(My friend and I are eating lunch outside. I am sitting leaning against a concrete pillar while he sits opposite me against a wall. I am just about done when I hear snippets of a strange, rambling voice behind me.)

Voice: “Yeah, I’m… money… fo dis… real man… yeah…”

(I look at my friend who is watching whatever is going on with a look that is equal parts bafflement and horror. I piece together the incoherent blather and his face and come to the conclusion that a confused, homeless person has somehow snuck onto our campus and is currently harassing students for money. Not wanting to deal with that hassle, I quickly finish my food and stand up so that we can head indoors, pointedly not turning around, to avoid making eye contact.)

Friend: *immediately once we were indoors* “Did you see that?!”

Me: “I heard it. I figured it was some crazed, homeless guy bothering students.”

Friend: “What? No! It was that blond chick trying to rap!”

(I turn around and see a blond girl that neither of us knows, but she is hard to ignore, as she loudly speaks like a “gangsta.” She is in the middle of a small group of people bobbing back and forth with her hand to her mouth as if holding a microphone.)

Me: “Good God, her free-styling was so awful I assumed it was a half-drunk hobo seeking pocket change from teenagers.”

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.

(I am a medical assistant in a community health clinic, with a fully-stocked retail pharmacy on the premises. This patient uses our pharmacy and has been put on a strict refill schedule for his emergency inhalers due to extreme overuse. Normal use is a maximum of two of each per month. He had gone through nine of [Inhaler #1] in two months before the pharmacist contacted the doctor. The pharmacists have counseled him multiple times on proper use, and I’ve reached out multiple times to offer an appointment to address the root cause of his trouble breathing. He declines every time, claiming he needs his inhalers to breathe, that he’s going to have a coronary without them, and that we just want him to not be able to get enough oxygen. Every time I hear this rant, I note that it is extremely long-winded and that he can get through multiple run-on sentences without having to take a breath. His doctor has even called him personally to lay down the refill schedule and explain the cardiac-related consequences of continued overuse. I receive a voicemail from this patient, in which he goes on with another long-winded rant about how the doctor NEEDS to refill his medication. Because of a very well-documented refill schedule and the doctor’s notes that he will NOT refill early under any circumstance, as well as previous in-person discussions with this doctor about this patient, I don’t even need to ask the doctor to advise on the situation. I see that one [Inhaler #2] should be available for a refill, but [Inhaler #1] won’t be available for another week and a half; he’s literally filled it just a few days ago! I call the patient. This is part of the way into the call, and yes, he is yelling the entire time.)

Me: “With all due respect, the inhalers are only treating your symptoms. Continuing to use them at the rate you were doing so puts you at serious risk for a cardiac event, including a heart attack—“

Patient: “NOT GIVING ME MY INHALERS PUTS ME AT A RISK FOR A CORONARY BECAUSE I’M NOT GETTING ENOUGH OXYGEN. YOU PEOPLE JUST DON’T WANT ME TO BREATHE!”

Me: “Sir, we don’t want you to have a coronary, either, which is why we want to address the root cause of your condition.”

Patient: “NO. YOU STOP THERE. JUST TELL THE DOCTOR THAT HE NEEDS TO MAKE THE PHARMACIST FILL MY PRESCRIPTION! THEN THE PHARMACIST FILL BE REQUIRED TO FILL IT!”

Me: “[Doctor] can’t make the pharmacist do anything.”

Patient: “YES, HE CAN! ONCE HE WRITES THE PRESCRIPTION THE PHARMACIST IS REQUIRED BY LAW TO FILL IT!”

Me: “Sir, [Doctor] is a doctor; he is not a supervising pharmacist. He can only write the prescription. Pharmacies are allowed, by law, to question and even deny prescriptions at their own discretion for patient safety.”

Patient: “DON’T YOU INSULT MY INTELLIGENCE!”

(He didn’t get his inhaler refilled early. I later went down to the pharmacy and told the supervising pharmacist. He found it even funnier than I did!)

(I work for a famous theme park. As I’m bilingual, I wear a name tag that displays certain languages I can speak: Spanish and English. My family decides to come to see me for a week and I take the entire week off, of course, to be with them. On the first day of their vacation, we go to one of the parks. I’m walking down the streets talking to my family when, all of a sudden, a random man approaches me and begins jabbering away at me in rapid Spanish.)

Guest: “Do you know where the fast-pass kiosk is? I’ve been looking everywhere! Nobody can help me!”

Me: “Yes, it’s behind the walls.” *points toward it* “If you need any further assistance, a cast member can help you or will find someone who can.”

Guest: “Thank you.” *walks off*

Mom: “So, how did they know that you can speak Spanish and work here?”

Me: “I… I have no idea.”

(I double-checked to make sure I wasn’t wearing my name tag by mistake, despite being in regular clothes, and I have no Hispanic features. The funny part is, every time I went to the parks at my own leisure, I’d get stopped regularly by people asking for help. And not just at my park, but at others, as well. Not that I minded; my coworker friends and I decided that we all just have a certain look on our off time, and people just pick up on it and assume we know what we’re doing.)

I’m standing at the till in the bookshop where I work. There are a few customers walking around, but no one seems to need my help. To my right, between the till and the door, are several displays with cards; we call it the jungle.

I’m pricing books when an unexpected sound comes from the jungle. I turn my head to witness a woman with a head of iceberg lettuce in her hand, browsing the cards. As I watch, this deer in disguise tears off a good chunk of lettuce and eats it, chewing matter-of-factly, causing the sound I wasn’t expecting to hear in the bookshop. I slowly turn back to my pricing, too surprised to even ask if she wants help.

I am convinced that she was a hardcore vegan, and that was her version of a snack.

(I’m at the till when a customer hurries over, looking panicked, and pushes several items at me.)

Customer: “I need to pay for these, quickly!”

(She looks behind her and I follow her gaze, but I can’t see anything odd.)

Me: *while scanning items* “Is there a problem?”

Customer: “Yes! That man over there, he’s acting strangely.”

Me: *going on alert* “Oh? Is he stealing? I’ll call for someone—“

Customer: “No, no! He’s demonic. I need to leave right now.”

Me: “Demonic?”

Customer: “He’s talking to himself and waving his hands. He’s possessed. I just want to get out of here and away from that demon.”

(I was still none the wiser, but I finished the transaction and the customer hurried out of the shop. A few minutes later I finally spotted the man in question… having an enthusiastic conversation via a Bluetooth headset, and decidedly not a demon.)