a person’s act of stupidity is just so bad that it’s hard to come to that person’s defense. Take the following idiots, for example, who took “dumb” to such astronomical levels that there is just no excusing their mistakes or playing them off. For the rest of their lives, they will simply have to live with the shame and humiliation of their idiocy. Brace yourself for some truly embarrassing stories:
I was working in the back of an ambulance on a patient who seriously needed nitroglycerin to lower their blood pressure. I told him: “Before I give this medication to you, I need to triple-check that you have not taken any ED meds in the last 72 hours like Viagra or Cialis. If you have and I give you this nitroglycerin, your blood pressure could drop dangerously low”.
I then asked him, “Have you taken any of these meds?” The tone in his reply made me suspicious. “Oh no, never”. I asked him again to confirm, to which he replied, “Oh yes, of course, I am”. I ran through the list of potentially harmful side effects again. Again, he said, “No, never”. I was annoyed, but I carried on with it, “OK, hold this pill under your tongue”. Then he asked, “Does generic Viagra count?”
Back in elementary school, when I was about seven years old, we would make gingerbread houses with icing and stuff. My teacher told us NOT to eat the gingerbread and the icing because it was poisonous, and we could get really sick. Being the teacher and someone you should listen to, I believed her. So, while I was growing up and for most of my life, I thought that gingerbread was poisonous.
I have never eaten a gingerbread house in my life or any of the icing. At 29 years of age, my fiancée and I were making a gingerbread house, and she started eating hers. I freaked out. It was then that she informed me that the teacher probably said that so she wouldn’t have 30 kids hopped up on sugar in her class for the rest of the day. I couldn’t believe I was duped that hard and never realized it.
I worked in an office with four other men. One day, after a mass shooting, I wondered out loud which one of us was most likely to come in one day and harm the other four. For fun, we cast ballots, each of us writing down who we thought would do it. All five of us wrote down Pete—which means Pete even voted for himself.
When I was in high school, some of the jocks decided that Home Ec would be an easy A. One of the jocks was an absolute fool. So, the Home Ec class is learning how to use sewing machines. This guy is sewing merrily away, with his thumb sticking out perpendicular to his left hand, putting it on a trajectory toward the needle. Not surprisingly, he runs his thumb through the feed and punctures it several times.
He calls out to the teacher for help. She comes over and asks him, “What did you do?” He replies, “I did this,” and proceeds to repeat his actions, including going through the feed and getting additional puncture wounds to his thumb.
I used to sell paint. A woman came in saying she wanted to paint her fence. I gave her advice and explained to her how to prepare the surface. Then, she asked, “Do I need anything to apply the paint?” I told her she needed a roller or a brush. Her response left me in disbelief. “Oh, I can’t just splash the paint on the fence?” She was completely serious.
I used to believe that the dog who bit me when I was 6 was actually sent to a farm. It wasn’t until I was watching Friends years later when Ross and Monica are talking about an old dog that found a great place on a farm to grow old. It hit me right then. I hated that dog. I am fearful of dogs because of it. But never did I want it “to live the rest of its life at a farm!!!”
I met this guy, Lewis, while interning at a non-profit organization. Lewis interned in the archives department, and once the summer was coming to an end he decided he would get a permanent job there no matter the cost. This led to several hare-brained schemes and unsuccessful attempts to show how good of an employee he could be. He tried to apply to a position in his department that had not existed for years because of budget cuts.
But Lewis was a member of the organization and thought he was superior to everyone else, so of course, he thinks they’ll just find the money so that he can continue working there. He meets with the main hiring director who again tells him there is no money or need for the position but that doesn’t stop Lewis. Instead, he comes up with an even worse plan.
Lewis decides to apply for another position in a completely different department that he has no qualifications for. His plan is to get the job….and then after a couple of weeks move back into his old office at the archive department and pretend like he had been working there the whole time. Of course, his plan was ruined by the fact that he told co-workers about it, so some people already knew about his false intentions before he even had the interview.
Before this interview, Lewis tried to show how he can be a model employee. One day my soda got trapped in the vending machine. Lewis attempted to prove how macho he was in front of the hiring director by shaking and punching the machine until he was red in the face and ran out of breath. The best was yet to come. The hiring director then proceeds to pull out a key and unlock the machine in a couple of seconds.
This makes Lewis look like an absolute idiot while he’s about to pass out from exhaustion. A few days later at lunch, one of the other interns mentions how she’s getting some furniture delivered to her apartment. Lewis butts in and says, “I can come over to your place and help assemble it for you.” She tells him thanks but I can do it on my own, but Lewis is unfazed.
“NO, I’m going to come over and help you, this is a man’s job.” What’s creepy is that Lewis was older than most of the interns by about five years. having already gotten a master’s degree while everyone else was an undergrad student. A week later, Lewis receives a visitor in his office. The new CEO who was due to start in a month wanted to check in with everyone.
The CEO begins to explain how he wants to run things when Lewis tries correcting him. Despite having only worked there for two months and being due to leave in a week, Lewis starts to lose his patience. “THIS IS HOW WE”VE DONE THINGS IN THE PAST AND THIS IS HOW WE”RE GONNA KEEP DOING THEM.” Somehow he still thought he had a good chance going into the interview despite screaming at the new CEO, who would have to approve new employees.
Well, this ends exactly how you thought it would. He doesn’t get the job and mopes back to his office to pack up his stuff, riding off into the sunset to scam his way into another job.
We were interviewing candidates for an open position and had it down to two people, one was white and the other was black. We were at a meeting discussing the two candidates when our guy was asked how he felt about them. Mind you, our Director and CIO were there, plus the whole team of IT staff. His response was incredibly disturbing.
“Well, it depends on if I have Jungle Fever.” The room went quiet, and one person just said, “I think I need to leave now.”
During Thanksgiving, my sister’s ex-boyfriend told me that my mom was cooking Big Bird in the oven. I stomped into the kitchen with a mad face and crossed arms and with great disapproval, I asked, “are you really cooking Big Bird??” I was like 3.
I used to work at a motel. It was not the sort of motel chain that brings to mind images of chocolates placed on pillows or romantic evenings in the hot tub; indeed, its signature decor can be seen in the background of certain low-budget rap videos. However, Mr. and Mrs. Idiot made it their monthly romantic getaway. In fact, due to a generous corporate policy that directed managers to provide an extra night free of charge to soothe any complaining guests, for a period lasting a year or more, they succeeded in stretching their monthly getaway to two nights.
Among the complaints that won them an extra night: The room was full of bugs after they left the door open all evening. The toilet stopped flushing after they emptied their ashtray into it The manager eventually received permission from corporate to cap the number of free nights a guest could be eligible for. The couple was the only guest ever to reach this lifetime cap at our motel.
Their shock over no longer having one free night a month did not end their regular getaway, however. It had to get much grosser. That was achieved after an incident involving copious amounts of vomit. Mr. and Mrs. Idiot were informed that they were now on the no-rent list. Apparently, this monthly stay was important to their marriage, because a few months later the manager received a call from Mrs. Idiot’s divorce attorney.
What vital information did he need? He wanted to confirm that Mr. Idiot was responsible for both of them being banned from the motel. Yes, this was apparently part of the divorce proceedings. The manager explained that he considered each of them equally responsible, which was not the answer the attorney expected or wanted. Not long after, Mrs. Idiot called the front desk.
“You have me banned under the name Jane Idiot,” she announced. “But—” and here she could not hide her pleasure at her own cleverness, “that’s not my name anymore. I got divorced, and now my name is Jane Kelly.” We had a pitch-perfect response. The front desk employee, trying to hide their laughter, said, “Ok, we’ll make sure to ban you under the name Jane Kelly, too.” A gasp of dismay, and the line went silent.
When I was 16 years old, I worked at the public library in Miami. We had a girl, let’s call her “Nancy,” who worked there. Every day at 5 o’clock, her dad would park outside the front door and honk once. Nancy would come out and they’d leave. One day, good ol’ dad parked and honked. Nancy was nowhere to be seen.
So dad honked again, and again and again. I was sitting at the checkout desk. Suddenly, I see Nancy dashing towards the automatic doors. As I see her running at that high rate of speed, I know there is no way that the doors will open in time. As I look on, a train wreck happens. Nancy does not slow down and hits the door at full force.
The doors don’t break, and she bounces back about six feet right to the floor. We were all speechless. She gets up as if nothing happened, says, “See you guys tomorrow!” and leaves casually.
I used to work at a call center for a large bank. A customer phoned in while he was in one of the branches and said the queue was too long, so he wanted me to help him. I asked what his query was and his response caught me off-guard. He said the ATM was broken and he had to withdraw cash. I asked him how I could possibly help him withdraw some money from the bank over the phone, and he said, “Why can’t you just fax it to me?”
My sister used to work with a lady who was a total airhead. Let’s call her Kelly. There were a ton of stories, but this one in particular really stuck with me. One day Kelly had to call out from work in the middle of a heatwave. She was in the hospital, on IV fluids, from dehydration and heat exhaustion. After returning to work, my sister asked her how she got so dehydrated. The answer was mind-blowing.
Apparently, poor Kelly had no idea why at first, although I’m certain they tried hard to explain it to her at the hospital. I wasn’t there, but from my sister’s story, the conversation went something like this: Sister: “What happened? How did you get so dehydrated?” Kelly: “I don’t know! I was just swimming.” Sister: “Were you drinking water?”
Kelly: “Not really. But I was swimming!” Sister: “Uh, ok? You weren’t drinking anything though? Like all day? It was almost a hundred degrees!” Kelly: “Yeah but I was in the water so I wasn’t hot. And you can’t get dehydrated when you are in the water.” No amount of explanation could convince her that she could, and did, get dehydrated while swimming because she didn’t drink any fluids for hours on an incredibly hot day.
Too bad my sister doesn’t work with her anymore, the woman was a gold mine.
I’m from central Kentucky and growing up we would always see tons of Ohio license plates on the road. So I asked why that was. My father proceeded to tell me that Ohio had a state law that was basically a curfew. He told me that once Ohio residents leave the state for any reason, they have a limited amount of time to return.
Therefore, if they didn’t make it back, they couldn’t re-enter the state. So, the Ohio drivers on the road were vagabonds, forever driving the surrounding states until they could go home. He told it so well and with such conviction that I believed it until I repeated it to friends in high school and finally realized what an idiot I was.
For me, it was a girl who was really quiet most of the time. Then one morning, she phoned in saying her son had passed on. We were devastated—until we found out the dark truth. We called her mom hoping to get an address to send flowers. Instead, we found out the grandmother didn’t know he passed on. She phoned back about 10 minutes later saying the son was alive and well and the girl just wanted a day off. We never saw her again.
There is a ridiculous girl in my class this semester. Entry-level course. Students are around 18 years old. First week. I teach physics. That day, I used an example based on the scan of a running body. I then let the student work on another example based on a javelin. The girl raises her hand to signal she has a question. It was the strangest thing I ever heard. I walk to her desk and she asks, “Can you tell me what my finger has ?”
I don’t understand so I freeze, confused. She then puts her finger really close to my face and I see some reddish skin shedding. “My finger, it hurts and I don’t know what it is.” I’m baffled and I say I’m not a doctor and that questions about physics would be more appropriate. “Well.. you talked about the body of a person running. I thought you were a doctor.”
A few days later, we are in the computer lab. They have to follow a few steps, written on a sheet of paper, to retrieve some files. She raises her hand. Apparently, the computer is broken. She says that when she follows the first step, the computer shuts down. The first step is to click on the “start menu.” She repeatedly pushed the power button. The “start button.”
She did a few other dumb things not worth mentioning, but she managed a 0 on her final exam. But that’s not even the weirdest part. The weird part is that her copy was not blank. In fact, it was filled with words and equations. Except nothing made sense. But it wasn’t like some students do when they don’t know the answer. Usually, those are copying formulas for the sake of putting something on the paper and you can see on paper that those students do not feel strongly about their performance.
Her exam was not like that. It was an actual “resolution” of the problem. Basic algebra logic was thrown out of the window, but her way of giving her answers was full of confidence. I have never seen someone so blind about their lack of skills. She failed way under the passing grade, then asked to see her exam in my office. She tried to argue about my grading being too harsh.
I explained calmly how everything was defying reality on her copy, but she was still arguing some of it was good. I’m simplifying here, but her arguments were like: Ok, you said I should have used the conservative principle of energy here and the answer was 256, but my answer is 28 and at least I have one correct digit, even without using the right approach.
I don’t even know how she made it that far. I don’t even know how she will be able to provide for herself as an adult.
I once convinced a friend that Astroturf grows. I told him that each blade had a small motor underneath it that would very slowly push the piece of grass out of the ground, and that after a few months, someone had to go around and push them all back in. He didn’t believe me at first, so I stopped trying to convince him.
About a year later, he tried to convince me of the same thing. At first, I thought he was joking, but he was completely serious. Not only did I convince him that Astroturf grows, he had completely forgotten that he argued that it did not, and now believed it completely. Of course, the same guy also believed that milk was cow pee, so it wasn’t too far of a stretch.
I worked at an independent pet store. We mainly sold dog supplies, but there was a small section of cat toys, catnip, etc. A newer, pretty gimmicky item we brought in was a line of catnip that was packaged to look like an illicit plant. It had “prescription” bottles and pre-rolls”. People usually knew these were catnip products.
However, on many occasions, I had many people ask the same hilarious question: “How does the cat take tokes on it?” Or, even better yet, “How can they even hold the lighter? They’ve got paws?” I never do quite know how to reply besides muddled laughter.
So this happened a few years back. I apply for a new job, which requires a drug test for all new employees. The company is relatively small and handles all of its testing in-house using dipsticks. There is little to no supervision or protocols when you take the test. They literally hand you a cup, ask you to go into one of the bathroom stalls (it’s not even a single stall bathroom), have you pee in a cup, then hand them the cup.
They dip it right in front of you then you are done. Easy right? So this girl comes out and hands her cup of urine to the supervisor, who then proceeds to test it. The supervisor looks up at her and shows her the dipstick. Then this glorious conversation takes place. Supervisor: So you want to try again? Her (confused): No. You have my urine right there.
Supervisor: Oh, so you’re dead then? Her: (more confused): Huh? Supervisor: Look, the urine you gave me was about 58 degrees Fahrenheit. Either you are lying or you are dead. And since you don’t look or sound like a corpse, I’m going to assume that it is not your urine. Her: It is my urine! I am cold-blooded. That’s all. Supervisor (chuckling): Are you trying to tell me that your natural body temperature is around 58 degrees?
Her: Well I’ve never checked it, but yeah when I am nervous it’s something around there. Needless to say, she was sent home immediately and told not to come back.
During a high school auditorium lecture on the dangers of substance use, the lecturers on stage asked the audience if anybody had any questions. I raised my hand, and when they called on me, I asked them with my best poker face: “Why do you get high when you eat three bananas and then drink a can of Sprite really fast?”
The lecturer had obviously never heard of that before, and I started hearing all around me, “Does that work?” The answer to that is: you won’t get high, but you will vomit. Needless to say, people came up to me all day to tell me that a bunch of people were throwing up all over the place. To this day, it still makes me laugh.
I knew a girl once who was having some trouble starting her car. I asked her if she regularly puts “seatbelt fluid” in the car because cars have a safety feature where they won’t start if there isn’t enough seatbelt fluid. She went home and told her dad, and they both went straight to the store in search of seatbelt fluid.
At one point, I believed my mother might have a severe learning disability, coupled with learned helplessness. No, she’s just an idiot. When given directions to go to the end of the block to find parking, she shot back, “How am I supposed to know what a block is, I don’t remember that from school!?” After learning I have gluten intolerance, she makes sure to buy me foods that don’t contain gluten.
“I brought you gluten-free olives, gluten-free tomatoes, and gluten-free baby carrots.” When I explain gluten comes from wheat, she shoots back, “Well I’m not wrong!” Speaking of baby carrots. I love them. My mom tells me how horrible they are because they are packaged in cancer. The water inside is cancer. She yells at me anytime I eat them. Unless they are the gluten-free type she brings over.
The first time she declared bankruptcy (the first of three) she claimed it was the furniture store’s fault. She had purchased a new living room set. Yes, and it gets more bizarre. Despite having money for it, she mistook the “No payments for a year” deal as meaning “You are not allowed to pay for this for a year.” By then the interest had made it far more expensive and the original money was spent.
The first time I brought my new boyfriend, now husband, over she giggled and told me she had something to show me. She walked me to her bathroom and said, “I’ve never pooped so big in my life! I saved it to show you!” It had been there for days. My husband still mentions this. I once bought her a laptop. This was an enormous mistake.
I spent the next year giving lesson after lesson. Simple things like how to make folders and organize pictures, how to use Google or Netflix. It was fruitless and caused a lot of fights between us. Eventually she said the computer stopped turning on and I viewed it as a blessing. After about six months of her complaining, I finally went to her house to see why it wouldn’t turn on.
It was not plugged in. It. Was. Not. Plugged. In. I also bought her a cellphone. She can never remember how to find the pictures she’s taken, how to access her email, and specifically how to connect it to her WIFI to save data. She told me she had the cable guy come out three times to see why it wouldn’t connect, but it was simply broken.
I went over, looked at the password that comes printed on the router, typed it into her phone, and it connected. My mom swears I should go into tech support. Despite being technologically inept, though, she sadly knows how to use Facebook. I am not on Facebook. Daily she’d send me Facebook links to gluten-free recipes and warnings about cancer in every product I use.
I would respond daily, “I am not on Facebook and cannot view the link.” Her solution was ridiculous. She would screenshot the articles, take her phone to Walgreens, have the photo center people get the pictures off her phone, print them, and she’d then physically mail them to me. I have received over one hundred 4×6 screenshots of spam since December.
Speaking of Facebook, she believes everything. It’s sad and annoying, but occasionally hilarious. My favorite was when she excitedly told me that this Halloween is the first in 666 years to fall on Friday the 13th.
When I was little, I thought that Leprechauns were real. I spent many hours and several iterations designing traps to try and catch one because if you caught one, you would get his pot of gold. A few times I tried, I got a piece of gold, and that’s what kept the magic going. It turned out my dad was painting rocks with gold paint and sneaking them into my traps at night.
It is actually a really sweet memory as a kid, but it fell apart when I started asking other kids how their traps were going, and no one knew what I was talking about.
I slept over at a friend’s house once and he told me his dad’s security system was motion sensor machine gun turrets that would drop from the ceiling if it detected an intruder. I spent the entire night perfectly still trying to hold in my pee until I couldn’t anymore and sprinted for the toilet. I’m still alive so I guess I was too fast for ‘em.
This server at the restaurant I work at apparently took a customer’s credit card info while checking them out. He then goes on a shopping spree with it, pending close to $7,000 in a matter of a few days. He wasn’t just using it on online purchases but somehow even used it at places like jewelry stores where there is no shortage of surveillance cameras.
I don’t know how he thought he could get could away with any of that. What truly makes this a great story is how they busted him. Once the owner of the card notified authorities, officers went to one of the jewelry stores where he bought a $600 gold necklace and had them call the guy to come back for some reason. Not sure how they convinced him to return but he did.
Sure enough, he walked right back into the store with officers just waiting for him. Last I checked, he’s being charged with around seven felonies, and he had priors. I doubt he will see the outside of the cell for a long time.
We didn’t have air conditioning or central air in my home growing up, so we used box fans a lot. They sat on the floor and weren’t all that sturdy, so sometimes they would fall or get knocked over. At one point, my mom told me not to leave them running when they fell over because they would “blow up.” My child mind, of course, took that to mean the same as it does in movies.
I got spooked and imagined our whole house exploding into a massive fireball. I remember one time a fan fell over next to my dad, and he wasn’t urgently picking it up. I went into a panic and was yelling at him while he gave me a confused “what is your problem?” look.
My mother always told horror stories to me as kid to get me to stop doing certain things. They always involved a student exploding in school when she was a little girl. So, things like one time a girl had to go to the bathroom but she didn’t and held it for so long that her bladder exploded during class or a girl swallowed her gum once and every time she took a breath it blew a bubble in her stomach until her stomach exploded in class one day. I believed them all.
This was related to me by a co-worker. This is at a casino coffee shop that also serves soft-serve ice cream and makes ice cream sundaes. On the condiment bar, there’s a large glass bottle with honey syrup in it for adding to your tea or whatever, along with cream, sugar, etc. It’s in an old Torani syrup bottle with a stopper/pourer thing and it was clearly liquid.
It’s a honey/water mixture, like a non-alcoholic mead. A family of idiots come in and order three sundaes, all different. They each grab the honey syrup container and just dump it on their ice cream sundaes. Like, all over the sundaes. And the counter. They each take a bite of the sundaes and come up to the order counter and complain that they’re too sweet.
They want a refund or new sundaes. This is about $16-$22 worth of ice cream depending on what they got. The refund or free sundaes are denied since they did this to their own ice cream. They buy all new sundaes, walk over to the condiment counter, and add honey syrup again, but this time not as much.
One of the guys in the lawyer department at work used to do personal injury stuff. He once told me about a time that he represented a guy who was suing a big chain DIY store claiming he slipped on some spilled liquid in one of the aisles and wrenched his back. Subsequently, he had trouble walking, trouble sleeping, and trouble getting it up.
I believe he was suing for mid-six figures. There were no CCTV cameras on that particular aisle, so the store had no way of disputing his claim. The guy swore blind to him that all his injuries and symptoms were genuine. And then the other shoe dropped…The store’s solicitors turned up a bunch of photos from the guy’s wife’s Facebook page of the two of them on a skiing holiday about a month after the fall supposedly happened.
I believe the other side’s solicitors said something along the lines of, “So do you want to get your guy to drop his case now, or shall we wait until it gets to court and we countersue for all our fees and your client making a false claim?” My buddy emailed his client with a link to the photos saying essentially, “You need to give me an explanation for these, and for your sake it had better be a really good one…”
But, the guy never responded. The case got tossed out before it ever got close to a courtroom.
I used to teach karate, and one day, a lady came in looking to do a birthday party at her own home. She wanted to buy some black belts from us for her kid and their friends. I would have no problem selling her belts for home use, except we didn’t stock any of that stuff except for when we needed them for tests and promotions.
I kindly declined and explained to her she could go and find them on a specific website online if she wanted them. I also explained that most schools won’t sell them because of the hard work and dedication students put into obtaining them. I thought she would leave after that, but she just wouldn’t quit. She pointed at my belt, which was grimy and worn out, and said, “Well, what about yours? Can I just buy that one?”
As if I was going to give her the thing I had been using every day for ten years.
I used to work in a school library. We would open it for students during lunch, then close the doors and put out a large closed sign when it got full. The sign was on a wheeled easel that the students could read from both ways down the hallway and they had to walk around as it took up half the space. But here’s the frustrating part—students would often walk past the sign that said “LIBRARY CLOSED” through double closed doors and then try to walk in.
My favorite response was, “Did you read the sign?” They would often say, “No,” to which I would reply, “Oh, well, if you can’t read, you shouldn’t be in a library. Goodbye!”
My dad always told me to be good because he said that he could see around corners. Sometimes, if I got told off for being naughty, I would walk out of the room and flip him the bird and he would always know. So, once, when I was around 12, the same thing happened. I had done something wrong and he shouted at me. I then walked out of the room and, clearly out of sight, flipped him a double bird.
He knew it and ran out after me. That’s when I had the most jaw-dropping revelation. The door to walk out of the living room was next to the back door for the garden, which was glass. He could always see me in the reflection. I couldn’t believe I was so stupid for so long.
I was defending a fraternity president that got some kid seriously injured during a hazing incident, at one of their parties. During the opening statements, he jumped up on the table and blamed everyone in the courtroom for what happened. Everyone except himself. “If any of you were cool enough to be invited to our parties…then you could have stopped us! This is on you. And you. And you. Aaaand you, your honor!”
I was arguing for my client to be released on his own recognition. The judge asks him where he is going to live. “With my fiancé,” he says. He spins a lovely tale about how wonderful his fiancé is, how supportive she is, and did he mention they are having a baby and he wants to get out of lockup and take care of his soon-to-be wife and kid to support them properly?
The judge asks the courtroom, “Could Defendant’s fiancé please approach the bench?” That’s when the drama kicked into high gear. From opposite sides of the room, two women stand up and start walking to the front. One is about four months pregnant and the other is nearly nine months pregnant. They are looking at each other with identical expressions of “who the heck are you?”
You could see the exact moment when each of them realized, “That woman is sleeping with my man.” The fight started before they even got to the counsel’s table. Pregnancy or not, these chicks were seriously trying to kill one another. The bailiffs had to stop laughing long enough to break up the fight. My client says, “Dang, your Honor, I didn’t think they’d both come.”
The judge said he was denying bail for my client’s own protection.
When I was seven years old, my mother married my stepfather. He had a really great job, and as a result, had a BMW. One day, I got to ride in the front seat of his car for the first time. I had never in my life experienced anything so modern or so expensive before then. I was in awe of the dashboard, the interior, the seat warmers—everything just blew me away.
I think he must have noticed, because he was like, “Hey, watch this.” He raised his hand in the air, in front of the dash, and made a gesture like he was turning the volume dial for the music, without touching anything. What I didn’t see, was his other hand on the steering wheel turning up the music from there. He then told me to try turning down the volume.
When it worked, I was just amazed. I actually believed his car could magically do that until I was 16 years old. I didn’t ride in his car very often, so it kind of kept the illusion of it alive. My stepfather couldn’t believe that I had kept on believing for so long. Then again, I also thought lacrosse was a big, secret joke that the whole world was in on.
I worked in the seafood department for a large supermarket chain. One day, a woman came and asked to buy some frozen shrimp from the pre-packaged bag. However, she didn’t want the entire bag, just half of it. I was ready to open the bag when she made an outrageous request—she said that she wanted me to remove the weight and cost of the ice crystals on the shrimp.
I just looked at her and asked if she wanted me to wash it off, to which she said no because she wanted it to stay frozen. The ice probably weighed less than the plastic bag we used. Needless to say, she turned away when I said I wasn’t able to do that for her. I still think that was the most ridiculous interaction I have ever had with a customer.
This happened way back in high school. Senior year government class. I had grown up with this girl. She was your classic dumb blonde cheerleader type. We all expected dumb things to come from her. But usually, they were good-natured and an attempt was made. But I’ll never forget this one time. We’re learning about the different government entities and we get to NASA.
The teacher asks “who knows what it stands for?” and most people get it wrong but are very close (“National Air and Space Association” is what I hear the most). But this girl, to the surprise of everyone, raises her hand so fiercely. And she’s like “I know this!” This is a girl who thought the American Revolution happened in 1900…But we’re all very interested to know what she’s going to say.
The teacher is taken aback that she might know this too. But he’s like “please, share with the class!” Because he really wants her to do well. So, with so much pride she sits up and goes “NASA stands for NATIONAL AUTO PARTS OF AMERICA!” To say the class laughed was an understatement. The teacher laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes.
He wasn’t trying to be mean but was caught off guard. She rolled with it because her making dumb statements was the norm. This has stuck with me for almost 20 years and still makes me smile.
My client was charged with possession of a weapon. He was pulled over for speeding and had a massive knife in his car door. He told me he absolutely needs the knife back because it was a one-of-a-kind gift. I negotiated with the officers. I managed to get a deal where he pleads guilty, gets a good behavior bond, and the knife back, plus no conviction.
The moron emails the officers behind my back just being horrible to the officer and “poking holes” in their case. As such, the deal gets taken off the table. He then impersonates a lawyer and pretends to negotiate on his behalf of himself. The officers sent me an email along the lines of, “Hey is this your guy?” and attach all of the abusive emails he’s sent them. That was the final straw.
Throughout proceedings, he would constantly change his instructions literally an hour before hearings and conferences and just would not listen. I ended up telling him to find another lawyer who would be willing to follow his instructions verbatim.
My dad used to make this lame joke on New Year’s Eve: there’s a man standing in the marketplace who has just as many noses on his face as there are days left in the year. I got that it was a joke because there was only one day left, but I still thought there was a man that you could go see. I imagined he would be like a street performer who is only in business one day each year. I always wanted to go see him, but we never did.
Last year I had the luck to live with an idiot roommate in a shared house at university. Here are a few of his adventures. He got hit by a train. Tipsy and trying to get himself home, he realized he was on the wrong platform…so walked straight across and woke up in hospital with officers by his side telling him not to leave. That’s not what ended up happening.
He jumped out of a window onto his damaged legs and took a taxi home. He was later fined for trespassing on the railway. He also managed to score 109% plagiarism on an essay for his course. He claimed that ‘because he copied it from a book and not from the internet, he didn’t think they would be able to tell.” They could tell. He scored zero. We are still unsure of how 109% plagiarism is even possible.
He managed to lose three iPhone 7s in the space of five months and would just buy a new one every time one went missing. One time, still tipsy, he climbed a building and proceeded to fall two stories onto the pavement. He woke up with no memory of the night but couldn’t walk properly and was peeing blood. He decided not to go to the hospital because he doesn’t like queues and waiting, so he limped for two months and ignored his bloody urine.
He once showed up to work eight hours late. When asked where he was, he told his managers that he was still coming down off Ketamine from the night before. Somehow he was not fired for this. One time when we had a party, he got on our roof and proceeded to fall off, ripping the guttering off with him, which he proceeded to stab my other housemate with for a joke.
He once snorted cocoa powder as he was told it would get him high. He has failed his first year of university twice now and is currently paying to retake it for the third time. He hasn’t told his parents. They expect him to graduate this year.
In college, I worked for one of those overpriced playground equipment companies. The kind that sells 100% California redwood, strong enough to hold an entire football team, has probably 10 or 20 different base models and is totally modular. You can buy accessories and upgrade them as your kids get older. It wasn’t a great job, but I learned a lot about people.
This one woman was the absolute worst helicopter mom I had ever encountered in my life. As her kids were walking around the showroom, she would gasp as if ghosts were popping out of the walls if they got within two feet of the playsets—if they paused, GASP! If they stumbled, GASP! I’m not even sure how we managed to sell her a $5K–$8K playset.
Her behavior got even worse after it got delivered. She called us and raised a stink, demanding to know how the kids were supposed to go down the slides. The structural arm rail was there, so I was confused. She SWORE, gasping every two seconds, that they had to lay down and cross their arms like a water slide. I made my boss deal with that one. At 19 years old, I didn’t know how to tell someone how to use a slide.
I felt the need to personally thank the driver of the subway train every time we took it. I thought it would be rude and impolite to not do so. It must have been so embarrassing for my mom. The driver’s cabin had tinted windows and I demanded the driver lowered them so I could thank him. I was like 5 or 6. Similarly, I was taught to give my seat to the elderly or pregnant women. One time, as soon as the door opened and an old-looking man entered the wagon, I bolted from my seat and ran to him, grabbed him by the hand, and brought him to the empty seat.
Thank god I didn’t do that to a fat lady or my mom would have died from embarrassment.
I work at a grocery store that always gets slammed during the day of a major holiday (or the day before if we aren’t open on the holiday in question) because every other chain store would be sold out from last-minute panic buying as well. I was just finishing up restocking what I could in the baking aisle (since that’s where most of the demand comes from) and I was about to start getting ready to close when a man came up and asked me, “Where are your frozen turkeys?”
“They’d be in the frozen foods section in the little bunker in the middle of the aisle,” I politely said, albeit questioning why anyone would buy a FROZEN turkey at 4 pm on Thanksgiving Day. They wouldn’t be able to cook it fully unless they deep fried it immediately once they came home, and that was still probably not going to happen.
“No no no,” the man said, “I don’t mean those frozen turkeys, I mean the other kind of frozen turkey.” Riiiiight… “Uhhh, I’m sorry sir,” I said, “those are the only frozen turkeys we have. If you wish we might have some hams in our meat department that are thawed and should be good by your Thanksgiving din-“ “I don’t want a stupid ham, I want a properly frozen turkey, your hams are properly frozen yet I see no turkeys.”
It was then I realized that he meant REFRIGERATED turkeys, not frozen ones. “Sir, we don’t SELL refrigerated turkeys, we only have the ones in our frozen section.” “Why wouldn’t you have a good and proper frozen turkey?” He asked, infuriated by the simple information given to him, “(Popular Chain superstore) sells them and they’re all sold out.”
“Because they’re a ginormous superstore while we’re a much smaller grocery store,” I explained, “now unless you have another question I need to get back to work.” He left in a huff, muttering something about how we lost a customer because we didn’t sell what he wanted. I let out a sigh of relief before hearing someone behind me ask, “Excuse me, sir, where are your frozen turkeys?”
I nearly lost my head before recognizing the voice like my grandfather’s, who apparently was listening to the whole conversation while choosing a refrigerated HAM for Thanksgiving dinner.
We laughed for a while about it before I had to go get ready to close up the store and he had to go back to his house and get ready for Thanksgiving.
I was 13 and at a female friend’s “family-friendly party.” All the kids were on the second floor. We were all dancing and trying to outdo each other in a comical way. I decided to get on all fours and pretend to spank myself, wondering why no one was laughing at me, so I tried harder. Everyone gave me a weird look. I turned around—and my stomach dropped.
Her father, who happens to be a Minister, was just standing there looking at me. He didn’t say anything, just turned around and went back downstairs. It still haunts me 19 years later.
I work in medicine and I have to give patients injections. No problem, I’ve given injections hundreds of times. This one time, I was giving a vitamin B12 injection, which goes into the upper deltoid. I prepared the shot, checked the muscle, cleaned the area, and I like to just go in fast so the patient doesn’t even realize it is happening. This particular time, I didn’t really account for how thin my patient was and the fact that the needle, which is normally 3/8″, was 1″ long.
I poked him and it went so deep into his skinny arm I am absolutely positive I hit his bone. I felt the tip hit something hard and abruptly stop. I could almost feel the end of the needle bending against the solid mass. I cringed and looked at the patient, but apparently, he didn’t notice. I pulled out a bit and finished the injection.
I could feel his bone for a full three weeks afterward and can still recall it vividly. I always make sure to use shorter needles on thin people now.
This took place over a decade ago when I was 17. I was getting my A-Levels from a high school in India (I’m Indian). There was this loveable fool, Dennis, who was a part of our group. Very funny guy. I can’t be sure if he was playing dumb for laughs or just really dumb at times. Anyway, most people in our group were couples and were getting sexually active.
We had one popular couple who would be intimate without protection and then the girl would take a birth control pill (emergency contraceptive) after. She would take at least 4 to 5 each month, I really hope she’s doing okay now. The rest of us played safe and very rarely had to go for the pill. At that time, the pill that was easily available cost like $2.50 and was called something like “Pill 72” and it had two pills in it.
The first pill had to be taken within 72 hours and the second had to be taken 12 hours after the first. We all knew that because it was mentioned in the little booklet that came in the box. Well, one day, Dennis and his girl lost their virginities to each other. Of course, they used no protection at all and decided to listen to the popular couple instead of everyone else.
Dennis and his girl were at my boyfriend’s house and we were all chilling. The guy from the popular couple bought the pills for Dennis’ girl and handed them over for her to take. Dennis, like the gentleman he was, opened the packaging for her, poured her a glass of water, and gave her a pill in her hand. Then he did something that made me gasp.
He then takes the second pill, pops it into his own mouth, and then proclaims “done.” It took us the next half hour to explain that he wasn’t supposed to take it, it was meant only for her. He still couldn’t understand. We made him read the booklet and we tried to find a video for him to watch. He was still unconvinced. It got to the point where someone ran down to get his girl another pill for her to take 12 hours later.
I heard he took the second pill AGAIN, “just to be safe.” In fact, the next time they used the pill, they bought two, and he took one set and she took the other. We tried to talk sense into the girl and she said “just go with it.”
I used to work at Disneyland in the outdoor vending department. I sold balloons, ice cream, etc. I would get a lot of dumb questions, but one took the cake. I was working on Main Street at a cart in between Adventureland and Frontierland. A woman came up with her family, and she asked me the most baffling question ever: “Are we in the castle?” I was a little confused because the castle was in plain view on our left.
I just said, “No, it’s right there,” and I pointed. She asked me one more time. She thought when you entered Disneyland, you were automatically inside a castle. Even her younger daughter said, “See, I told you we weren’t in the castle yet.” It completely blew my mind.
A couple of years ago, I was really depressed and I ate my feelings often. So, one day, I went to the grocery store—but I didn’t realize I was there at prime time rush hour for families coming home from work. Anyways, I filled up a basket with a bunch of bread and donuts and ice cream and candy and stuff. I felt really embarrassed about all the stuff I got so I “talked on my phone” and made it look like I was bringing home stuff for a bunch of other people.
When I got to the checkout line, the lady behind me was staring at me like I’m disgusting with all the stuff I was buying. So, I very loudly talk into my phone about why I have all this food, and I start putting my stuff on the conveyor belt and my phone rings, like REALLY loudly while I’m supposedly talking into it. The cashier started laughing, and everyone in line behind me started laughing. I wanted to die.
The bag boy asked if my friends would prefer paper or plastic. I turned really red and almost started crying and then just paid for my food and left. It was probably the worst moment of my life so far.
This guy, Rob, worked with a small rotating group of people. Slowly but surely, he annoyed each of them by being dumb and angry. Rob’s 35, the first co-worker is barely 17, a sweet girl, and a very hard worker. Everyone is protective over her, even though she’s pretty tough and probably doesn’t need it. Rob repeatedly asked her out to eat, making it a point it wasn’t a date, yet also saying it would just be the two of them.
Creepy guy. He didn’t take her polite rejections, didn’t take her flatly saying no, then finally got mad and confused when she went off on him. The manager had a long talk with him, and he lost hours since he refused to work with her and not be a creep. My second co-worker is an older guy, 60 or so. Deaf as a post and needs some serious hearing aids to function. Really cool guy.
Rob first complained the older guy was allowed to wear headphones…manager explained the difference but we’re not sure he understood. Then, Rob kept turning down the volume on the monitors (which are vital for the older guy’s job and have nothing to do with Rob’s) because “he should be able to hear fine with robot ears.” The older guy requested not to work with Rob.
After a sit down with HR and Rob not budging on robot ears, he lost even more hours. We’re convinced they didn’t fire him then because they thought he was so dumb he must be disabled. Nope and they lived to regret it. The third co-worker is a young woman, who took exactly 0% of Rob’s antics from day one. He continually talked bad about co-worker one, and co-worker three continually defended her.
The story goes that Rob grabbed her butt, so she decked him in the face, and his defense was that there was a spider on her and he was trying to save her. HR suspended him and investigated, but apparently, co-worker three dropped it saying the hit to his face and ego should be enough. They reluctantly let him back but yet again, with fewer hours.
During this time we had a boss leave, so many people got to move up a position or two. This manager had been there for years and was the obvious choice for the manager position. Rob complained, saying she wasn’t a “people person” like he was. He spent his time trying to sabotage her, in the weirdest ways possible. Moved stuff and blamed it on her. There was just one thing he forgot. He did it right in front of the cameras.
She was the only person he could work with due to past issues, and he continually complained about having to work with her. Made her explain basic aspects of the job to him, stuff he’s been doing the whole time he’s been there, they would mess it up, blaming her for not training him right. Ate others’ lunches, and left the containers in her office.
One lunch included something the manager is allergic to, not deadly allergic but still not something to mess with. At the sight of that container in her trash, she went directly to HR, who had been keeping an eye on him, then filed a complaint about the lunch thefts. This was enough to fire him, but before the investigation was done he PUT THE ALLERGEN IN HER FOOD, watched her eat it, then congratulated himself on catching her in a lie when she “only broke out in hives.”
Fired, charges pressed, and was escorted off the property within half an hour. He was mad, saying they had no evidence because he had made sure to stay off the cameras. The escort responded, “No you didn’t, but thank you for the confession.”
When I was around eight years old, my family went to Disneyworld and shared a hotel. On the floor was a vending machine. At the time, I had a habit of looking through the coin slot of vending machines to see if people had left behind their change. On this trip, I hit the jackpot. Every time I passed the machine, there would be a few coins waiting for me—every single time.
I ended up with almost $6.00 during that trip. I thought the machine was broken. Many years later, I was telling this story to a friend of mine, and my dad started laughing. He then revealed the truth, which was that my grandmother would put the coins into the slot before I had the chance to look.
Someone argued that “You can’t drive to Canada from New York because New York is a state and Canada is a different country!” She was quite insistent. However, I knew I was correct because at the moment of that argument I was in my car on my way to Montreal.
A few years ago, I was a Driver Trainer for a large trucking company. Basically, my job was to take newly-minted truck drivers and teach them how to handle themselves in the real world. Sometimes, it was easy; other times it was like teaching a fish to play tennis. One of my students, Dale, was so dense he made a lead brick seem like a feather pillow.
Not because of his driving, but because he almost got himself (and me) arrested. Here’s the story. Dale was on my truck for about three weeks. He wasn’t the worst student I had, but he was far from the best. At week two, we end up stuck in Salt Lake City, Utah after delivering a load. It was a slow time of year and SLC had always been a sparse area for outgoing loads, so I expected to have to wait to leave out.
Not a big deal; I needed the downtime. Dale, from out of nowhere, started to seem anxious about something. When I ask him why he’s so tense, he tells me he needs to get his license changed to his home state. He lived in Louisiana, but his license was from Iowa. The company used a loophole in Iowa state law by granting temporary residency to students to get them a license.
After the license was issued, they had 30 days to get it switched to their home state. Not a major issue since management knew the drill and would get us to the student’s home state in plenty of time. “Dude,” Dale asked, “When can we go to Louisiana? I need to get my license changed.” He asked this every day for a week, but it wasn’t until we were stuck in SLC that is really seemed to bug him.
“Look, I’ve told dispatch you need to get home. They’ll work it out. Just relax.” He didn’t. After three days, we finally get to leave SLC bound for Chicago. It takes a few days and the entire trip, I can tell he’s getting more and more nervous. Eventually, he can’t talk about anything else except how he NEEDS to get home. He was getting pretty annoying.
We make our delivery in Chicago and get another going to Laredo, Texas. Normally, we would have gone through Houston, Texas, but this happened during the massive floods and I knew going that way would be a bad idea. Fortunately, I found a way that would avoid the flooding AND get Dale to his hometown. Better still, we would have enough time for him to get a ride to the DMV, get his license changed, and still make delivery in plenty of time.
Win-win-win. And Dale finally seemed relieved. We get to Dale’s hometown on a Sunday afternoon. As he gets ready to leave, I tell him “First thing in the morning, get your butt to the DMV, get your license taken care of, and get back here pronto so we can get going.” He says “OK” and leaves with his girlfriend while I enjoy some time to myself.
The next morning, I give Dale until 10 am before I start getting impatient. I texted him, asking where he was, and got no reply. I text again; again, no answer. I call…no answer. I tell dispatch, who’s asking me when we’ll get moving, that Dale has disappeared; he was supposed to get his license changed over but I haven’t heard from him all day.
Dispatch tries to call him and they don’t have any better luck. Apparently, Dale has disappeared. By late afternoon, I start getting the feeling this little jerk has bailed on me and wasted my time (this was a common occurrence for new drivers). I tell dispatch that I’ll give him until the morning to reach out; if he doesn’t, I’ll continue on to Laredo on my own.
There was still plenty of time and dispatch agreed. Morning came, Dale was still AWOL and I was out of patience. I send him one more text telling him I’m leaving without him and heading out. I drive for several hours before taking a mandatory break and checking my messages. I check my texts and see a huge surprise. Dale had actually reached out to me.
“Hey, man. My PO found out I took a job driving and was angry that I left Louisiana. She told me to get back as soon as possible or she would have me listed as a fugitive. I called her yesterday (Monday) but she’s out of town and told me to wait till she gets back on Wednesday.” I’m completely shocked. PO?…as in PAROLE OFFICER?!?!
“Dale, are you telling me you’re on parole and leaving the state without permission?!” “Yeah, I got parole for two years. I didn’t think it was a big deal since I was working.” “Dude, you violated your parole! You’ll be lucky if you don’t end up back behind bars. “Well, my PO said she wants to talk about it Wednesday.” “Yeah, I imagine so. You better get in touch with dispatch and let them know so they can work something out.”
I end the conversation and continue on to Laredo. I deliver the load and pick up another headed to Atlanta, GA. Thursday, I call Dale to find out what the deal was. He tells me that his PO gave him the OK to keep working. “I assume you have some kind of official document that says that,” I tell him. “Uh…no. She didn’t give me one.” “Then you better GET one because there is no way I’m leaving the state with you unless I have something from the state saying it’s OK.”
“Uh…why?” “Because if I carry you across state lines KNOWING you’re violating parole, that makes me an accessory.” “Oh, ok. I’ll ask her.” I tell Dale when and where to meet me. I tell him that if he disappears again, I’m not coming back to get him. He says he understands. I get to the location when I said I would….and he’s nowhere to be seen.
I text…no answer. By this point, my patience for this clown is completely gone. I tell dispatch I don’t trust this guy’s word and I’m not taking a chance on him lying to me. I leave out again and head for Atlanta. Dale does reach out…six hours later…and wants to know if I’ll come back for him. I tell him that he has lied three times and acted so shady that I can’t trust him to do the right thing.
If he wants to finish his training, he can sort something out with management but he won’t see me again. Months later, I found out the whole story. Dispatch told me later that Dale’s PO had NOT given him permission to leave the state again. Apparently, I made the right call by leaving him there. Fortunately, they weren’t interested in prosecuting me. I have no idea what happened to Dale, but I imagine he did something else that was stupid and landed back in the slammer.
Long ago, over 20 years ago, I had a lovely beat-my-head-against-the-wall discussion with a young lady who had no children of her own, and no experience raising children with disabilities. What she said was so chilling, that it made my blood boil. She proceeded to tell me that my wife and I needed to be firmer and more strict with our autistic son so that he would “snap out of it” and start talking and stop “acting autistic.”
I cannot remember how exactly I phrased my response as it was in Spanish, not my native language, but it was basically a polite version of “pound sand, you have no idea what you are talking about.”
I used to volunteer at the science museum in the town I grew up in. We had somewhat of a big event to celebrate the solar eclipse and had a viewing event for the city. A small group of people led by a woman in her late 30s came up and she made a ridiculous request—she asked that we push back the main event a few hours for their families to get off work. They wanted us to reschedule the eclipse.
A couple of years ago, I worked at a cafe and met my fair share of…interesting people, but this couple takes the cake when it comes to sheer stupidity. For some quick context, the main entrance to the cafe is a door you just have to pull in order to open. I was cleaning up the coffee machine after I had made a cup for a customer when I looked out the glass wall to see a man and a woman approach the cafe.
The woman tries to push open the door. It doesn’t work. I figure she just did that classic thing where you’re not sure which way the door opens and just tried pushing first since it requires less effort than pulling, so I don’t think much of it, and just get ready for when they enter. She pushes the door again. Okay. Maybe she figured the door was just stuck.
I mean, that happens every now and then, right? I’m about to go help when I see the man walk past her with that “I got this” look on his face. He confidently places his hand on the handle and…he pushes. Then it just escalates He looks genuinely surprised and tries again. And again. And again. Each time, he gets more forceful, at one point slamming his shoulder against the glass door.
The two are so preoccupied with this door that they don’t even notice me staring dumbfounded at them the whole time, other than being, you know, helpful. Eventually, I figure that if I don’t help, they’ll either leave or break the door, so I push myself from the counter to go there and help them. That’s when they spot an open sliding door on the other side of the cafe, leading to the outside tables, which are very popular at that time of the year, and decide to go around and squeeze past all the guests sitting there and enjoying their meals.
When they finally made it through, it was as if the stars and planets aligned perfectly. They look toward the main entrance to see an old man approach, place a hand on the handle, and…pull the door open with no effort. It had been an absolutely uneventful day up until that point, so I had to ask a co-worker who didn’t witness this to handle them, and I just walked into the back to laugh.
I had a massive year-plus-long argument with my old roommate over Cheetos. I bought a bag of hot Cheetos because I hadn’t had them since elementary school and had a taste for them. So I put the unopened bag into my designated cabinet and went on my way. A few days later I decided that I’m going to eat my Cheetos. I open the cabinet and notice the bag is opened and empty.
Someone has eaten my Cheetos and stuck the empty bag back in the cabinet. So I confront my roommate calmly and say, “Hey man, could you please not eat my food?” Roommate blows up and starts screaming that he needs it and he’s starving. He was unemployed at the time and I guess he ran out of food stamps for the month. I pointed out that he was welcome to share my cereal or fruit but eating all of my snacks was inappropriate.
Lots of screaming and door slamming ensues. Well, that was just the beginning of my nightmare. The rest of the time I lived there he would take my wet clothes out of the washing machine and throw them on the floor, purposely slam stuff while I’m sleeping, take my food out of the fridge and leave it on the counter to go bad, etc. And we would regularly continue these screaming matches over this $2 bag of Cheetos.
I don’t even live there anymore and he still tells my boyfriend I’m controlling and he should break up with me. I also forgot to change my address for my bank after I moved and my new debit card got sent there and he keeps denying that he has it. I never even ended up buying another bag of Cheetos since then. A bag of Cheetos has caused the biggest ongoing argument I have ever been in.
A friend of mine in school was convinced that he could find a triangle whose angles wouldn’t add up to 180 degrees after learning the rule in class. I just couldn’t get him to understand that if he finds some shape that doesn’t fit the definition of a triangle, then by definition he has not found a triangle.
Long ago, in his unwise youth, my husband dated a girl, let’s call her Jane. Jane had a job that required a certain level of education. She had stable employment, a modest but nice apartment, and a decent car. It was time to reward herself for her success. What she wanted, no, DESERVED, was a brand new car. Granted, it was the 1970s, when car prices were lower, but it was early in her career and she had no savings for a down payment, not to mention she already had a perfectly serviceable car.
Several people, including my husband, gave her an explanation of depreciation and how new cars lose value very quickly, but Jane wasn’t having it. She wanted a new car and that was that. Somehow she got someone (we’ll say it was a bank, but it may have been a finance company) to give her a loan. Due to the lack of a reasonable down payment and probably her own inept negotiating skills, the monthly payment was rather high and just barely doable, provided she scrimped on things like groceries and heat.
She struggled along stubbornly for a few months but then was hit with a rent increase. It wasn’t much of an increase, but she had absolutely no cushion. Moving wasn’t a good option because that would bring other expenses. She asked her dad to give her a loan to make her car payment. He agreed but made it clear it was a one-time thing.
“You’ve got to talk to the bank and get out of that deal,” he told her. “You’re going to lose money”—because she was now upside down on the loan due to depreciation—”but you’re just digging yourself in deeper.” Jane thought it over, and she came up with a plan. It was, to her, the most brilliant plan ever thought of. In fact, she couldn’t understand why no one had ever come up with it.
She would sell the car. She did not discuss this plan with anyone, perhaps out of fear of blinding them with her brilliance. She was in a hurry to be rid of it, so she advertised it at far below book value. Her ad was answered by someone who was even stupider than her, and this person did not question why there was no title. Jane brushed her hands together in a “that’s done” motion, used the money from the sale of the car to buy a much more modest replacement, and proceeded to move on with life.
Pretty soon the bank called, reminding her she hadn’t made her car payment. “I don’t have the car anymore,” she told them with what can only be imagined as great satisfaction, “so I don’t have to make the payment.” What had she done with the car, they asked. “I sold it.” I see, they said. And exactly where is the car right now? Needless to say, the car was quickly repossessed by the bank from the person who thought they had bought it.
Jane was quite shocked to learn she did indeed have to pay back the loan, which as mentioned earlier was currently more than the value of the car. She was also shocked to learn that if you sell someone a car you don’t actually own and it gets repossessed, the person you sold it to will demand their money back. My husband, hearing all this, decided that just maybe he’d look for a girlfriend who was a little bit brighter.
I was a vet tech. We had a client who ran over their dog. The owner did not have money for true corrective surgery with a surgeon, so we recommended that we amputate the dog’s leg. It was a younger dog, in good weight, so amputation was an acceptable option as dogs generally do very well with three legs. The owner consented to surgery, then she asked the stupidest question ever—she asked us how long it would take for the leg to grow back.
Way back when I was a phone service advisor for a credit card company, this lady called in confused about a piece of mail we had sent her. She said, “I don’t understand why you sent me a bill. I paid for the TV at the store with my card.” I replied, “Yes, ma’am. Now, this is the bill for using your credit card.” “But I used my credit card. Why would I have to pay again?”
This went on for about a good hour. This poor excuse for an adult believed that a credit card was just an all-access pass to buy anything you wanted for free. That was a devastating job.
There is no other way to describe this woman I work with than stupid. She has called in sick multiple times since September 16th. During this time, she has: driven herself to the hospital with a 40° temperature. Let us remember that basal body temp is 37°, 39° is classed as a fever, and at 41 or 42 your organs shut down. She blacked out on the Autobahn—you know, that place where CARS DRIVE AT WHATEVER SPEED THEY SEE FIT and crashed.
Last night, she choked, couldn’t breathe, and turned blue. Her mother had to come into her room to try and save her. She only decided to seek medical attention this morning. I live in Germany, but am a native English speaker. On our first day, we were talking about languages. I asked if she could speak anything other than German, and she said no.
Odd, as lots of Germans our age (she’s two years younger than me, I’m in my late 20s) have at least school level English, but whatever. She then had a phone conversation with her mother in perfect Arabic. She couldn’t discern that German and Arabic are different languages. She asked me what working visa I had to get to live in Germany and if it was hard to get it.
I am an Irish citizen—we have freedom of movement with the EU, of which Germany is also a member. She was entirely unaware of this. This woman is harmless, but one day is going to unintentionally cause her own end.
My sister once dramatically exclaimed, “My hand froze off!” She said this while running her hand under warm water after a ski trip where she had lost a glove. I was terrified and hid in my room for an hour. Later, I came out, and her hand was back to normal. I asked her how she got her hand back. She said, “Your hand just grows back if it’s frozen off. You only really lose it if you cut it off.”
I distinctly remember telling my teachers and schoolmates that my sister grew back her frozen hand. I was only seven years old, but even when they tried to tell me she was messing with me, I just assumed my teacher was dumb and didn’t know what I did.
I didn’t really understand how jobs worked. Everywhere I went there were employees, but I had never in my life noticed an employee entering or leaving their workplace. I assumed that every business had a secret entrance that employees always used, and was so convinced in the obviousness of this that I never asked anyone whether or not it was true.
I was very, very confused by where to go when I got my first job.
I work as a healthcare provider at a doctor’s office and occasionally will work the front desk. The following exchange happened Friday. Patient: (filling out paperwork) “Are kidney stones the same as a bladder infection?” Me: “No…stones are hardened deposits that form in your kidney” P: “Are you sure??” M: “Yes…they are two different organs.” I wish I had just given up then.
Five minutes later: P: “Are bladder problems the same as kidney stones??” M: “No…still different organs and in different parts of the body.” P: “That can’t be right, I have stones and it always hurts when I go to the bathroom, therefore they must be related to the bladder!” M: “I promise they aren’t.” P: “Well, how do YOU really know? It’s not like you’re a doctor” (insert eye-rolling). “I’ll just ask Google!!”
M: “Ok…” P: (a couple of minutes later) “OH MY GOSH! Even Google is agreeing with you! Ugh, I’ll just ask the doctor when I get in the room!” M: “That’s perfectly fine.”
I was picky about food. One day, I proclaimed loudly that I didn’t like marshmallows. Then, someone told me that marshmallows were used to make Rice Krispie squares, so I informed my mother I would not be eating Rice Krispie squares because I didn’t want to eat marshmallows. Until I was an adult, she made sure to warn everyone I would come into contact with—whether it was other parents, my teachers at school, basically, every person who she could get to—that her Rice Krispie squares were made with sugar glue.
I was 18 before I learned that was a lie.
I believed that giraffes are long-necked deer and because of that, there’s a secret island somewhere where there is a long-necked version of everything and the long-necked deer is the only one that we know about.
Our very nice HR person came to tell me about a phone screening she just finished for a job we were hiring for. The guy seemed fine at first; kind of cocky, but whatever. Then he was like, “So how green is it?” She didn’t understand what he meant and politely said so. They went back and forth for a bit. “How green is it?! You know, other countries use gold or silver. Green!”
At first, she thought maybe he meant how entry-level or “new” the job was, but then she thought maybe he meant to ask how much did it pay? “Yeah! NOW you’re getting it!” She apologized for not understanding at first, but politely mentioned the salary range and he immediately hung up. She was shaken up, and we had never seen her like that before.
My coworkers and I were like, “Cool, I hope he never gets a job anywhere ever.” I wrote “extremely rude” at the top of his resume and put it on my desk so I would never forget it. Maybe three months later, I heard from my boss that they just interviewed a guy for a different position at my company and he was starting Monday.
The name sounded familiar, so I checked my desk, and I gasped—it was THE SAME GUY. I was livid all weekend; for the whole month if I’m being honest. This guy showed up, was constantly loud and obnoxious, and he was the kind of know-it-all that explained things he knew nothing about. He didn’t know anything about databases for instance, which is basically the job he was hired for.
Basically, he had to be babysat by the guy who was supposed to be taking on some of the workloads. His desk turned out to be right over a cubicle wall from me, so I had to listen to him complain all day about how hard the job was. Half the time, he was talking about the health benefits at the company and how long one had to work there for certain things.
And the other half of the time, he was saying things that honestly made me think he was trying to get fired. He basically did zero correct work for a few months, then disappeared one day. We got a call from his daughter saying that he was in the hospital for heart surgery. We felt a little bad, but couldn’t shake the thought that it wasn’t emergency heart surgery and he only got the job so he could get on our very good health insurance.
We finally heard from him and he said he couldn’t come to work for six months. My boss said, “Sorry, we can’t just keep you on for that long. The most medical leave will cover is eight more weeks, so we have to let you go so we can hire someone else.” He changed his mind and said he would be back in eight weeks. We never heard from him again.
I had always had an inkling that I was adopted, and my older brother played into that a lot by making fun of me and telling me that I was. I also was the only member of my family to look Mexican, and people always thought I was, while my family was half white and half Indian. When I was young, we moved to a new city a few hours away.
The people who owned the house before us had a maid service and that company gave us one month free to see if we liked it. The maid that worked for us was a young Mexican woman named Juanita. My brother very cleverly came up with the lie that Juanita was my birth mother and that she had an affair with a very famous person.
Since this person couldn’t have the public image of cheating on his wife, he paid her a lot of money to put me up for adoption. He continued, saying that my parents had found out about Juanita being in this city, and we moved there so I could be closer to my birth mother. I believed this story for two years!
I was hiring student employees for a really well-paying summer gig in the agriculture field. The job posting described the job duties: heavy lifting, working for 12 weeks, 40 hours, early starts some days, and frequent overtime as late as 7 pm. We mentioned this in the job description and talked about what we did to compensate.
Out of 80 applications, I would say only 10 didn’t disqualify themselves right off the bat by filling out their available hours as 9 am to 4 pm. I still accepted a few of them to call with the thought that maybe they just filled out what they thought a normal workday would be since this was a job that required zero experience.
But no, these folks legitimately thought that 9 am to 4 pm was standard for agricultural work. One girl responded that she could only work three days a week because it could interfere with her cheerleading and sorority. Then, when I stated that the job description had mentioned the amount of overtime required, she argued that she really needed the job because it paid so well.
I thanked her for her time and told her I’d follow up in a few days, which was an email saying the position had been filled. But the shocking thing to me was that she wasn’t the only one with this argument and expectation that I would hire them with similar conditions. Who applies to a hard labor job with zero experience and expects the same benefits as a white-collar professional?
My idiot “friend” wanted a grilled cheese sandwich. Simple enough, right? Hahahaha…no. After deciding to use his mom’s steel pan to make the sandwich, he went about prepping. Mistakes were made. He used fresh butter to coat the bread. Fresh as in just opened and still hard. He just cut off big chunks and basically ripped the bread up trying to spread it.
He cut the cheddar into large chunks as well instead of a series of thin slices. The sandwich was overloaded and lopsided with giant holes in the bread. He turned the heat on the burner to high and didn’t put any oil or butter in the pan, figuring that the butter on the sandwich would be enough. He didn’t turn on the fan above the stove and walked out for a minute after setting the sandwich on the pan.
Now, I don’t condone using the fire alarm as a cooking timer, but that’s what happened. He just decided to flip the sandwich and keep going. The chunks of burned cheese, bread, and butter coating the pan nearly ruined it and there were some pretty bad permanent stains on it even after steel wool was used. Here’s my confession: That idiot was me.
I swear I’m a better cook now, but my mom banned me from the kitchen for a few months after that, and I am still only allowed to use her cast iron when cooking at her house. That specific pan is still in use 10+ years later, though.
I worked at a non-profit that helped adults get their GED. We were looking for another teacher, and our want ad clearly stated they would be teaching adults. One applicant sent us her resume in a mailing tube. It was about 1 m (3 ft) long and contained her resume. But what really caught our attention was her letter of interest on a poster board that was made up to look like a child’s craft project…and glitter.
She had literally poured a ton of loose glitter right into the tube. Have you ever had to open one of those tubes? You have to pry a plastic cap off one end, and sometimes they are really tough to get off. I ended up having to stab it with a letter opener to lever it off, and it came loose very suddenly and forcefully.
Chaos then ensued—my opening technique caused the tube’s contents to kind of explode everywhere…including the glitter. So not only did this woman send a mailing tube with a completely inappropriate-for-the-position letter, she primed it with the dirt of the crafting world. When I left the job years later, the office rug still had glitter embedded throughout it.
We lived in my great aunt’s house for a while when I was a kid and my parents were getting back onto their feet and there was this heater in the living room. It had a little window where you could see the pilot light in there and I was fascinated by it. I thought that because the flame was blue that it would be cold to the touch. It kind of made sense, but it was incredibly stupid considering this flame was keeping a heater going. One day I decided to stick my fingers through this little chip in the glass to test my dumb idea. The flame was not cold. It was very hot like regular fire and burned me. Luckily, it wasn’t too bad.
When I found out that the little thing at the end when you pluck out a hair is called a root, I thought that maybe I would be able to plant it anywhere on my body. For a long time, I tried very hard to grow hairs on my fingertips. I don’t know why exactly. It just seemed like a cool place at that age and I could use freak people out. Although I eventually found out in theory that method does work and is used, the way I was doing it by letting it sit there on my fingertips does not.
Do you remember the commercial where they planted Skittles in the ground and a rainbow grew? Well, when I was a kid my parents convinced me it was true, but took longer than the commercial showed. For about a month or two I tried very hard to grow a rainbow in my backyard, watering it when I would get home from school. Eventually, they told me the truth and now as an adult, I feel like I would find that petty to do to my kid too.
This Guy Harvey has been one of my closest friends since college. Absolute genius—top of his undergrad and business school courses, high-flying consultant, etc. It would all be truly nauseating if he weren’t such an amazing guy. We were roommates for a while in London. Literally, the perfect person to live with—tidy, fun, but also understood boundaries. Except he had one fatal flaw.
At one point when we were living together, I went for a three-week adventure holiday, so was pretty much out of contact. Anyway, I asked Harvey to take care of my plants while I was gone. Seemed a simple ask. Gave him instructions to water them every couple of days and rough amounts of water needed. Came back and the dear boy seemed very guilty.
“Sorry, but I think I may have destroyed some of your plants…I watered them as you said, but something may have gone wrong…” I walk in and look around at my plants, figuring he might have forgotten to water them a couple of days or something…Well, nope, he really did destroy them. Fair enough, things happen right? But then I started smelling this godawful smell in a couple of places.
Couldn’t figure it out. He was Mr. Tidy, remember? Turns out Harvey had watered all of my dried plants—think bundles of sculptural sticks, etc. A bit of fake ivy where I was trying to make an ugly window ledge look pretty. He’d watered them diligently every two days for three weeks. Pools of vile water in the bottom of their containers, like some kind of semi-sentient primordial ooze that absolutely reeked.
Black mold crept up the sides of the containers and on the bases of the plants that yielded clouds of spores when I pulled them out. Black mold is toxic of course, so was a bit scary. I had to trash plants, containers, etc. in case they very likely would make us sick. Turns out my dear, sweet, genius Harvey had noticed the dank smell, but thought that was “probably normal for plants at some point in their lives” and didn’t want to let me down by not watering.
So he lived in our veritable plague farm of a flat for all three weeks suffering in silence. I really had to struggle not to weep while laughing. He was so earnest and had tried so hard. But good lord, sometimes even geniuses can be complete idiots.
I had a woman show up in a perfectly matched outfit and not a hair out of place. She was quite aggressive during the interview. I had to be way too overbearing to ask my questions, as she was trying to be in control of the interview. She was acting like I had given her a job offer already, asking about where she would fall in the published pay range even though she was fresh out of school.
I should note she was middle-aged and just new to the field. Well, it’s a very specialized field, so all candidates had to pass a knowledge test. Even though I had written her off, I took her to an empty cubicle and told her to knock on my office door when she was done. Unexpectedly, she was back five minutes later, crying. She said the music from the radio in the next cubicle was too loud and people talking was too distracting.
The cubicle she was in would have been where she would have to work if she was hired. When HR informed her she was not hired, she had her program coordinator—my former co-worker—conference calls me and her to find out why she was always being passed over, believing it was due to her age.
I believed that planets all had a “down inside.” Like, they had their regular surfaces that you see in photographs, but if you land there, you could go down inside the planet and see the real thing – like the people who lived there and cities and stuff. Earth looks green and blue in pictures but here we all are! So obviously we exist “down inside” the planet. And if you go land on Saturn or something, the surface will look like the pictures until you go down inside and you can see what the world of Saturn is really like. When people talked about space travel, I used to say that I’d never want to unless you got to go down inside the planets you visited.
The whole “we’re the only planet with intelligent life” thing didn’t really register with me right away.
Ok so this story takes place when my friend Jules and I were around 13 years old. Jules calls me one day asking if I want to come over and hang out. I say sure and head over. When I get there, to my delight, I find out Jules’s mom had got Jules a ton of fireworks from her out-of-state trip. This included waterproof firecrackers. We set a bunch off. Had a blast.
Then we found some puddles to throw the waterproof ones in. Good fun as well. After a while we went inside for lunch, then his mom went outside to work in the garden. This is when Jules says to me: “Hey! Do you know what would be awesome? Putting a waterproof firecracker in the toilet!” Now at this point in my friendship with Jules, I started to notice…well…that he was a little dim and needed someone to look out for him at times.
So instead of doing the childish thing and encouraging this blatant error in thought, I tried to dissuade him. I told him, “I learned that shockwaves are stronger in water and might blow your toilet up.” Jules said no way. I then told him, “You know those old high school movies where kids talk about blowing up the school toilets? Well, I’m pretty sure that’s what these firecrackers are like.”
He again says no way. But this time he decided to tack on that he was at a mutual friend’s house the day before and they did it with no issue. Now I was pretty mad after he said that because I was at a mutual friend’s house the day before. I knew he was lying to me and I wasn’t happy about it. So I decided to get revenge. I said, “Screw it! Let’s do it.”
Jules lit the fuse and dropped it in. The toilet cracked in half. Water went everywhere. All of the blood on his face drained away and he had the look of a man who knew he was about to die. My face, on the other hand, was beet red from crying laughter. I must have laughed for at least 10 minutes straight with an occasional “I told you so!!” in between.
After I calmed down, we went to tell his mom what had happened. Jules begged her to take the blame. He had recently got in trouble with his dad and didn’t want to make it worse. To my disbelief, she agreed. Now at this point, I’m waiting for my ride because I’m trying to get the heck out before his dad gets home. No luck. Jules and I quietly hide in his room waiting to hear what happens.
His dad spots the toilet. We hear a loud “what the HECK.” Jules’s mom comes over and tells him she did it. He asks how. She tells him that she sat down too hard. Then silence. About two seconds go by without any noise, which to us felt like forever, as we waited to see if he bought it. Then in the style of the dad from Alvin and the Chipmunks, we hear his dad yell, “JULLLLLLLESSS.”
When I was a kid, about seven or eight, I asked my mother if Santa was real. She decided to tell me that he was not. I wasn’t too bothered and apparently felt that this made sense. I then asked if the tooth fairy was real, and my mother, overestimating my grasp of sarcasm, told me that the tooth fairy was, in fact, real. I figured that there was no reason she would lie to me given that she had just admitted to Santa being fake.
Later, my mother caught me explaining to other kids that Santa was fake, but that the tooth fairy wasn’t. Unfortunately, I believed in the tooth fairy for much longer than I care to admit.
My friend used to work at Meijer, and one time, she had a woman ask the most peculiar question ever—she asked where the breast milk was. Confused, she led the customer to the milk, thinking she meant cow’s milk as opposed to soy milk. Then, the woman said she was looking for human milk. My friend calmly explained that Meijer doesn’t sell that type of milk. The woman became furious and insisted on speaking to the manager.
The manager came over, and the woman went on an unhinged rant about how my friend was trying to keep her from getting human milk. The manager stood there trying to take in the whole situation. After about five minutes, he stopped the woman mid-sentence and said, “I’m sorry, are you serious?” The woman gave the typical “I’m never coming back here again” speech. The best part was that she never once mentioned having a baby or trying to feed her baby.
This guy I work with, Paul, seems a little…off in general, but he’s friendly and an absolute workhorse. Paul didn’t take a single day off work in 2018, and maybe even in 2017. Sick days? He’ll work through it. Vacation? He doesn’t like to travel, so nope. Just want to relax for a day? “Relax” is something lazy moochers do. Paul finally took a single day off this year for his daughter’s wedding.
Everyone was happy for him. He’s shown up for work sick as a dog before and refused to leave, so he finally had an excuse not to come in at least once. But Paul wasn’t happy. He apparently tried to get his daughter to schedule her wedding around his work schedule so he didn’t have to take the day off. That’s when the unbelievable truth came out. He came back the day after and complained non-stop about how he lost a day’s pay.
Um, what? People were confused and asked Paul why he didn’t use one of his vacation days. Apparently, the government pays for your vacation and sick leave, not the company. The reason he never takes time off is that he doesn’t want to be a lazy moocher who takes money from people’s taxes. Everyone tried to explain that’s not how vacation and sick leave work, in fact, the company pays for it out of their pocket.
He can take 14 days off and get full pay all at the company’s expense. He’s literally earned it by working there so long. Nothing worked, and he kept hammering on about how people who take vacation are lazy welfare queens who take his tax money.
Many years ago when I was in my first-year microbiology, I applied for a summer job tagging ducks in the wild. The interview consisted of three distinguished academics in a stuffy room showing me photos of ducks and asking me to identify the species. I knew absolutely nothing about ducks and surely misidentified every single one.
Eventually, the three interviewers exclaimed, “Do you have any experience with birds at all?!” Realizing there was no chance of getting this job, I tried to make light of the situation and I gave a reply that I’m embarrassed about to this day: “Well, I help my uncle butcher chickens every year.” The three of them sat in stunned silence before finally ending the interview. I’m sure they still tell the story of the crazy bird murderer applying for a job at the waterfowl conservation group.
In Denmark, a “snowsuit” is basically called a “flying suit.” So, 5-year-old me was like, “haha, no way this will actually make me fly. If it worked like that, I’d already have done it by now.” That’s not the stupid part though. The stupid part was right after thinking that, I thought, “but I bet it could make me float through the air though.”
So, I climbed a small tower on the playground (I was probably only 1 meter off the ground, but it felt high enough for a test run) and jumped off looking like the world’s stupidest flying squirrel in a snowsuit. I belly-flopped right on top of a bunch of frozen sand and got the air knocked out of me.
Now this girl, Alice, was gorgeous. Slim, tallish for a girl, blonde, stacked, duuuuuuumb. She was incredibly book smart though. Maths, chemistry, and biology absolutely spot on, straight As. She struggled with physics and English and it puzzled her teachers as the skills she needed to pass, she could obviously utilize given her grades in other subjects.
And a lot of them covered the same material. She did pass everything eventually and attended university, but I digress. The highlights from our time were: She put tinfoil in the microwave and it caught fire. She put the microwave in the kitchen sink and turned on the tap to put the fire out. While it was still plugged in. She was having trouble with geography and the teacher was trying to explain and failed.
Eventually, the teacher resorted to basics and asked her to point north. Alice pointed to the ceiling. She did a weird dance thing with her feet while we both were shoeless. I tried it and failed and said I think I’ve broken my heel because I’d slammed them together. She told me to not be so stupid as I couldn’t break a heel with no shoes on.
I proceeded to explain to her what the different parts of her foot were called. She was mesmerized. She would argue vehemently with me that it was perfectly safe for her to fish toast out of the toaster with a metal knife as “I’ve done it loads of times and I’ve never been electrocuted,” YET my dear friend. If you asked Alice directions, she’d have to hold her hands up to “look for the L for left.” Fair enough, a lot of people struggle with that and use that trick. But Alice would do it with her palms facing her.
We watched a movie together once and about halfway through, I realized she shared her name with the main actress and pointed it out. Her reply “Really?! What’s her name?!”
My parents told me that eating the crust of bread for sandwiches or toast was important as it contained all the healthy nutrients I needed to grow healthy. I believed that garbage until I was 26, and I saw my wife cut away her crusts. I told her how she was throwing away the healthiest parts of the bread. I’ll never forget the look on her face.
She looked at me dumbfounded and thought I was stupid. Of course, she corrected me.
When I was 5 or so, I accidentally stabbed my balls (via jumping) with a sharpened pencil. Luckily, it didn’t break any skin and all I had to do was put ointment on them for a period of time. One day, I was rowdy and wouldn’t let my mom put the ointment on, so she said, “if you keep jumping up and down like this with that ointment on, your balls will drop and sag.”
When puberty came along and my body began changing, I felt so ashamed of my body because I thought I had done this to myself by being such a bad kid and not listening to my mom. I literally believed I was a freak of nature. It wasn’t until I was around 16 that I fully realized that she only said that to me to get me to stop being so rambunctious.
This guy I know told his (stupid) wife about an article he read about people in Siberia digging up frozen mammoth tusks and selling them. Her: “That’s terrible!”. Him: “Why is it terrible?” Her: “They’ll sell all the frozen ones and then people will start hunting mammoths for their tusks, and pretty soon they’ll all be extinct!”
We were on our way to a volleyball game when my dad told us that there used to be a cemetery where the school now stood. They had tried to contact the families to move the bodies, but any that weren’t claimed were still under the school, so the place was probably haunted. As fifth graders are chatty, especially with something as juicy as “the school is built on deceased bodies,” his story made it around our school and the competing school pretty quick.
My dad got in a bit of trouble for that one.
When I was little my family used to make chocolate milk with milk and Hershey syrup. To avoid us kids putting in too much chocolate syrup, she told me something both ingenious and cruel. She said that if you put TOO much syrup in, it will start to get less chocolatey – like there was a limit to the chocolate strength, and then it would start to turn into white milk again.
Fast forward, I’m 18 and making chocolate milk with my 12-year-old sister and I tell her this little tip. Then it just hits me, WHY would adding more chocolate make it less chocolatey!?! I guess when you’re little you just take everything mom says as a fact.
I may have married an idiot. He initially doesn’t strike you as one, because he had a very successful career working for a government alphabet agency. However, some of the things he believes…Once this man gets a notion in his head you cannot remove it with dynamite. If his mother or his teacher Sister Mary Godzilla told him something 50+ years ago, then that was Revealed Truth and could not be changed.
Sister MG told him men have one less rib than women. It has to be that way because God took Adam’s Rib to make Eve. I had to show him side-by-side images of male and female skeletons in a medical encyclopedia and make him count the ribs before he believed that Sister may have been mistaken. Sister also told him that plate tectonics was “only a theory, and since theory means guess there wasn’t any truth to it.”
Do you know how South America and Africa look like they would fit together like puzzle pieces? Sister told him that was just a coincidence. God made the world the way it was and the bits didn’t go floating around like ducks on a pond. “Theory equals guess” also shot down the theory of evolution, the theory of relativity, and a bunch of other science things that didn’t agree with the Bible.
However, he seems to have come up with a whole bunch of stuff all on his own: There can’t be a volcano under Yellowstone Park because they wouldn’t be dumb enough to put a national park on top of a volcano. When you burn a candle only the wick burns. The wax just runs down the side of the candle holder. He had no explanation as to what happens to the wax in a jar candle.
Meat is not the muscle tissue of animals, but something else called the flesh. He did not explain where the muscles go if meat is this mysterious “flesh.” Meat also only comes from mammals. Beef is meat and pork is meat, but chicken and turkey are not meat. Nor is fish. Cows just spontaneously start giving milk when they reach adulthood.
Having a calf every year to start the process has nothing to do with it. On the other hand, hens must lay with roosters before they can lay eggs. That the “clear” button on the oven stops the timer. It does not—it turns off the oven and that is all it does. I have made him start the timer and then punch the clear button. See? The timer is still going.
He still tries to use the clear button to turn it off. We’ve only had this oven for 20 years. The microwave and the toaster oven are basically the same appliances. And since you can put plastic things in the microwave, you can use them in the toaster oven as well. He only did this twice though, since I really yelled at him the second time.
He does seem to have grasped “no metal in the microwave” though, so I guess this is a plus. Sometimes he has to figure things out for himself. My dad would say “You can tell ’em and tell ’em, but some folks have just gotta pee on the electric fence for themselves.” Take the top rack of the dishwasher, for instance. The section on the right-hand side is about half an inch wider than all of the other sections.
That makes this the ideal section for cups because they just fit. I told him this. I had him put a cup in the right-hand section and see that it just fits. I then had him put a cup in another section where it plainly did not fit. About a week later, he came to me and said “I figured out that the right-hand section is wider than the others so that’s where we should put the cups.”
And this evening’s idiocy: Chopped is the same as slicing. He was going to a church picnic and had volunteered to bring sliced tomatoes and lettuce and onions for the hamburgers. He asked me to chop all of these things for him. Not slice—chop. I had to explain the difference. That the volume of a medium-sized bowl is exactly the same as that of a smaller bowl.
This is a long-standing confusion, actually. I cannot tell you how many times I explained that to save cabinet space, you put small bowls inside medium bowls which go inside large bowls. You do not try to stack a medium-sized bowl on top of a small bowl. This man who can pack a moving truck tighter than Marilyn Monroe’s girdle simply cannot grasp this simple concept. Or maybe instead of a concept, it’s just a theory.
I worked in a cell phone store. I spent 90% of my day explaining that just because Facebook is on your phone, doesn’t mean we control Facebook, your email, or any other problematic app. Once, had an “ask for a manager type” come in and insist that we used our computer to reset her iPhone and Apple ID. She’d gotten herself locked out by not knowing her password, and her kid had tried to get around it by doing a factory reset.
Doing that on an iPhone registered to AppleID locks the phone down completely. Since she didn’t have her password, she couldn’t even power the phone on. When I explained that she would have to contact Apple since they were the manufacturer of the device and her AppleID was an account with them, she absolutely lost it right then and there. She screamed, “So you sell a product, but you don’t support your product?!?!”
Before I could explain, again, that we do not make the phones, my coworker chimed in, “Lady, Walmart also sells these phones. When was the last time you went to them and got a repair done?” She sputtered for a minute and walked out, raging about a lawsuit that failed to materialize.
I thought that there were these hands in your stomach (I pictured classic white gloved cartoonish hands) holding a poop-colored garbage bag and all the food you ate went into the bag and would get dropped down for you to poop out. Diarrhea happened when the hands dropped the bag and it exploded at the bottom. I also thought there was a small man digging for boogers in your nose with a pickaxe and nose bleeds happened when he dug too far.
So just over a year ago I switched jobs and went to work for a guy (Bob) who is running a new/used aquarium shop. The shop was built onto his house, so as a result I’ve become pretty close with his family, including his 15-year-old stepson, who is the stupidest person I’ve ever met. For the first couple of months, I thought he was just a bit quirky and clumsy, but as I’ve come to know him more, I’ve discovered that he is an idiot of the highest order.
Now, I’ve known some dumb teenagers in my time. Heck, I used to be one. But this kid is just on another level. Just in the year that I’ve known him: He licked a lit match because he thought the fire would taste like a Flamin’ Hot Cheeto. He cannot climb a flight of stairs without tripping up them. This is a multiple-times-a-day occurrence. And it gets worse.
He once dropped a bowl of cereal and milk, and rather than clean the mess with a towel, he soaked up the spill with his sock. A sock that was still on his foot. He then put on his shoes, went out to catch the bus, and went to school with a soaking wet milk sock. He went to the school nurse that day because he was convinced that his foot was bleeding and soaking through his sock.
He’s failing gym class. I have no idea how one fails gym class. He has broken more than 20 aquariums in the last year. When we buy used tanks, they need to be washed and leak-tested before we resell them. The boy sometimes does this to help out, but his method is mind-blowingly stupid. He can’t understand that when you wrap the hose around an aquarium, you can’t just yank it free.
Once, Bob was selling an older fairly-good-condition Cadillac that had been sitting in his driveway for a while. The day before the buyer came to pick it up, the stepson was mowing the yard and scraped the handle of the mower along the entire length of one side of the car. Oh, and he likes to use “Jew” as an insult. When I called him out on it, his reply made my blood run cold.
I discovered that he thought that Jewish people didn’t actually exist. He thought that they were an imaginary race of people that everyone pretended to hate. He played lacrosse on his school’s team this summer and got benched all season because he told the coach that he didn’t need to run laps or go to practice. This is probably why he’s failing gym class.
One day, he left in the morning like normal to go catch the bus. Three hours later, he came back saying that he missed the bus, and he needed to be driven to school. The problem? It was Labor Day. There was no school. He stood at the bus stop for three hours on a day when there was no school. He also eats absolutely everything in sight.
If you leave food unattended for more than 10 seconds, it’s gone. Bob went to Taco Bell and got food for the four of us. The stepson was left alone with it and ate his, mine, Bob’s, and half of his mom’s food before he realized that it probably wasn’t all for him. When he found out that I’m a chile-head, he bragged for a week about how he loved super spicy food too.
He then tried a glob of my Exhorresco hot sauce(after I warned him repeatedly not to) and spent the next two hours crying and blaming me. It keeps getting worse. We’ve been gradually remodeling the house when we’re not working in the store. His bedroom was the first room we finished. He managed to put a hole in the wall on the first day he moved in.
Bob told him to wash the truck one day earlier this year. He thought he’d be helpful and wash out the fuel tank as well. With water. His parents signed him up for tutoring to help with his grades. Turns out that all the tutoring in the world won’t help your grades if you never turn in your homework. He was under the impression that homework was optional. Also, he routinely falls asleep in class.
He thought that fish was just very active plants. Yes, really. He managed to tip over and dump the contents of the trash can he was taking out to the roadside to be picked up. Rather than pick up the mess, he just kicked it around and spread it out across the yard, in hopes that it would be less noticeable if the mess was less concentrated.
When I was five years old, my dad told me and my nine-year-old sister that telephone poles were actually trees that had been genetically engineered by the power companies to grow straight up into a perfect pole with two little arms on each side to hold the lines. It was just one of the many “diadisms” that he preached when Mom wasn’t around.
One day, he brought my sister home earlier than usual from school. He explained to my mom that the principal had called him to come and pick her up. When she asked why he told her that a local power company worker had come to her class that day to talk about power line safety. The power company worker had asked the class, “Who knows how telephone poles are made?”
My sister raised her hand and proudly shared what my dad had told her. The worker laughed and said, “I think your dad lied to you.” My sister’s response completely threw him. She said, “I think you’re a liar.” We still quote her at family gatherings whenever we think someone is pulling our leg.
At one of those drive-through safari parks, my brother told me to not, under any circumstances, look a tiger in its eye because it will take it as a threat and attack me. I, being a curious child, didn’t want to miss out on seeing any of the animals, and whilst looking around, I accidentally caught the gaze of a tiger. I freaked out and proceeded to cry, thinking I had sealed my family’s fate.
I find it funny now but Frosted Flakes will never taste the same.
This is the story about my good friend Skip, who is a loveable idiot through and through. Skip had a major crush on a girl who I will call Sally. Sally was that girl who had all the right things. Great hair, an amazing personality, and she loved it when guys were super creative when they would ask her out on dates. The more creative, the more you had her attention.
It was getting close to Valentine’s day, and time for the dance we called the Sweethearts’ Ball. Skip desperately wanted to ask Sally to the dance, but couldn’t come up with a creative enough way to ask her. Me and my friend were popping off suggestions while at lunch. Me: Dude, you could always send her some roses. Friend 1: No dude, send her a bag of M&Ms and say, it would be so sweet if you would go to the Sweethearts’ with me.
Friend 2: Dude NO, you should toilet paper her car and say, It would wipe me out if you went to the Sweethearts with me. This is where the problem starts. Friend 3: Dude, that’s stupid, why not just pour a heart shape on her lawn with gasoline and light it on fire and say my heart would go up in flames if you went to the Sweethearts’ dance with me. Skip, listening to all of this, had his mind clamp around one thing that was mentioned.
I’m sure at this point some of you have already figured out the one he chose to do. This was all on a Friday. None of us were present when Skip asked her. However, we did see the horrific aftermath. Here are the events that followed. Monday: Sally avoided Skip. Like, He’s a capital-P Psycho avoided him. Tuesday: Skip is now starting to behave strangely. He’s very nervous and looking over his shoulder.
Wednesday: Skip’s name is called over the intercom system before classes start. About 10 minutes later, the principal’s office calls in me and a couple of friends. We are told to sit outside the office, and we hear a loud conversation inside. Me: Dude, what the heck did Skip do? Friend 1: Don’t know. I’m not sure how we are involved here. Friend 2: He did something stupid I’m sure. Only we had no idea how bad it was.
Me: Dude, do you think he did the toilet paper thing? Friend 2: No, this is something bigger. Friend 1: Our names had to be dropped some time dude. Me: It’s kind of freaking me out. About this time Sally walks into the office with a smirk on her face. She says, “Have they told him yet?” All of us are totally confused, Friend 1: Told him what?
That’s when the door opens. My blood ran cold at the sight. Skip comes out, handcuffed. Crying his eyes out, repeating over and over again, “Sorry, sorry, I am so sorry!!” It was then that Sally walks up to him…and gives him a huge hug. Sally: Oh by the way, YES!!! I will go to the Sweethearts’ Ball with you. Our jaws just drop. We are all thinking, what just happened?
They uncuff him, and he has the same look as us. The fire marshal then walks out laughing. Fire Marshal: It was all her idea, I couldn’t refuse my little girl. However, if you ever set fire to my lawn again, I’ll kick your butt. You will come and fix it. And you three (he looks at us), stop putting ideas into his head. He will clearly do anything you guys tell him to.
That was the day we found out that Sally’s father was the fire marshal in our county. He and the sheriff gave him a tongue lashing for setting fire to his front yard, with a heart shape burning in the grass and a sign by the front door saying, MY HEART WILL GO UP IN FLAMES IF YOU WENT TO THE SWEETHEARTS’ WITH ME! It was a really good dance, we all had a ton of fun.
Skip and Sally have been happily married for 23 years now.
My mom and I were watching Titanic when I was around four. She obviously didn’t want me to see the love scene, so she covered my eyes as she forwarded through it. Her reasoning was wild. She told me that vampires come onto the ship and chase Rose and Jack away. I was terrified of vampires and dumb-little-me believed her.
Not only that, but I continued to believe her for the next three or four years, and was always scared of that movie because of those supposed vampires. In my mind, it had become a horror movie. It was only when I was at my best friend’s house and her siblings had that movie on, that I found out my mother had lied to me. I felt so betrayed and as I grew older I was just confused.
When I asked my mother why she said vampires of all things, she said she panicked and couldn’t think of anything else. To this day we joke about all of the vampires in Titanic.
I’m not sure if this is some sort of common cute little story kids are told in other parts of the world, but I always had a ton of freckles as a kid and was told that freckles were angel kisses. This is innocent enough until one day while exploring my body I noticed I had one freckle on my private parts. I became horrified as a young boy wondering why angels were kissing me down there.
My family, including my idiot sister, were out to eat at a Chinese restaurant. The waitress, who was Asian, came up to us and asked us what we would like to order, in English. My sister looks shocked and doesn’t even wait for the waitress to leave as she loudly proclaims, “I understood everything she said!” My family looks on at her in utter disbelief as my mom explains to her that’s because she spoke in English.
One time I was at my dad’s house, and he and a friend were hanging outside chilling while I was playing with my plastic ninja sword. My dad never let me have soda. His friend left, and he went inside to do the dishes. I saw a 7 Up can on the deck table and sprinted towards it. I took a huge swig. It turned out they had been putting their cig butts in there.
It was horrible. I ran inside and threw up. My dad asked, “What happened, what happened?!” I lied and said nothing, but he figured it out. So, he came up with the most genius lie: He told me all the soda he buys tastes like that, even if they are unopened. I believed him for a few years until I was about nine.
When I was a kid, I thought that little people (like Peter Dinklage) were small because of a truly dumb reason. I figured they all must be born on February 29th. Since their birthdays only came around once every four years, then it only made sense that they would grow to be a quarter of the size of a regular human, right? Wrong. So, so wrong.
I had a high school friend, Sam, who wasn’t…the brightest crayon in the box. Last I saw him, he was living with his addicted girlfriend, who’s pregnant with his child. Or, so that’s what I thought. I haven’t spoken much to him since he had gotten expelled from school, and our relationship faded into only Facebook updates on each other’s lives.
The other day, I was speaking to a friend, who we’ll call Sara, that still keeps in contact with Sam. He got brought up in conversation, mostly laughing about the ridiculous things he did in school, and then I asked about what he was up to. Now, back in high school, Sam vowed himself to celibacy. He didn’t want to be intimate before marriage. Also, despite how strung out his current girlfriend is, the only drug he ever used was pot.
Sara: “You know the baby’s not even his.” Me: “Wait, seriously?” Sara: “Yeah, he’s a virgin.” Me: (confused because he posts on Facebook all the time of how happy he is about becoming a father) “Does…does he know?” Sara: (shaking her head) “Nope. He legitimately thinks he got her pregnant.” Sara let me have a moment, just to see the astonishment on my face.
She went on to tell me that when Sam first told her his girlfriend was pregnant, she asked him when did he start being intimate. Sam said he never did, however, they do perform oral. Sam believes that when his girlfriend…swallowed…it impregnated her with his child. Sara and a few others tried to explain to him that’s not how it works, but he’s either just lovestruck or just plain stupid.
There has been speculation that the true father is a guy who graduated a few years before us. He is Black. Sam is white. His girlfriend is white. She’s about four months pregnant.
My cousin is a complete idiot. I just got a call from my mom that he was arrested tonight for disturbing the peace after pooping in a urinal at the airport. Doesn’t sound like something to be put in the slammer for…except that he ran out screaming for security, in an airport. Apparently, ten airport officers come running thinking they have heroics to perform, but instead, it was just a dude screaming “HEY SOMEBODY POOPED IN THE URINAL!”
Apparently, he yelled this because he REALLY BELIEVED it was a felony and wanted to “keep them from knowing it was him.” I love him but he is the dumbest person I have ever met in my life.
When I was small, I lived in a small town by an oil refinery. My parents convinced me that if you fart on-site, it would explode. I was in kindergarten.
We went on a class field trip there once (not much else to do in the middle of nowhere), and I felt the gas building in my gut. I didn’t want to harm everyone, so I grew quite stressed. I realized that I would need to take extraordinary measures to prevent catastrophe. So, I spent an embarrassingly long amount of time with my hand down my pants, blocking my fart.
My grandpa was a country guy, who liked to fish, hunt, and ride ATV four-wheelers. He also liked to lie to kids, and just let you think whatever nonsense he put in your head. When I was young, we traveled to our weekend property in the sticks. I saw a cattail reed out near the lake and asked what it was. He said, “What’s it look like? Those are hot dog trees!”
We usually grilled for dinner. My mom and I went to get stuff, and she asked if we had hotdogs. I answered there were plenty of hot dogs back home. We showed up and started unloading all the groceries. My grandpa was filling up the grill as my mom prepped the food. She asked where the hot dogs were. I went to get a pair of scissors and got my shoes on.
She was very confused and upset after I told her I had to go cut them down and that Grandpa showed me where they were.
Once I was in line for a Neil Gaiman book signing. As soon as it was my turn to get my book signed, I was so starstruck I blurted out the most backward thing ever: “You are my biggest fan!” I immediately realized my mistake and apologized profusely, and Neil just laughed it off and signed the book. I was so flustered I didn’t pay attention to what he scribbled.
Only after I left the area and opened up my copy of the book to realize he’d signed it with, “From your biggest fan, Neil Gaiman”.
I saw this one patient with a really odd condition. While she was asking me why she gets rib pain so often, she literally reached under her own rib and jiggled it with her fingers. Turns out, there were a lot of other things she could do that she shouldn’t ever be able to. I attributed it to a variant of Ehlers Danlos syndrome, which causes connective tissue abnormalities.
I was so distracted by the popping in and out of her rib that initially, I didn’t even notice how horrifying it was that she could get her hand under there.
For background, I usually make the bed in the mornings, but I didn’t yesterday morning because I was running late. I went to see my dad yesterday, but my wife wasn’t feeling well so she stayed home. I got back at around 8:30 and couldn’t find her anywhere. I checked the bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, everywhere, and I just couldn’t find her.
Her wallet was there so I figured she had just gone out for a walk, which is normal since we live in a big city that’s active into the night. I started getting worried at around 9:30 because she also wasn’t answering her phone. I called a few of her friends and asked if they’d seen her, but none had. I called her parents and asked them if they knew where she was, which led to them freaking out because no one could find her.
My father-in-law told me to track her phone, so I went into her Apple account and it told me that her phone was in our apartment. I turn on the Find my iPhone sound and start running through the apartment thinking I should call the authorities. I hear the sound coming from our bedroom, so I go in and start tearing the room up…when suddenly my wife pops up from the bed and asks me what the heck I’m doing.
Turns out the small lump that I thought was just a pile of blankets since I didn’t make the bed that morning was actually my wife, who went to sleep early because she didn’t feel well. She sleeps with earplugs in so she didn’t hear me in the apartment. I had to sheepishly call her entire family, own up to my stupidity, and apologize for terrifying them.
I demolished my right foot in a motorcycle crash and had to have the top of my foot removed. A guy I worked with asked me when it would grow back. I explained that the skin and stuff were going to have to be grafted, but that the tendons and bones that had been removed were gone forever. He looked me straight in the eye and asked, “Why don’t they just cut the whole thing off and let it grow back?”
I got a bad grade in geography in high school. My teacher kept trying to push me to do better and suggested I talk to my parents about it. I very reluctantly told my mom that I was failing geography. I’ll never forget her response: “How irresponsible can you really be Justin? How do you fail geography? It’s just a bunch of shapes!”
There was a troubled kid I went to high school with. He struggled with school but had friends. Nevertheless, he was starting to do drugs and go down a bad way. He decided to photocopy the front and backside of a $20 bill, cut it out of normal paper, and glue the two halves with Elmer’s glue.
What is even sadder is that to test his new money he went to the gas station and bought some gum and it ACTUALLY WORKED?!? So in his mind, it must have meant that it was foolproof. So he then tried to go and deposit the glued-up money at an actual bank. He was obviously found out and arrested. I don’t know where he is now but I’m assuming he is making similar life choices.
I was volunteering as a cashier at a used book store for the library. It was not my regular job, but I did it often. In came this older fellow who bought a big stack of books for about 10 bucks. He was really nice and chatty, though he didn’t seem entirely aware, mentally. It was not a big deal, and I just had to explain sales tax and the book pricing a couple of times before he seemed to get it.
He paid by credit card, and I explained to him how to sign the touchscreen for the payment to go through. Then it got weird. He asked for my name, which no customer had ever really done, but I told him anyway. He then took the iPad and told me he was going to sign my name for the card so “they” would know to send the money to me. Before I could say, “No, wait,” he submitted the signature.
I couldn’t see his receipt, but he kept telling me I was great and to keep the change, so I assumed he was being legit. It was really bizarre and it made me wonder if he had been signing cashier names the entire time he’s had a credit card. Thank goodness the card companies rarely check those things.
I worked at an Italian restaurant, and this guy ordered a salad. It seemed straightforward enough, but I was so, so wrong. When I asked what dressing he wanted, he kept going back to the pasta sauces and asking, “Sugo, that would be good on it, wouldn’t it! I’ll get that”. I tried to explain, “Sir, those are for pasta. You got the Mediterranean salad”. He responded, “You’re right; maybe carbonara,” another pasta sauce.
I couldn’t get what he wasn’t understanding. He seemed like a normal smart dude, but he couldn’t comprehend the difference between the dressings and sauces.
I was a private investigator and I was looking into a case. I had found an old couple who were friends of the victim, and he would occasionally come over to their house. I asked them when the last time the victim had come over. Their response was the key to solving the mystery. They spent about five minutes arguing back and forth with each other…whether it was before or after they offed him.
A couple sat down in the movie theater 15 minutes into the movie. The lady sat right beside me and was holding a full conversation at full volume with the man who was barely acknowledging her. I politely asked her to lower her voice as it was distracting. She stared forward for 2 minutes before leaning over, “maybe if you weren’t listening to my conversation, you wouldn’t be distracted.” I was too livid to even respond, and then the movie was ruined.
An infantryman was told to trim the hedges. Instead of getting shears, he decided to just lift up the enormous lawnmower, and then have his buddy start the motor…as the infantryman holds the hedges in place with his bare hands. When the medical team got called in, we bandaged him, then used a tourniquet temporarily. Senior medics took him to the ER, but they couldn’t save his hand. Shocker…
I had a friend, well, ex-friend, and we got into a massive, almost physically violent argument. I told her to leave my apartment and get out of the complex since she didn’t live there. Her reply was so stupid, it’s unforgettable. She said “I don’t have to! This is government property!” I was like… girl no…just no…I called the cops and they came and informed her the opposite. Ahhh, that was satisfying.
I asked my boyfriend if he wanted an apple. He said yes, so I pulled one out of the fridge and handed it to him. He looked confused. I asked him what was wrong…his answer still blows me away to this day. He asked me to slice it for him. He’d never eaten an apple whole before. He wasn’t sure how to bite into it. He was 27.
Reality TV may not be known for having the most believable content—but it sure as…