First one happened about a week ago: Ricky and I were coming home and there was a Latino-delivery-guy waiting outside our place. He asked if we ordered food, and we were like, “No, but we’ll let you in,” he thanked us. “Must be the girls upstairs that ordered,” one of us said. And while we were climbing the stairs together (since the girls live on the third floor), some deep-tickling inside me nudged, “Make some small talk with the delivery-guy, Matt” so I obliged this feeling and asked, “Pequena?” And the guy seemed a little embarrassed, “Oh no, Thai,” he answered. Yeah I made the fatal leap of assuming he was delivering Mexican food cause he was Latino. Terrible-horrible-blah. Ricky beat me up afterward, so I got what was coming to me.
Second is a bit more subtle. Happened a few days ago. I was leaving work, waiting for the elevator, and some cleaning-guy was starting to vacuum, and I was nearly certain of two things: firstly, that I heard him fart, and second, that he knew I heard him fart. We were alone mind you. And he starts walking toward me and says, “I’m sorry,” and I answered, “Ah, it’s fine,” while making the universal gesture for “it doesn’t smell that bad,” even though it sort of did. But slightly confused he then says, “Excuse me,” and moves past me to plug in his vacuum! He was just saying, “I’m sorry,” like, “Sorry, I just need to get past you,” but I mistook it for a fart-apology. What a world!