I manage the office of a funeral home. Names in the story have been changed.

One day, one of my directors sent out a standard group message letting us know of a new call for a Sarah Jones, who had passed at the hospital. A few minutes later, the hospital calls with a new call for a Sarah Smith.

Concerned that we might have two different names for the same person, while still on the phone with the guy from the hospital, I texted the director about it.

Director: “Yes, sorry, Jones is her street name.”

I repeated this out loud, and the hospital guy and I had a good laugh along the lines of:

Hospital Guy: “Who has a street name?!”

A few minutes after I hung up, still laughing, it hit me, and I had to call him back; laughing so hard I could barely speak, tears of laughter pouring down my face.

Me: “She lived on Jones Street!”

Some parents come into our store demanding the new sold-out toy of the season. The dad seems angrier than the mom.

Dad: “How can you have none in stock? It’s like the hottest toy right now!”

Me: “Sir, I believe you just answered your own question.”

Dad: “…what?!”

Mom: “Hun, run that sentence through your brain a few more times. It should circle back around on itself.”

Dad: “I don’t understand.”

Mom: “Like you clearly didn’t understand when I asked you to put in an order for [toy] six weeks ago?”

Dad: “I was busy!”

I backed away from that about-to-be-dumpster-fire of a conversation as quickly as I could.

It’s a hot day, and I’m having a stroll along the seafront. Nearby is a family with two young sons, probably aged around six and three. The younger son is having a full meltdown about something. Tears, tantrums, stomping feet, the whole works. His parents are trying to calm him down.

His brother has clearly had enough.

Older Brother: “Oh, just leave him there! He’s too noisy, and we don’t like him anyway!”

The parents did not find this funny. I, on the other hand, had to turn away to stop myself from laughing hysterically.

On the underground train going from Heathrow into central London, it starts filling at my station. There was a woman who appeared to be a tourist (suitcases, T-shirt with “London” on it, American accent), and a man about two seats down.

The man sneezes twice. Very common on the tube.

Woman: “You need to get off the train.”

Man: “Excuse me?”

Woman: “You can’t be on the train sick. That’s not fair. I’m immunocompromised.”

Man: “I’m not ill. If you’re immunocompromised, I’d suggest either getting off the train yourself or wearing an FFP3 mask.”

Woman: “No! You need to get off this train!”

The man just ignored her at this point.

Woman: “I’m calling the police!”

The whole tube laughed so hard, she started shouting obscenities and left the train at the next stop.

I work at the customer service desk at a world-renowned aquarium. A family of visitors is walking by, and the mother walks over to ask a question:

Visitor: “How do they get the whales to come back in each morning?”

Me: “Come back? From where, ma’am?”

Visitor: “From the lake! When you release the whales back into Lake Michigan, how do you get them to swim back into your aquarium for the morning presentation?”

Me: “We… don’t, ma’am. The whales live in a three-million-gallon tank.”

Visitor: “Well, that’s a waste of effort. You’re right next to the lake!”

Visitor’s Daughter: “Mom, we were just at the zoo. You think they let the lions walk around Old Town and chill while not on the clock?”

She answered it better than I could have!