I’m in something called 4-H. We basically raise and show animals as well as educate people about them. In my county, the biggest part of 4-H is the fair every year, where we all take our animals and do shows with them and leave them there for a week so people can see them. We are still obligated to take care of them and watch over them, so most of us spend every day after school at the fair taking care of our animals. 

I’m an executive at the fair, part of the county council which is in charge of all 4-H in the county, as well as the executive board which is in charge of it for the state. I’m the longest-serving small animal shower, and around the small animal area, I’m the one in charge.

Everyone is wearing masks (because it’s 2021), and this is making it extra tiring while working out here. The small animals are kept in two rows off to the side with a rope around them, cutting them off from the outside world.

People are allowed to look at them while they stroll through the barn, but only exhibitors like me are allowed behind the rope. Exhibitors identify themselves by wearing 4-H shirts as well as lanyards, and I even have a 4-H mask for good measure.

I walk into the animal area to check on my bunnies, and I see a large group of people, mostly older people, behind the rope, walking around the animal cages, talking, and pointing at the rabbits and chickens. None are wearing 4-H shirts, nor do they have lanyards. As the person in charge of the small animals, it’s my job to deal with this.

Me: “Excuse me. Are you exhibitors?”

Visitor: “No, we are just looking at the cute animals.”

Me: “I’m sorry to say that only exhibitors are allowed back here; I’m going to have to ask you to step back out.”

Visitor: “Oh, no, don’t worry. We know one of the exhibitors, and they let us back here.”

There is no exhibitor with them, and even if there was, due to current restrictions, they’re still not allowed to invite others back with the animals.

Me: “I’m sorry, but even, so if you are not an exhibitor or owner yourself, you cannot be back here. Please leave. You can observe the animals from outside.”

Visitor: “But they said it was okay for us to come in; they own some of the animals!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but that is not their decision to make. Please leave this area.” 

They eventually leave, and I think it is over. Then, their entitled exhibitor and her parents came running up to me. 

Entitled Exhibitor: “Hey, those people were our guests. They are allowed to be in there; I let them!”

Me: “You know that’s not allowed; we have regulations.”

Entitled Exhibitor: “I said it was fine!”

Me: “Well, I didn’t! We can’t risk anyone getting sick, so only exhibitors are allowed back there! If you have a problem, take your animal and leave!”

And she did! I’m not compromising on safety because you said it was “okay”!

This was in a recession, right after my best friend at the time and I had finished high school. We were working at the Renaissance Faire. We had sewn period-accurate costumes from scratch, and what we were paid to work there barely covered the cost of materials and transportation. We didn’t have other jobs yet.

Friend: “So, I saw a mug I want to buy.”

Me: “Oh?”

Friend: “You know how the other guys have mugs with them for getting drinks?”

I looked over at someone pouring homemade alcoholic cider into a mug, out of view of visitors.

Me: “But you can’t drink yet, and you already bought a pretty flask for water. I’d love to see it, though; I bet it’s pretty.”

We walked around the fair and looked at various expensive handmade wares, including the carved modern mug. It was $60, and the minimum wage was about $7, so even if we had other jobs, that’d be a lot.

Later, I saw [Friend] with the mug.

Friend: “I had just enough money left to buy it.”

Me: “Do you have your debit card with you? We need to eat and buy gas, and I didn’t bring enough cash for both of us.”

Friend: “Oh, I don’t have other money.”

Me: “Bu… you… what? At all? Even at home or in a bank?”

Friend: “Yeah. I’m sure it’ll work out, though.”

Me: “?!”

I never looked at her the same after that.

My synagogue was having our annual fair for the community. We had lots of vendors attending to sell goods and advertise services. My wife and fourteen-year-old son were hosting a table for one of the vendors, an autism-friendly play-place (with the word “spectrum” in its name) at which my son is a member.

At about noon, I took a break from my volunteer position and took my wife’s place at the table so that she could get lunch. A woman came up to the table and glanced over the literature.

Woman: “Are you Spectrum?”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Woman: “Are you Spectrum?”

I thought that was a funny way to put it but was willing to play along.

Me: “No, but he is.” *Pointing to my son*

The woman looked confused but then recovered.

Woman: “Well, what are you going to do about your rates now that Disney and [Multiple Sports Provider] have changed their packages?”

Our local cable company also has the word “spectrum” in its name.

Me: “Ma’am, autism-spectrum not cable-spectrum.”

Woman: *Very flustered* “Oh, I’m so sorry.” *Scurries away*

Son: “Why did she say that?”

Me: “Because some grown-ups don’t pay attention. They see just one word but don’t look at all the other words around it.”

Son: “Oh, I get it.”

It turned out to be a good learning opportunity — hopefully, for two people.

I am working at a large Renaissance faire. There is a rather crass singing duo in one of the pavilions while I am serving lunch. We love them to death, as they sing a lot of fun songs and really know how to work the crowd, and while they never use bad language or vulgar words, their clever lyrics don’t leave much to the imagination for those who are listening.

Some of the parents in the audience with younger children are wincing at their humor. After a song is finished, one of them speaks up.

Parent: “Guys, seriously! I have kids here!”

Singer #1: “Sign out front says this pavilion is advised for fourteen and up, my friend!”

Parent: “Yeah, but… it’s a faire!”

[Singer #2] suddenly grabs the mic and launches into an impromptu song. 

Singer #2: “And for those parents giving us mean looks right now, remember this: if your kid gets the joke, it’s not our fault!”

The most unrealistic demand I’ve ever heard came in the form of a flustered mother at the 50th State Fair around 2010 or 2011.

Carnival people are… a very mixed bag. You have people that are just there to have a good time and don’t care about throwing money away to do so, and you have those for whom every wasted dollar is a sin against the holy name of Christ and it’s your fault.

I was running a game called Star Darts. The idea of the game is simple: throw a dart and land it entirely on a red star that’s about the size of a floppy disk. It’s not entirely hard, but the target is a distance away to add challenge.

My coworker had just taken a metal-tipped dart to the shoulder thanks to a child who was way too hyped up on cotton candy and had way too little supervision, so I was running the booth by myself. A large family came up to the booth.

This woman paid for about five kids to get a set of darts. They missed most of them — I think one kid stuck one dart into a star.

The mom, bless her soul, looked crestfallen, but then, she started demanding that I turn off the wind.

I thought she was joking at first, but she was dead serious. She started going off about how the carnival was rigged and we’d designed all the games so that we could manipulate them with the wind.

I showed her that there were no fans in the trailer my game was run out of, but that only made her angrier. I believe her exact words were:

Woman: “I don’t care about g**d*** fans! I want you to get rid of this wind, and I want them to try again!”

I guess they had gone from game to game and they just weren’t having any luck. Unfortunately for her, I hadn’t been… shall we say… trained… in customer service yet, so I couldn’t help but laugh as I reiterated that I had no control over the literal wind.

The woman threw a dart at me. To this day, I do not know how, but I caught it like a frickin’ ninja between my index and ring fingers — literally the coolest thing I’ve ever done on the fly like that, and NO ONE SAW IT.

I called for a supervisor, not fully processing that she had just tried to long-distance stab me. He ended up leading her away and calming her down before coming back to me.

Supervisor: “Was she telling you to turn off the wind?”

Me: “She was.”

Supervisor: “I thought so…”

Me: “Just to be clear… we can’t do that, right?”

Supervisor: “No. No, we can’t.”

Me: “Good to know.”

Supervisor: “Did she throw a dart at you?”

Me: “She did, yeah.”

Supervisor: “Do you want me to do something about that? We can file a report and have her removed. She’s only gone down to Gun Ball.”

Me: “Nah, just do me a favor.”

Supervisor: “Mmm?”

Me: “Get one of the [Fan Brand] blowers from the back and follow her around.”

The supervisor laughed louder than I would have expected.

About an hour later, the woman came back and apologized for her behavior and for snapping and throwing the dart, but she still maintained an implication that I could control the wind.