“Didn’t even make it until tomorrow. They are already complaining about how busy they were.”
“I imagine I’m going to hear even more complaining tomorrow about this not working.”
“Well, take it up with the boss. It’s not my problem because it wasn’t my idea.”

“Although, it didn’t take me long to get used to this having a day off every week.”
“My husband and I figured out how to budget my working 4 days a week, and we can do it.”
“I may decide to not go back to 5 days. As long as boss is on board, you’ll be out of luck.”
“Should have appreciated me more when I was full time I suppose.”
“(The two of them have spent the last 4 years bullying me. That’s a whole entire other story. A book.)”

The Great Wednesday Caper​

Picture this: you’re the office’s unofficial Wednesdays Off champion. You’ve just turned a boring 5‑day grind into a 4‑day sprint, and your coworkers are already auditioning for the role of “Professional Problem‑Creator” in the “How to Test Your Boss’s Patience” sitcom. The boss, bless their heart, is still trying to figure out whether to send a thank‑you card or a stern warning.

You’re practically a superhero—only your cape is a spreadsheet, and your superpower is budgeting your own sanity. “I’ve been doing this for four years,” you mutter, “and the only thing I’ve been bullying is my own calendar.” Meanwhile, the office is buzzing louder than a beehive on a sugar rush. They’re complaining about being busy, about the “not working” system, about the boss—oh, the drama!

And yet, you’re still on the path to becoming the Wednesdays Off legend. Because if you can survive a day off in a world that runs on caffeine and deadlines, you can survive anything. (Maybe not the boss’s angry stare, but we’ll get to that later.)

TL;DR – A toddler swallowed an AirPod, the uncle tried to play a song inside her, everyone panicked, the uncle laughed, and the comments prove it was a classic “I’m the funny uncle” moment.

When my 3‑year‑old niece decided her new snack was a left‑handed AirPod, the whole room instantly turned into a mini‑ER. The parents and grandparents were already on the edge of calling the ambulance, while I—armed with a sense of humor and a very, very skeptical phone—had a different plan.

Instead of waiting for the medical team to arrive, I pulled out the AirPod, connected it to my phone, and put my ear right on her stomach. My hope? To hear a tiny “Hey, you found my earbud!” from the inside. To my surprise, the little speaker crackled back, as if it was playing a secret lullaby for the universe.

It was a moment of pure, ridiculous joy for me, but the adults around us had a very different reaction. Their faces went from "We need to get an ambulance!" to "Did that guy just...?" as I laughed, thinking of the future when my niece would remember this as a funny story of the “Stomach DJ” who turned a crisis into a concert.

I’m not saying I’m a medical professional; I’m just saying I’m the uncle who thinks a bit of levity is the best medicine—at least until the EMTs show up.

TL;DR: A salty employee at a salt‑plant quit over a pizza that arrived one day too late. The HR department stayed salty, and the community made the entire saga a meme‑worthy, cheese‑filled tragedy.

The Salt Production Saga​

Picture this: a small town in the middle of nowhere, a salt production facility that paid better than the average wage for the area, and a staff that could hear the faintest crackle of a vinyl record from the break‑room speaker. The job? Simple. Pack salt into bags. The perks? Great benefits, flexible hours, and the occasional free pizza that felt like a golden trophy.

Enter Sues, a 63‑year‑old part‑time salt‑packer who had been with the company for as long as anyone could remember. She worked Monday through Wednesday, and because she was older and had the right skills, she was earning a nice paycheck without even having to lift a bag. She was the “grandma” of the break room, the unofficial sage, and apparently the unofficial salt of the operation.

One day the company was so overjoyed with their production numbers that they decided to celebrate with a pizza party. They ordered the pizza on Thursday, a generous slice for each worker. When Sues heard about the pizza party on Monday, she was livid. She marched straight to HR and demanded justice, because she knew the pizza would arrive on Thursday—a day she didn’t even work. She threatened to quit if the pizza didn’t arrive on Wednesday. Wednesday came, no pizza, and she handed in her two‑week notice.

Fast forward: the two weeks were almost over, Sues couldn’t find another job, she begged HR to let her stay, and HR said “NO!”. The only thing left was a sad, empty pizza box and the knowledge that she had to move back to her hometown across the country. She literally quit over pizza. 🍕

Ever tried to convince yourself that the more you practice sleep, the easier it will get? Welcome to the paradoxical club where insomnia is the ultimate fitness regimen. A recent Reddit thread sent the internet into a frenzy—because apparently, the more you do sleep, the harder it gets. The comments were a delightful mix of sarcasm, self‑deprecation, and questionable medical advice. Below we’ll unpack the chaos, sprinkle in some humor, and maybe even learn a thing or two about how not to chase the sandman.

TL;DR: The OP claims that sleep gets harder the more you sleep. The comments agree, disagree, and get sick—literally. Bottom line: if your sleep schedule is a mess, just keep sleeping… or don’t. The universe will decide.

We asked the internet: “What happened to the smartest person you went to school with?” The responses ranged from heart‑warming career milestones to tragic mishaps that would make your head spin. Below is a curated highlight reel of the most memorable replies (no usernames attached, just pure Reddit gold).

The Silent Library Saga​

Picture this: a bright-eyed STEM student, half‑dead from a 5‑hour sleep stretch, decides to fight the sound of a woman’s presentation in the library’s hush‑hush zone. The library is the kind of place where the “No Talking” signs are hung with the same seriousness you’d give a life‑saving emergency. Our hero, armed with the power of a polite voice and a sense of personal sanity, approaches the loudmouth. The loudmouth says “I need to finish my presentation!” and then, in a moment of pure theatrical flair, declares, “I had two seconds left—I would have been done by now!” And then the entire scene turns into a dramatic, un‑necessary, slightly melodramatic catastrophe that leaves our hero wondering if they just ruined the woman’s presentation or their own sanity.

The Setup​

• You: A diligent student who thrives in silence.
• The Loudmouth: A woman presenting, probably a final project, in the middle of the “silent” zone.
• The Environment: Library signs that read “No Talking” and “Silent Area.”
• The Conflict: Noise levels so high that our hero’s focus on their lab is compromised.

The hero decides: “I’ll politely ask her to move.” They do so, and she packs up, furious, claiming the presentation is ruined. She later yells about “two seconds left,” a lie that’s as believable as a unicorn. The hero leaves feeling guilty, wondering if they were an ass or just a guardian of quiet.

Picture this: you move into a charming old house that’s been in the same family for decades. The previous occupants were a carpenter, his wife, and their daughter. The carpenter’s friends built a whole block of houses, so you basically joined a neighborhood of relatives. Fast forward to 2020, the carpenter dies, the daughter moves away, and you’re left with a house full of dusty heirlooms.

When you unpacked, you found boxes of vintage family photos, an arsenal of expensive carpentry tools, and a kitchen that could make Gordon Ramsay weep (thanks to the ultra‑expensive cookware). Naturally, you try to return everything to the daughter. She’s as responsive as a dead mouse – you email, text, call, even enlist your neighbor to make the call. Finally, in 2022, she answers your call, yells at your mom, slams the phone, and refuses any of the “family treasures.” She even hurls some colorful profanity at your mom. After that, you all give up, sell the tools, ditch the cookware, and hand the photos to a friendly neighbor who used to know the carpenter.

Then, last week, your neighbor brings a younger woman—she claims to be the daughter you just talked to—and she shows up at your door. She thanks you for the photos (like a grateful tourist) but then demands to see the tools and cookware. You tell her you sold them. She loses it, calls you a liar and a bitch, and insists on seeing the house “for old times’ sake.” You politely decline, feeling a little like a gatekeeper at a high‑security museum. She, your neighbor, and the rest of the neighborhood all erupt into an impromptu neighborhood drama, with banging on doors and nearly denting the front door. After a full hour of shenanigans, they finally storm off.

Now, every neighbor looks at you like you’re the villain in a soap opera, and you’re left wondering: “AITA?”

TL;DR – I’m pregnant, my husband’s brother keeps offering unsolicited diet advice, and I told him I’ll just eat sea‑food. Everyone says “NTA”, but the comments are a hot‑dish of snark.

The Family Dinner That Turned Into a “Diet Show”​

Picture this: a super‑pregnant mom (26) with a toddler who can now walk and talk, a supportive husband (29), and the ever‑present “BIL” (Brother In Law) who thinks he’s a nutrition guru but whose only specialty is the art of sneaking a diet lecture into a bathroom break.

It all starts innocently enough. Bil and his sister (34) are at the couple’s house, and the husband—who’s currently on a mission to the restroom—suddenly disappears for a few minutes. In the vacuum left behind, Bil steps in like a dietary ninja.

“Have you done any research on how to lose weight after a baby?”

I’m already picturing him with a clipboard and a “Weight Loss 101” handbook. I take a deep breath, because we’re not in a yoga class.

“I don’t have any plans for that.”

He keeps going. He explains a diet that apparently involves cutting out everything and that the baby’s weight will “just fall right off.” I’m like, “I’m not worried about my weight. My doctors, my husband, and I are all good. You can keep your diet notes to yourself.”

Bil presses on while the husband is “taking a shit.” He asks, “Do you have any diets in mind? I’d love to research them for you.” I laugh, because at this point, the only diet that makes sense is the one that involves seafood—because breastfeeding burns more calories than a treadmill marathon.

“I’ll be on the see‑food diet. I’ll see food and I’ll eat it.”

Bil looks visibly uncomfortable. The sister giggles. The husband finally emerges, and Bil decides it’s time for a dog walk. The husband, now a bit amused, tells me the story. “It’s funny,” he says, “but I’m going to talk to my brother.”

Now I’m left wondering: Am I the asshole for making a joke about a sea‑food diet? Do I owe Bil an apology for being sarcastic? Or did I just defend my own sanity from a diet‑obsessed intruder?

The Comments (No Usernames, Just Straight‑Up Feedback)​

NTA

This is really annoying! It’s perfectly fine for people to be rude to you, but you do it in return and it’s a problem! It should be the law where someone says something rude and you by law have to tell them to fuck off.

Nope. BIL needs to keep his weird food stuff to himself, in his own head. How many people have nicely suggested/asked that he stop? Has he stopped?

Be rude!! Being nice hasn't changed anything except he doesn’t do it in front of his brother. Some people just don’t get it until they’re either put on the spot & embarrassed all to hell or people finally tell them they will stfu or they will have to leave the premises. Maybe tell him no contact till he realizes he's being an asshole. And do this EVERY TIME he starts again.

NTA if my brother pressed my wife like that I’d probably remind him that I’m his big brother if you catch my drift.

NTA, keep it up. Honestly, sounds like BIL has an eating disorder/body dysmorphia.

Bottom Line​

You’re not the asshole. You’re a mom who’s ready to feed herself—and her baby—with anything that keeps her nourished. The only thing you should be wary of is a brother who thinks he’s a diet whisperer. Keep your sea‑food diet on lock, and maybe give Bil a gentle nudge that his unsolicited nutrition seminars belong in the not‑for‑public‑view category.

Happy breastfeeding, and may your stomach never feel the weight of unsolicited diets again!

Ever been in an office where the only thing more nerve‑wracking than a Monday morning stand‑up is a simple hallway knock? Meet Devin, the human embodiment of a caffeinated squirrel on a sugar high. He’s the kind of colleague who turns a normal “quick form” request into a full‑scale melodrama that would make a soap opera jealous.

The Scene​

It was a typical Tuesday. The fluorescent lights hummed, the coffee machine whined, and Devin was already doing the office version of a “ready for anything” pose—eyes darting, fingers twitching, and a suspicious amount of granola bars in his desk drawer.

Our supervisor, ever the Zen master, casually dropped the bomb:

“Hey Devin, HR wants to see you for a quick form.”

The room held its breath. Devin’s face turned the color of a ripe tomato that’s just been taken from the fridge and left out for too long. He whispered, as if he’d just been caught in a secret society:

“Oh no… it’s finally happening.”

The supervisor, completely unfazed, continued his regular day:

“Devin, it’s literally about your emergency contact form.”

But Devin was already spiraling. He launched into a series of confessions that would make a priest blush:

• “I didn’t mean to take two granola bars last week.”
• “I swear I thought the meeting was optional.”
• “The stapler thing wasn’t me but I get why you’d think that.”

It was a perfect storm of anxiety, granola, and office supplies. Meanwhile, HR was just trying to get a signature on a form. The irony? None of it mattered.

The Aftermath​

Devin finally marched into HR, red-faced and ready to confess his sins. He came back 10 minutes later with the most dramatic gasp you’ve ever seen:

“It was just a missing signature.”

The office breathed a collective sigh of relief, but the legend lived on. Now, whenever someone asks him anything—even the simplest question—Devin responds like a Victorian orphan who’s just learned he’s in trouble:

“Am I in trouble?”

We love him for his dramatic flair, but we also hope he gets the support he needs. After all, if a paper form can trigger a full-blown panic attack, we’re all in for a wild ride.