Many towns in Austria have plague memorials, which were commissioned in the 17th century by the current emperor after the tide of Bubonic plague swept through Austria (and Europe), claiming hundreds of thousands of lives. The memorials undergo restoration periodically to keep them as fresh-looking as monuments constructed in the 17th century can look. When the plague memorial in the town where I work was being restored, a number of humorous scenarios ensued. The figures adorning the memorial were all removed and cleaned apart from the monument base. On the day that the cupids were being reassembled on the monument, I happened to be walking past and witnessed a touching scene. Cradling a stone cupid like an exceptionally heavy baby, one bulky construction worker passed the statue to his equally burly colleague. I half-expected to hear them humming a lullaby.
About a week later, I saw an open-bed truck parked beside the memorial. I did a double take, then laughed aloud. Several of the larger statues were strapped into the truck bed, cushioned by mattresses. Some were standing upright against the back of the cab with ropes tied around them like seatbelts, their mournful faces turned heavenward. Others were lying down in the truck bed atop the mattresses, and I had to repress the urge to hiss, “Shhh! The statues are sleeping!”
While waiting to board the U-bahn (metro, subway - whatever you call it in your country) one afternoon last summer, I saw a disembarking man wearing an armband indicating that he was blind. If you’re not familiar with the symbol for blindness, it’s a yellow background with three black dots arranged in a triangle…and could be mistaken, at first glance, for the warning for 
radioactive materials. I’ll give you two guesses as to which way I interpreted it. I experienced a few seconds of panic and almost screamed, “Everyone evacuate! He's radioactive!” before being told that he was simply blind, not radioactive. Good thing I was with people who knew such things!
