Today, while climbing through some unseemly type things at the building in which I sometimes work:
Co-worker: So this right here, is XYZ.
Me: Um, isn't that radioactive?
Co-worker: It is.
Me: Co-worker? Am I going to die today?
Co-worker, cheerfully: Probably not today!
Earlier today, while discussing the insanity that is our workplace, with another co-worker:
Co-worker: GOOD GOD.
Me: I know, right?
Co-worker: No, seriously. I mean, GOOD GOD.
Me: I know.
Co-worker: We need one of those things...what do you call them...you know that is red, orange, yellow, and all that?
Me: The terrorist threat level meter?
Co-worker: Yeah. We need one to gauge how insane we are.
Me: I believe we are at a level Douchehat Manager, hovering near a level Douchehole Manager.
Co-worker: What does that make us? Red?
Speaking with one of my managers earlier:
Manager: So I need you to do this, this, and this.
Me: I've already done this, and this, and I have a plan for this and should have it done by the end of the day.
Manager: Well, aren't you just Martha Stewart?
Me: Martha Stewart? What?
Manager: Isn't she the first woman who...I don't know, flew an airplane or something?
Me, failing to see how flying an airplane or baking cakes has anything to do with the quality of my work: No. She's that chick on daytime television who always says, "It's a good thing".
Manager: Oh. You're probably not like her at all.
Me: I have less felony convictions anyway.
In the drive-thru line, at the Wendy's:
Cashier: That will be $1.08
Me: Here you are.
Cashier: I love your purse.
Cashier: I been seeing it on the QVC. Did you buy that off the QVC?
Cashier: I love that QVC don't you? It's almost good as Days of Our Lives.
Cashier: Less sex on QVC though.
Me: You don't say.
When talking to the girlie-parts doctor who did my minor surgery on Tuesday:
Doctor: Now, let's just have a look down there.
Me, wincing uncomfortably: Um, okay.
Doctor: Looks mighty fine.
Me, quietly: Mighty fine indeed!