(I am working at the security entrance of the airport. Baggage carts are not allowed into the gate area. I see a gentleman approaching with a cart and it doesn’t look like he is about to store it in the rack. Sure enough, he comes up to the entrance with his cart.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but the cart is not allowed in the secure area. Please put it in the rack provided.”

Passenger: “Well, there’s no sign.”

(I point to one of the two signs framing our door clearly depicting a cart with a red circle and line running through it, indicating the cart was banned.)

Passenger: “Well, it’s not in English!”

Me: “Sir, it’s a pictograph. It’s supposed to be easily recognized and understood no matter what language you speak.”

Passenger: “IT’S STILL NOT IN ENGLISH!”

Customer: “Hi! My friends are coming in from America. Is there any chance I can meet them at their baggage claim?”

Me: “I’m sorry. Unfortunately, you aren’t allowed to go through the gates at international arrivals. You’ll just have to meet them there.”

Customer: “Oh, that sucks. Never mind.”

(The customer begins to leave and suddenly turns back.)

Customer: “Oh, wait! I’ve got another question.”

Me: “Sure.”

Customer: “What country am I in?”

(A young boy, about 12, is walking around confused.)

Me: *in Norwegian* “Where are your parents?”

Child: *clearly British* “Why the heck do people here assume I speak bloody Norwegian?”

Me: *in English* “You’re in Norway.”

Child: “Oh, yeah.”

Me: “Hi, would you like to buy a ticket?”

Customer: “Yes, when is your next flight to Oregano?”

Me: “Oregano?”

Customer: “Yeah, it’s in America. I think it’s a state?”

(On my computer, I find the Wikipedia page for Oregano.)

Customer: “Oh…I’m not dumb, I swear…”

(A man going through security is stopped when the x-ray reveals that he has a full-length sword in his carry on luggage.)

Me: “Sir, what are you doing with this sword?”

Customer: “It’s a souvenir. It’s not even sharp.”

Me: “This can in no way go on board a plane.”

Customer: “But it’s not even sharp!”

Me: “You’re going to need to come with me. Anything like this, whether it’s a souvenir or not, should have been placed in your checked luggage.”

Customer: “I don’t believe this! It’s not a real sword! And it’s not even sharp?! Do I look stupid to you?”

Me: “You look like a person trying to bring a sword onto a plane.”

(Around 12:30 am at the airport, a young woman in her mid-20′s strolls up to me at the check-in counter.)

Me: “How are you this morning?”

Female customer: “Alright. How early can I check in for a morning flight?”

Me: “Using the kiosk boarding pass printers, you can check in up to 5 hours early, but you won’t be able to drop off your bag until we open again around 5 am. What flight are you on?”

Female customer: “My name is *** and I’m on the 6:30 flight to Winnipeg. My fiance just broke up for me because of an argument that’s his fault. He just up and left, so I thought I’s come here and see. We are still on the same flight, too.”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that. Well, at least you are on separate reservations. Did you want to go later?”

Female customer: “No, I just want to get out of here. Is there a bar or anything open around here?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but the only thing open is the Tim Hortons, which is one floor below us, and the Mac’s stores on either end of the terminal.”

Female customer: “Okay. Is there anywhere to sleep?”

Me: “Sure, just head up to the third floor. There are some very comfy chairs, and it’s nice and quiet.”

Female customer: “Thanks…” *leaves*

(About ten minutes later, one of my coworkers calls a guy in his late 20′s up to her podium. I overhear their conversation…)

Coworker: “Where are you off to?”

Male customer: “Winnipeg at 6:30 am.”

Coworker: “Okay. You won’t be able to checkin until 5 hours prior, and you won’t be able to drop your bags until we open again around 5 am.”

(I know where this is going, so I walk over to the counter and chime in.)

Me: “Can I ask you a very personal question?”

Male customer: “Okay?”

Me: “Did you just break up with your fiance?”

Male customer: *surprised* “How do you know!”

Me: “I just talked to her about 10 minutes ago. She is here at the airport.”

Male customer: “F***! Where is she?”

Me: “I sent her downstairs to the Tim Hortons, and then to the third floor to sleep.”

Male customer: “Where should I go?”

Me: “If you stay on this floor, you should be okay. Just head down the terminal further by the other airlines. She won’t look for you there.”

Male customer: “F***! We’re on the same flight too!”

Me: “I know. Good luck!”

(Note: I’m waiting to board a delayed flight with one of Europe’s cheapest and largest airlines.)

Hostess: “Welcome to flight *** from Malmoe to Dublin. Those of you with seating numbers 1 through 35, please go to line one. Those of you with seating numbers 36 and up, please go to line two. If any of you are traveling with small children or checked in online, please go to the counter and you will be let on board before we start boarding the other passengers.”

(A group of businessmen, about 35-55 years old and in suits, walk to the counter and cut in front of a family with very young children.)

Hostess: “Well, I can see you didn’t check in online, so you’ll have to stand in line. The first line is for early seating numbers; the second line is for la–”

Businessman #1: “Oh, come on… can’t you make an exception? We’re already standing here and all.”

Businessman #2: “You only have to board us and we’re done!”

Hostess: “No, you’ll have to wait in turn, just like everyone else. The lines start over there.”

Businessman #2: “But I always get to board the plane first!”

Hostess: “You’re not a family with children and you didn’t check in over the internet, so you’ll have to stand in line.”

Businessman #2: *very angrily* “DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!”

Hostess: “No, but you can’t be that important if you’re traveling with us.”

Businessman #2: *quietly retreats to the back of the line with his buddies*

(A woman walked up to my co-worker in a panic.)

Woman: “Have you seen my son? Did someone take my son?!”

Co-worker: “I’m not sure. How old is he?”

Woman: *still panicked* “20!”