Overheard at Work, vol. LXIX

This week, I woke up on Tuesday, sure it was Saturday. By Thursday night, I was barely staving off sickness. And after a full day of kids because they had a holiday on Good Friday, I am ready to crawl into my bed and go to sleep.

But first...

18-year-old boy, getting ready to flex for a photograph: My right arm is really like Rambo...it's like...a muscle inside a muscle.

8-year-old boy: Cool means Constipated Overweighted Out-of-style Loser.

Me, to an 8-year-old boy: You're so cute.
Boy: You're so weird.

13-year-old boy, when we told him he'd have to speak to our colleague about missing tutoring the previous day: OK. You know how much people like cake? Take that bar, flip it upside down, and add 5. That's how it is dealing with her.
Me: So your feelings about dealing with her are the OPPOSITE of how you feel about cake!

16-year-old girl, to me: So, why aren't you married?
Me: Because I'm not in a relationship.
Girl: Oh.

Me, to two tween girls who were sitting next to each other: What are you doing?
12-year-old girl: Texting each other.

Me, to a teenaged boy, wearing a Mets cap: Are you a Mets fan?
Boy: Nah, I just got it cuz it matched my sneakers.

Overheard at Work, vol. LXVIII

Super insane event crunchtime is definitely upon us.

This week was very odd; on top of a holiday on Monday, during which we were open all day, and a snow day on Tuesday, during which we were open 1/2 a day, plus preparation for our annual singing competition.

It also felt strangely long, and I am so glad it's over.

But our singing competition event went better than any in my history at the club, so I am super thrilled about that!

8-year-old boy: I'm gonna make a B sandwich.
Me: What's that?
Boy: A sandwich made of pieces of pancake and eggs.
(Sounds DELICIOUS!)

[During a game of Apples to Apples, when HIPPOPOTAMUS was entered for the word TALENTED.]
11-year-old boy: A hippopotamus isn't talented. That's just how it was born. It's not a talent. It's a characteristic.
(OK then.)

Colleague: Where did you hear Frank Ocean got shot in the leg yesterday?
12-year-old boy: Cartoon Network!

8-year-old boy, frustrated with his homework: I can't even smell myself think anymore!

8-year-old boy, while screaming on the stairs to no one in particular: I was actually voted Most Annoying in my house!
(Accurate.)

Overheard at Work, vol. LXVII

Remember that time I mentioned spring last week and then over a foot of snow fell today?

Yeah.

Me, referring to my colleague's varied musical taste (her car radio is set to opera and hip-hop): She just showed her Gemini.
Colleague B: Her vagina??

Me, to an 18-year-old boy: You know why girls want to date you?
Boy: Because I'm sexy.

16-year-old, as he gathered supplies, including lined paper: I thought that was zero ox paper.
Me: You mean Xerox?

I don't know who invented it, but there's this ongoing game of putting your fingers together and making people glance at your fist that is an ongoing gag at work. The following is an exchange regarding that stupid game, when I tried desperately to win it.
Colleague C: It doesn't work if you just shove it in someone's face.
Me: That's what she said.

Colleague D and I are discussing a well-known TV show. Colleague E doesn't know what we're talking about.
Colleague E: I don't really watch TV.
Colleague D: THAT'S WHY! You're a Mormon!

10-year-old girl, discussing her hair routine: I have expensive taste!

Colleague F, a 22-year-old man, talking to an 8-year-old boy: It's OK to cry. I cry when I watch my soap operas.

12-year-old boy: Somebody called you an owl.
Me: Somebody called me an owl?
Boy: Yeah.
Me: Why?
Boy: Somebody called you an owl.
Me: WHY?
Boy: No! Somebody called you an owl!
Me: WHY?
Boy: NO! You're supposed to say WHO!

Overheard at Work, vol. LXVI

We made it through February!

But March is really long.

And it sort of feels like the sun hasn't been out in months.

But spring is definitely coming. Right?

Me to an 11-year-old girl: You're like...a woman. It's so weird.
Girl: I don't want to be a woman. Women...scare me.

Me: Being a woman is alright.
Girl: HAHA! You're not a woman! My mom's a woman!
Me: I could be your mom!
Girl: You could be my mom. But that would look weird.
(She's Haitian.)

Me, to a teenaged boy: Are you OK?
Boy: I'm fine. I just haven't had any chicken today. You know how Spanish people eat chicken.

Colleague, nearing the end of our day, when we had dinner plans: I want to teleport to Somerville.
Me: I want to teleport to having wine in my system.