(I have come down with an extremely sore throat, to the extent that swallowing hurts so much it causes me to tear up. The only way I am able to fall asleep is to tilt my head down and constantly drool onto my pillow so that I will not be woken up by the pain of swallowing my spit. The only thing that makes the pain tolerable is to constantly suck on lozenges. After a couple days I run out, and go to the store for more. I head to the display they were at before, and see that the sale is no longer on.)

Me: “Awwww…”

(I start to reach for the shelf that held my favourite flavour, only to realize it was sold out.)

Me: “Awwww…”

(I start to reach for my next-favourite flavour, but find that shelf is also empty.)

Me: “Awwww…”

(The customer beside me couldn’t help herself and cracked up. I explained my thought process in my very raspy voice, and I shared a painful laugh with her, which was a high point of the whole experience. Especially considering that, after days of sucking on what is essentially a medicated candy pretty much every waking moment, completely ignoring the recommended daily limit, I ended up developing sores in my mouth in addition to the nasty throat. And now I know why there is a recommended daily limit.)

(I am disabled and on benefits. One day I go to the local Disability Resource Center to get a form that will let me camp for free at Provincial Parks campsites. Sitting behind me are three children, ranging in age from approximately one through eight. At one point, the eldest starts singing ‘Hush Little Baby’ to her youngest sibling.)

Girl: “And if that diamond ring gets broke, Mama’s gonna buy you… umm…” *she pauses for a moment, trying to remember the next line* “… a banana!”

(It was just too cute. I couldn’t help myself and burst out laughing. I smiled at her and a minute later she began singing again. I was also treated to a rendition of ‘Miss Molly’ and ‘Rock-a-bye Baby’.)

(I’m a locations production assistant. One of my responsibilities includes lock-up, which means preventing pedestrians from walking through the location when we’re filming. A man approaches me.)

Man: “What’s going on here?”

Me: “Hello, sir. We’re filming a movie called [Title].”

Man: “I can see that. I wanted to know about THAT.”

(He points to a bank building across the street.)

Me: “Well, the film is set in the US, and since [Bank] only operates in Canada, we’ve covered up their logo with an American flag.”

Man: “Well, take it down! Makes me feel like we’ve been invaded!”

Me: “We’ll be taking it down as soon as we finish shooting this scene, sir. Shouldn’t be more than another hour or so.”

Man: “Oh, yeah? Well, what if I went over there right now and took it down myself?”

Me: “Personally I wouldn’t be able to stop you, sir, but I would advise you against it.”

Man: “I’ll do it!”

(I know he’s just grandstanding, but I’m sick of this, as I can get in major trouble if he even ruins a take by making too much noise. I turn on my walkie-talkie.)

Me: “[Key Grip]? Can you come give me a hand?”

(As I’m one of the few women on location and a rookie, many of the crew are a little protective of me, particularly our key grip, a muscle-bound Frenchman who’s over two metres tall. He jogs over.)

Key Grip: “What’s the issue?”

Man: *blinks and swallows a few times* “No problem! Bye, now!”

(Unfortunately, I still had two more people complain about the flag later, including a woman who kept insisting that it was illegal to fly an American flag in Canada. One of the many reasons why I quit the film industry!)

Related:
O, Canaduh, Part 9
O, Canaduh, Part 8
O, Canaduh, Part 7

(I work evenings at a four-star hotel with a restaurant attached. We have gas fireplaces in every room. I am the only one left on shift, but luckily for me, the owner is here doing her monthly audit. The phone rings and I’m busy, so she picks it up.)

Owner: “Front desk, how may I help you?”

(I pause as I see her roll her eyes.)

Owner: “Yes, this is a manager speaking.”

(A small amount of time passes and she looks completely dumbfounded.)

Owner: “I’m sorry, sir, could you repeat that, please?” *pause* “Unfortunately, sir, there is nothing I can do for you at this time. I will have maintenance come take a look in the morning.” *pause* “Sir, not only am I unable to do that but I won’t. I will have maintenance look at it in the morning, and if there is damage, you will be charged a compensation fee. Have a nice night.” *hangs up*

Me: “What was that about?”

Owner: “Some jack-a** got drunk and tried to make s’mores in the fireplace. His marshmallow melted to the glass and now he wants a complimentary dinner for the trouble.”

Me: “Wow. Still not the strangest thing I’ve heard this week.”

(As if on cue the phone rings again. She picks it up.)

Owner: “Front desk.” *pause* “Yes, this is the owner speaking.”

(She pauses again and looks at the room number on the display.)

Owner: “PEOPLE LIKE YOU ARE THE REASON I DRINK!” *slams down the phone and looks at me* “How do you deal with this?”

Me: “Apparently, the same way you do.”

This story is part of our S’Mores Day roundup!

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(There’s a customer with a dog on a leash in our store. There is absolutely no indication that the dog is a service animal.)

Supervisor: “Excuse me, sir! Dogs are not allowed in this store!”

Customer: “Yes, they are! The sign next to your door says so!”

Supervisor: “What?!”

(My supervisor walks over to the entrance and takes a brief glimpse of the little sign that is our animals policy.)

Supervisor: “Okay, so, you were right. My apologies, sir.”

(The customer walks off and resumes shopping with his dog.)

Supervisor: “Man, I can’t believe [Store] allows customers to bring their pets!”

Me: “Actually, they don’t. Only service animals are allowed.”

Supervisor: “I just read the sign!”

Me: “Did you read ALL of it, though?”

(Instead of using a standard service animals sign, our head office opted for a humorous approach. On top, the sign reads “WE LOVE ANIMALS” in big, bold letters. At the bottom, in much smaller letters, it reads “…We’d love to see your dog, cat, or boa constrictor, but we ask that you leave your pets at home. Only service dogs are allowed.” I explain this to my supervisor.)

Me: “The sign still says that dogs aren’t allowed except for service dogs. It’s just the PR department being stupid because they think their bland corporate humor is comedy gold.”

Supervisor: “D*** it! Well, I’m still gonna let him shop with his dog because it’s too late to take it back.”

(At the end of the day, I guess we all have a little customer in us. Selective reading goes both ways, it seems.)

This story is part of our Service Animals roundup!

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