When the ice-maker on our refrigerator broke, my husband dropped by the local hardware to find the part. Because the sun was so bright that day and the interior of the store was dark, his eyes hadn't quite adjusted when he walked in.

He accidentally stepped on the foot of a woman examining some samples. She screamed, causing my husband to jump sideways into a display of fireplace tools that went crashing in every direction. Unnerved, he stumbled over to the service desk, and as he put his hands on the counter, he flipped over a bowl of marbles, scattering them everywhere.

After taking a deep breath to calm himself, he announced to the wide-eyed woman working there, "My refrigerator doesn't work."

She replied, simply, "I don't doubt it."

On a busy Friday night at the restaurant where I'd recently started waiting tables, the owner suddenly emerged from the kitchen and handed me money. "We're in trouble!" he said. "We're out of quarters, and customers are waiting. Go next door and get me $40 worth."

I ran to the supermarket next door, but a cashier said she wasn't allowed to give out that many quarters. Determined, I sprinted to a convenience store two blocks away, but it was closed. At a gas station farther down the road, the clerk took pity and gave me the four rolls of quarters. Twenty minutes after I'd left, I handed the coin rolls to my boss.

"Where are the quarters?" he asked.

"Right here," I said breathlessly.

His face sank, "I meant chicken quarters."