- Firemen start fires.
- Getting fired means being set on fire.
- You can be literally anything you want - animal, vegetable or mineral
My Dad (who was in the airforce) told me that when his office hole punch got full of circles, that they had to be emptied into a bag and sent to a factory to be packaged as confetti to help the government pay for all the aeroplanes because they didn't have much money. I was at university years later, in the city that Dad had said the factory was in, and I asked someone if they knew where the government confetti factory was.
When I was little I use to think that my mom was just lying about going to work everyday, because I "knew" that someone couldn't work ALL day long. So on my way to and from school I would check and see if she was playing at the park by our house because I thought the whole idea of work was a lie, and she was just having fun with out me while I had to go to school.
I would leave some blank pages in my coloring book - thinking that the trash man would take it home to his children
I used to think that "moonlighting" was being a private detective, just like Cybil Shepard's TV series. Once, my mom and I bumped into one of my teachers at a department store (which, btw, I thought was impossible because teachers didn't have personal lives. I figured that in their free time, they sat at home and read books.), and when I asked my mom what she was doing there, she said that she thought she was moonlighting. My mom also told me to be quiet about it because my teacher could get into trouble if people at school found out (although, at this age, I don't think that qualified as violating a noncompetition agreement). I immediately translated this into her being a private detective, plus the fact that I was supposed to keep it hush-hush, so the next day I ran into school and told all my little friends that our teacher was a spy!
i used to believe that my parents (who are reasonably successful in the advertising business) had have second jobs in the local wimpy bar in order to support me and my brother. this was because my dad used it to try and make me and my brother to go to bed early so they could "get to work".
As we drove past our local cinima my 5 year old daughter started to spell out V-I-R-G-I-N and her seven year old sister pronounced "virgin". The inevitable question came from the 5 year old
"Mummy, what is Virgin". I was lost for words but her sister replied in a very superior tone "Don't you know anything, it is someone who works for Richard Branson of course!"
I was happy to let the subject drop, but I remembered it again when the girls had their Nativity assembily. It gives a whole new slant on the Christmas story.
That Strippers were the ladies who stripped the tablecloths off the tables in night clubs at the end of the evening.
When I was about 5, my father used to ride his bike to work. So my only connection with dad "going to work" was seeing him ride off on his bike in the morning. When my friends asked me what my father did for a living, I therefore told them, "he rides a bike!"
I remember being hugely confused about what people actually did at work. I thought it was like school where you did what you were told. ("Get out your typewriters now, secretaries") I imagined my mum sitting at a desk, totally clueless, until her boss came along and told her what to do next. I didn't understand what she did when he wasn't there, and when he went on holiday I thought she sat there and did nothing.
I still don't seem to have a good grip on being proactive.
The first time we took our cat to the veterinarian, I was shocked to find out that the veterinarian was a human. I'd always pictured a big, upright-walking dog in a white lab coat...sort of like McGruff the crime dog..... if he'd gone to medical school.
In 5th grade everyone had to write in the yearbook what they wanted to do when they were older. I used to watch a lot of detective/prison type action movies, so in 5th grade it was my dream to grow up to forge checks for a living. However, being 10, I did not only know what this profession would be called, but I did not know how to spell it. My 5th grade yearbook now has me forever clocked as being a "forager." Apparently all the adults thought it was so funny no one bothered to inform me of my berry-picking future.
I was about 8 years old when I first hear the word prostitute. I asked my grandmother what it meant and she told me it when when a woman "sold her body." I thought this meant she would cut off parts of her body and sell them to men. I couldn't figure out what she would have left to sell after she sold her breasts. It didn't seem like a job with my longevity.
When I was very young I said to my mother in all seriousness "A work is where daddy goes to have lunch and get paid."
I used to believe that "work" was actually the name of a job and since every adult I knew went "to work" I was convinced that all grown-ups had the same job and worked in the same building. It never dawned on me that for example teachers were working, because I didn't consider that a job. It wasn't until a teacher at our school retired (and I learned that retiring meant "to stop working") that I found out the truth. Within a week I learned that policemen, doctors etc. were also "working".
When I was about ten, I read the word "prostitute" somewhere. I thought a prostitute was a member of a religious order, something like a nun. I pictured groups of prostitutes walking around in habits and doing things for charity... in retrospect, I think I had them mixed up with Protestants... though I don't know where the nun bit came from...
I live in a town next to a large ICI chemical plant where my grandad worked. There was often a stink floating in the air and grandad told me that the smell was coming from a furnace in which all the worker's sweaty socks were burned every day so they didn't have to wash them. I was 27 before I thought 'hang on a minute....'
I wanted to grow up and become a marine biologist, which seemed to me the perfect combination of studying nature and shooting people.
I went with my mum and dad to see my uncle's new office. We were the only ones there as it was evening and my mum told me this certain empty desk was where my uncle's secretary worked. For some reason I thought secretary meant a sinister, shiny dark red robot. That's how I saw it in my head. I kept nagging them to leave as I was terrified it would come in.
When I was around 4 years old, my grandma told me I could be anything I wanted to be when I grew up. I was thrilled to discover this, and decided I was going to be an Eskimo. I didn't really understand the concept of a salary or paycheck, but I did know that jobs meant you would get money. I assumed I would get paid for building an igloo and wearing a parka, and it would be the greatest job ever.
My dad was in the army and I heard them marching and shouting as they went "Left! Left! Left! Right! Left!" I wanted to emulate him but I though you had to take three steps with your left and one giant step with your right leg. I thought being in the army would be soooo hard. It wasn't until 6th grade that I finally figured that it was just to keep timing. Hmmm.