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Years ago, during my final exam session, I was sitting in the library, studying for an exam. I sat down at a computer, opened my book, and clicked on the browser’s address bar. Suddenly, the computer seemed to be possessed, as the field began filling with endless zeros. I waited for a bit, but the zeros just kept coming. I pressed CTRL+A and deleted them all. But as soon as they disappeared, the zeros started filling the field again. It was Internet Explorer, so I shook my head in dismay. I know a bit about computers, but I wasn’t going to mess with that. If they can’t install a decent browser here, it’s their problem. I reported the issue to the woman at the desk, and luckily, there was a tech guy around. He followed me back to the computer to see what was going on. On the way, I explained my theory: that this lousy Internet Explorer had probably picked up a virus and they should fix it fast before it spreads to other machines. We approached the desk, and I pointed at the screen, asking, ‘So what now?’ The guy looked at me oddly and said......Just take the book off the keyboard, it’s holding down a key....You might want to try restarting it, and I realized I hadn’t even thought of the most basic fix....Well, there’s your problem, and he pointed to the sticky note stuck under the keyboard, pressing down random keys....You should just close the browser and use something else. He proceeded to demonstrate how to switch browsers, and I felt a bit embarrassed.
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This happened just yesterday, so it’s still fresh. I was expecting a package and had a class at 1:30 PM. I thought I’d quickly hop in the shower—what could go wrong? I was in the middle of shaving my legs when I heard the doorbell ring. I jumped out of the shower, dripping wet, and hastily wrapped myself in a towel. My German Shepherd, as usual, went crazy at the door, so I dragged him away and shut him (or so I thought) in another room. I cracked the door open, hiding behind it for modesty, and the delivery guy handed me a pen that had no ink (great idea) to sign on his device. I barely managed to make a scribble when I heard my not-so-bright dog racing down the hall, slipping on the wet floor. I turned just in time to see him skid on my wet footprints and crash into me like a 40-kilogram furry cannonball…...the impact sent me stumbling, and while I managed to keep my towel, the poor delivery guy looked horrified by the whole scene....I tripped over the dog, lost my towel, and ended up sitting on the floor in nothing but embarrassment as the delivery guy awkwardly stared....I tried to hold onto the door, but in doing so, I swung it wide open, causing my towel to fly off and the pen to land somewhere out of reach. The delivery guy froze, witnessing everything.......I fell backward, trying to hold my towel, but the dog knocked me down and we both ended up in a tangled mess. The delivery guy stood there, wide-eyed and unsure of what to do.
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My mother-in-law makes the best marinated herring in oil, with onions—it’s simply perfect. Yesterday, we received a whole jar, and of course, most of it was eaten immediately. This morning, as I was getting ready to leave for work, I noticed the jar on the kitchen counter. I approached with hope, wondering if there might still be something left, or if it was just oil and onions. Slim chances, but maybe a small herring survived. I picked up the jar and examined it closely, like a hawk searching for prey, slowly rotating it. Just oil and onions. But maybe there’s one hiding at the bottom? I lifted the jar above my head to check from underneath. Oh, I think I spotted one! I tilted the jar with hope, trying to get a better look when suddenly......I realized too late that the lid wasn’t on properly, and a flood of herring oil and onions poured all over my head....I realized too late that the lid wasn’t on properly, and a flood of herring oil and onions poured all over my head....the jar slipped from my hands and shattered on the floor, splashing oily onions everywhere....the jar tipped too far, and the remaining oil splashed onto the counter, narrowly missing my shirt.
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The store I work at offers gift cards with a magnetic strip, like a regular bank card. Yesterday, a mentally challenged girl came in with her father or guardian, I’m not sure which. She had one of those gift cards. It took her quite a while to pick out her items, but she was smiling the whole time, clearly happy. Finally, they came to the checkout, and I scanned their items. The girl wanted to swipe the card herself, so I handed over the terminal. She struggled to swipe it properly—too slow, too fast, wrong direction. Both I and her guardian offered help, but she insisted on doing it herself. She kept trying and trying with no success. Meanwhile, a pretty long line had formed behind them, and customers were watching the situation unfold. This went on for about 10 minutes, and with each failed attempt, the girl became more frustrated, her face turning red. I felt so bad for her—it must’ve been awful to struggle with something so simple in front of strangers. When she was on the verge of tears, her guardian gently took the card from her. She broke down, sobbing uncontrollably, as people in the line came closer to see what was going on. Her guardian swiped the card through the terminal and... nothing happened either. That’s when I realized something was wrong......I noticed the card had been swiped backward the whole time. Once I pointed it out, we tried again and it worked perfectly....I checked the card and saw that the magnetic strip was damaged, making it impossible to read....I looked at the screen and realized the gift card balance was insufficient to cover the total purchase....I glanced at the terminal and realized I had selected the option for paying with a bank card instead of the gift card option, which caused the entire problem.
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I work at the same company as my wife. We usually leave work together. It’s the 9th floor, so we take the elevator down. I rarely have stomach issues, but something must’ve disagreed with me that day. Usually, even when I have gas, there’s no smell, so I let it go without a second thought. Oops, something went terribly wrong... The smell was awful, like something had died inside me. My wife shot me a look of pure disgust and declared that I was a disgusting pig and would be sleeping in the living room tonight. The elevator stopped on the 2nd floor, and two young girls, about 18 or 19, stepped into our gas chamber. My wife and I both stared at the floor in utter shame. Time slowed to a crawl, and it felt like an eternity before the doors finally closed, and the elevator began to move again. After what felt like the longest ride of our lives, we reached the ground floor. Salvation was near. We were just about to step out when......one of them gagged and muttered, ‘What is that smell?’ while the other fanned the air....one of the girls turned to the other and whispered, ‘Did you fart?’ and they both started laughing....my wife couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst out laughing as we both rushed out of the elevator....one of the girls said to the other, ‘It smells like a new carpet, don’t you think?’ We barely made it a few meters before my wife and I erupted in laughter.
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A few years ago in high school, I had a friend who wasn’t great with technology. I used to prank him often by adding fake contacts like ‘Cheap Vodka’ or ‘Pimple Emergency,’ and he always struggled to delete them. One night at a party, after having too much to drink, I decided to take it a step further. When he wasn’t paying attention, I grabbed his phone, went to the bathroom, and took a picture of my bare butt. Then, I set it as the contact photo for ‘Mom,’ so it would show up whenever she called him. A week later, I was at his house, and we were about to leave, but he couldn’t find his phone. His mom handed him hers to call his. We heard the phone ring from under a pile of papers where his mom was standing. She picked it up, looked at the screen, and shouted, ‘Oh my God!’”.......She looked at the picture, shook her head, and muttered, ‘This generation…,’ then handed the phone back without another word....She gasped, then called out, ‘Honey, come look at what your son’s been up to!’ while trying to stifle her laughter....She dropped the phone and exclaimed, 'I’ve seen enough!' before walking out of the room, leaving us both in stunned silence....She burst out laughing and jokingly asked why she hadn’t seen this picture earlier.
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A few weeks before Christmas, I returned from a business trip, and to say I missed my wife would be an understatement. I was really hoping for a romantic evening together, but with two kids (6 and 8 years old), it’s not easy to arrange that. Especially our 8-year-old daughter—she’s a real night owl and loves staying up as late as she can. That night, though, I was determined to get the kids to bed early. By 9 p.m., we had them bathed, teeth brushed, and tucked into bed. My wife read them a book and, before leaving, said, ‘Now, kids, go to sleep and don’t come out of your room. Mommy and Daddy are going to be at the computer buying Christmas presents, so you can’t see anything.’ Brilliant idea—those two ran to bed like they were shot from a cannon. We closed the door and got to enjoying our marital time together. Let’s just say, my wife had missed me just as much. After a while, we heard a knock on the door. We immediately froze, hoping whoever it was would go away. After a few moments, we heard our 8-year-old’s sweet voice, ‘Are you still buying those presents?’ My wife replied, ‘Yes, yes. Go back to your room.’.......And then our little angel said, ‘Because all I hear from your room is OOH OOHHH OOH OOHHH.’...Then she whispered, ‘Can I help wrap the presents?’ and we had to scramble for an excuse....And just when we thought she was gone, we heard her say, ‘Can I come see what you’re buying?’ causing us to panic....But before she could leave, she added, ‘Because it sounds like you’re wrestling in there.’ We were mortified.
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A while ago, I had a wild night out and drank way more than I should have. Way more. The next morning, I woke up feeling surprisingly okay. I had a massive craving for chicken nuggets. I headed to the nearby McDonald’s and devoured six nuggets when suddenly, I felt an overwhelming and urgent need to throw up. Being the gentleman that I am, I ran outside to the nearest trash bin when......someone else darted toward the bin at the same time, and we both froze in awkward confusion....the bin tipped over just as I got to it, spilling garbage everywhere before I could even throw up....I realized a pigeon was inside after I vomit on it. It was a disaster....I tripped over the curb and landed face-first in front of the bin, adding insult to injury.
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My family had recently moved to a new city, and it was my first semester at a new school. I walked into the classroom one morning and saw our homeroom teacher surrounded by a small group of my classmates, all engaged in a lively conversation. Curious, I approached them and asked what was going on. The teacher smiled at me and said, ‘My family is expanding—we’re going to have a daughter.’ Excited, I squealed, ‘That’s wonderful, congratulations! I’ve been noticing for weeks now that it looked like there might be a little one growing in that rounding belly, but I didn’t want to say anything.’ An awkward silence followed, with my classmates giving me strange looks. My teacher’s face turned red, and she softly replied......The baby will be adopted, not biological....I’m not pregnant. I was kidding....It’s not a baby, actually—I’ve just gained a little weight recently....I was talking about my sister, who’s going to be the mother.’
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In my house, there was never a trash can in the bathroom. Any waste was usually flushed down the toilet, unless it would cause a clog, in which case it had to be carried downstairs to the bins for sorting. There’s a big mirror above the sinks in the bathroom. Relaxing in there is nearly impossible because morning and night, every member of my large family needs to use it. One evening, I went into the bathroom (important detail: I had my period that day), locked the door, undressed, and decided to stick my used pad to the mirror above the sink—so I wouldn’t forget to throw it away later. I took a bath, changed into fresh underwear with a new pad, wrapped myself in a towel, gathered my clothes to toss into the laundry, and returned to my room. Lying in bed, I had this nagging feeling I’d forgotten something, when suddenly I heard someone scream at the top of their lungs, followed by heavy footsteps. Whoever it was, they were running around the house like a madman. I couldn’t make out what they were yelling, but they sounded terrified. Then I heard it clearly: ‘MOOOMMMM!!! THERE'S A BLOODY PAD STUCK ON THE MIRROR!’ It was my older brother, absolutely horrified. I turned beet red with embarrassment. My mom asked if I actually thought the mirror was the same as a trash can. My brother, shaken to his core, couldn’t believe what he’d seen reflected back at him instead of his face when he looked in the mirror while washing his hands. I tried to explain that I just didn’t want to forget it. ‘Next time,’ my mom said, ‘stick it to your forehead if you’re that worried about forgetting...I tried to defend myself, but everyone just kept teasing me about it for days....My mom made me clean the bathroom from top to bottom as punishment.I had to apologize profusely to both my brother and mom, and I avoided eye contact for the rest of the week...My brother couldn’t stop laughing, and for the next month, he kept calling me ‘Padface’ as a joke.