So on Monday the Spanish Club and Spanish Honor society took a trip to see a Flamenco Ballet.
We had been learning about Flamenco dancing and our chaperones had been talking about it on the bus there.
We were in our seats waiting for the show to begin when this conversation started.
Girl: What is this Flametco thingy anyway?
Carolyn (in all seriousness): It's not Flametco. It's FLAMINGO! That's why I wore hot pink.
I work in a resteraunt that serves primarily Mexican food. We just hired our newest waitress, who we'll call Steph. She's... not the sharpest crayon in the box.
Steph: Siona, I need some help.
Steph: Do I put the to-go orders on plates or in the boxes.
Me: ...You can't be serious.
Steph: Uh, why wouldn't I be?
Now, I must explain this. We get alot of people around here that speak primarily Spanish, or have a heavy accent in their English. So we warn that to our employees.
Steph: I need help, with a table that just came in.
Me: But... I'm the dishwasher.
Steph: I know, but do you know if the new table that just came in speaks Spanish or English?
So I peek around the door. The people at the table?
"Topless or Bikini clad experienced house cleaners. We will make your home sparkle and shine. There is absolutely no touching of the women. This is a illegitimate business. Please email for rates."
I work as a tech support representative for a major ISP.
Today I took a call from a woman who was very upset that she was not able to connect. She had called our Sign Up By Phone line to create an account earlier that day, rebooted her computer, and sat in front of it for forty minutes waiting to see the Internet.
It took fifteen minutes to convince her that yes, she did need to install the software to connect. She was also adamant that she shouldn't have to click anything, the Internet should just "Be there."
The other day in one of my classes, we were discussing the short and long term effects of certain drugs.
One of the girls in the class pipes up and says, "When you die -- is that a short or long term effect?"
Some people need to be slapped.
A few years ago, I was watching the Oscars with my sister. It happened to be the year Pleasantville was nominated for a few awards. (If you haven't seen it, it's about two modern-day teenagers who get sucked into the television and have to live in this classic '50s tv show, called Pleasantville, which is black and white but gradually becomes color as they bring life to it. Or something. It was a long time ago.) When they handed out Best Make-Up, my sister and I had the following conversation.
Me: I can't believe Pleasantville wasn't nominated!
Sister: Uh, why?
Me: Cause they had to paint everyone's faces black and white every day!
That was bad, but I think this is worse. Last year, like the good former Catholic school girls we are, my sister and I were watching Sound of Music on tv. It was toward the end of the movie, when the Von Trapps are hiding from the Nazis in Maria's old convent, and they end up hiding behind a large tombstone in the graveyard.
Sister: I wonder whose tombstones those are, the really big ones.
Me: Oh, maybe it's Jesus's grave!
Sister: ... WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?
I swear those are the two stupidest things I've ever said. I'm not normally that dumb.
Customer: How many chicken nuggets come in the twelve-piece box?
Item two, with backstory:
My brother works in the back. Specifically, he breads the chicken, and operates and cleans the fryers. One night at closing time, he was cleaning the fryers and changing the oil, and one of the cashiers comes back, sees what he's doing, and says, "Oh my god, that's not blood, is it?"
She thought they fried...'scuse me, pressure-cooked...the chicken in its own blood.