On the highway during rush hour, at a forced merge in 3 mph traffic, where I am not driving like an asshat but being patient and slow, a hippie looking gentleman in an old red Volvo with a "Goodness Happens" bumper sticker is dangerously aggressive about ensuring that I will not merge in front of him. Warning, contents may not match packaging.
Checking into my hotel, I am in line behind two persons of obvious herbal enhancement who are just amazed that their credit card is being declined, and repeatedly badger the desk clerk as to the nature of the decline, which he, of course, cannot answer, until Stoner #1 finally says, "Oh, yeah, that's my debit card and I'm broke." This took some time to resolve.
My room number in this hotel is 404. I get off the elevator and cannot find it. I proceed to laugh myself silly over the "room not found" error.