Because everyone has “that one story.” 100% anonymous.
About humor
I was walking into my apartment building when I saw a woman who looked exactly like my friend from behind. Same hair, same jacket, same bag. Without thinking, I shouted, “HEY QUEEN!”
She turned around.
She was absolutely not my friend.
She gave me a polite but deeply confused half-smile while I panicked and blurted out, “Sorry, I thought you were someone else… who is also… a queen?”
I then pretended to check my mailbox even though I already had my mail. Twice.
I was walking through the mall when a kiosk worker caught my eye and waved a sample at me. I tried to smile and keep walking, but they stepped directly into my path and said, “Let me fix your skin.”
My skin??
I froze long enough for them to smear some mystery lotion on my hand, and within seconds I was listening to a five-minute pitch about exfoliation, hydration, and the “aging process.”
When I finally escaped, my hand smelled incredible, but I also somehow agreed to take a pamphlet. I still don’t know how they do it.
Mall kiosk workers possess magic.
I was buying a pack of gum and a pint of ice cream at 10:30 p.m. The cashier looked at my items, scanned them, and said, “Rough night?”
I laughed awkwardly and said, “Just tired.”
He nodded and added, “Yeah, this screams ‘emotional support sugar.’”
There were three people behind me. Everyone heard.
I still bought the ice cream. I just did it with far more awareness of my public vulnerability than I wanted.