(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!”

(I’m sitting in the food area reading a book when this guy comes up to me out of nowhere. The entire time he’s talking to me, he’s looking down at his feet timidly.)

Guy: “Hey, um. I saw you back there, and, um, you’re cute, and um, I don’t know, uh…”

(He hands me a card, turns to leave, and, still looking down at his feet, walks smack into a support pole.)

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 twelve, 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.”

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(Canadian Army Reservists go to Fort Pickett in Virginia to train with the National Guard. I am on the last flight out of the U.S. and back to Nova Scotia. I am in my uniform, waiting to be processed through security when a fellow traveler approaches me.)

Traveler: “Thank you so much for protecting us! We are so proud of the bravery of soldiers defending the United States!”

Me: “Thank you, ma’am, but I’m not an American. I’m from the Canadian Army.”

(She looks confused, so I point to the small Canadian flag on my shoulder.)

Me: “You know, your friendly neighbours to the north?”

Traveler: “Oh! Mexico!”