This happened some years ago. I was one of the leaders at a scout camp for around twenty scouts, age ten to fourteen or so. One of the activities that we always have on any scout camps is a “night run”. This means we let the scouts go to sleep for an hour or two, and then after midnight, we wake them up with some kind of noise, ask them to hurry out, and then give them a task to do in the dark.

This camp was during the wintertime. Anyone unfamiliar with the weather on the Faroe Islands should just know that you do not want to sleep in a tent during this time of the year unless you are absolutely sure you want to catch a nasty flu. It’s just wet and miserable. All the scouts were sleeping in a long low-rise building with loads of rooms on either side of a long hallway.

This year, we wanted to make the night run about a murder mystery. The leaders responsible for waking up the scouts had borrowed a smoke machine because they wanted to fill up the hall with smoke. After it was full enough, they would make a huge amount of noise as if there was a fire and then chase all the half-awake scouts up.

The next part I was told afterward since my task was further away from this building.

The leaders had started to fill up the hallway with smoke, which turned out to smell like bananas. After just a tiny amount of smoke had come into the hall, the real fire alarm went off! The leaders got very surprised since they either had forgotten these alarms or they for some reason didn’t think this smoke would set it off.

But even more surprised were they when non of the scouts came running out. Not one! After opening some doors, they found out, that all of the scouts were still sound asleep, while the alarm was blaring away in the hallway.

The leaders had to personally bang on each and every door to wake up the scouts, who came out in a daze and acted like there wasn’t a fire alarm going. Even after they got out, the leaders found out that three or four scouts had just gone back to sleep! The leaders weren’t too happy about that.

Now, as I said, this happened some years ago, and the building was already at that point a bit old and needed an update. This update has since come for the whole campsite, and the fire alarm has also been changed for a better one. But I am very, very glad that this was discovered during a night run and not during an actual fire!

I work at a Christian summer camp. Apart from the youth groups that come to camp, we also have camping grounds and cabins, hostel rooms, and a small kiosk and café. This is not a fancy place; you can get a cup of coffee and homemade pastries for a bargain. If there is a camp going on and you call ahead, we can serve lunch. We also serve sandwiches and ice cream, but that’s it.

The area is what we in Sweden call “fäbodvall”. In the olden times, it used to be a summer settlement where people sent their cattle to pasture and built little cottages. Nowadays, it’s a mixture of summer cottages for the locals, passed down through generations, and summer cottages for fancy rich people who think it’s cute to have a picturesque summer cottage in the country by a lake but still expect all the service they can get in the city.

So, here I am, seventeen years old, just finishing cleaning up after the camp kids’ lunch, when a group of three very well-dressed ladies walks into the yard. I can see that they’re not locals, but we have a few people due to check into a cabin, so I grab my binder and go out to greet them.

Me: “Hello, welcome to [Camp]. Are you checking in?”

Lady #1: “No, we just thought we’d have some lunch.”

Me: “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t get a note. Did you call ahead?”

Lady #1: “No, we did not. This is advertised as a restaurant, is it not?”

Me: “Well, technically, it’s advertised as a café. But if you want lunch, we still have some left over from the camp kids. Today, it’s chicken pie, which should still be warm, and a tomato salad. It’s actually my favourite and it’s very good. It’s the cook’s own recipe. Otherwise, we have home-baked pastries and sandwiches.”

Lady #2: “We certainly don’t want to be served leftovers. This is such a disappointment.”

[Lady #1] and [Lady #2] send evil glances to [Lady #3], who I recognize as one of the non-local cottage owners.

Me: “Well, our sandwiches are made fresh from homemade bread. We have a choice of cheese and cheese and ham. The vegetables are homegrown; we have a garden right behind the kitchen.”

Lady #2: “Well, I guess that’ll have to do.”

The ladies take their seats. I put out a pitcher of water, offer them coffee, and proceed to take their order.

Lady #1: “I’m gluten intolerant, so I can’t eat bread, and all your sandwiches look inedible. I’d like a salad instead of a sandwich.”

Me: “Well, we don’t have any salads on the menu, but I guess I could make you one with the same ingredients as the sandwich. Would you like ham and cheese, or just cheese?”

Lady #1: *Sighs* “I guess I’ll have the ham and cheese if you don’t have anything better to offer.”

Lady #2: “I’ll have the same. Where’s the ham from?”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t actually know. It comes from our distributors, but I can ask the cook if—”

Lady #2: *Waves me off* “Never mind. I guess I don’t expect too much from a place like this.”

[Lady #3] comes all the time with her kids to buy ice cream, so I know her, and I can tell how embarrassed she is.

Lady #3: “If you’re making salads for them, you can make one for me, as well. I don’t want to add to your workload.”

Me: “All right, three cheese and ham salads. I’ll be right back.”

We don’t have this salad on the menu. I’ve worked in this kitchen for a while, but I’m not a chef, and as I said earlier, we do not serve salads. I try to do the best with what I have, which is a bunch of homegrown vegetables, which I arrange in lovely little mountains on their plates, and some chopped-up industry cheese and ham (which is all we have because we are not a restaurant) on top. I whip up some dressing to serve on the side and carry out the order to the guests.

[Lady #3] is obviously trying to defuse the situation.

Lady #3: “Oh, thank you, [My Name]. This looks wonderful. Thank you for going to all of this trouble for us.”

Lady #1: *Pokes at the salad* “Excuse me, what is this? It looks disgusting. I asked for ham; this isn’t ham.”

Me: “Sorry, but that’s the ham we have.”

Lady #2: “Pardon me, where is the bread? What place doesn’t serve bread with their salads?”

Me: “I’m sorry, I’ll go get you some bread. That’s one gluten-free and the rest regular, right?”

The guests all confirm. I might be young, but at this time, I’m pretty much in charge of special needs food for the camp kids, and my worst nightmare is someone getting ill from food that I have served them, so I make sure to get a separate basket and butter dish for the gluten-free bread before I carry it all out to serve to my guests.

Me: “Here’s your bread; it’s all homemade. I hope you enjoy it.”

Lady #1: “Excuse me, what is this?”

At this time, there are not a lot of fancy gluten-free mixes available, so we have to do with what we have. The gluten-free bread might not look very fancy, but I did my best.

Me: “That is our gluten-free bread; I made it myself this morning. The camp kids don’t complain.”

Lady #1: “I expect to be served something better than the camp kids. What kind of place is this?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but it’s a camp. Our guests all get served the same thing, whether they’re campers, locals, or other guests. I made an exception for you guys making you salads.”

Lady #2: “This is the worst service I’ve ever had in my life. I want to speak to your manager.”

Me: “Well, he’ll be in tomorrow morning. It’s just me and the cook here right now, and she’ll be leaving in a few minutes for her mid-day break, so I have to start preparing dinner for the camp kids. Was there anything else?”

[Lady #1] and [Lady #2] look like they want to behead me on the spot, but thankfully, [Lady #3] interrupts.

Lady #3: “Oh, my God, I told you that this wasn’t a fancy place! [My Name] did her best to make you happy and all you did was complain. I swear, I can’t take you anywhere. And by the way, [Lady #1], I know you’re not gluten intolerant; you just say that to get special service.”

She turns to me.

Lady #3: “Thank you, [My Name]. We’re really grateful that you went to all that trouble to accommodate us. I’ll make sure to call ahead for lunch the next time I have friends visiting.”

The ladies finished their lunch with no complaints. [Lady #3] tipped well and kept tipping well for the rest of the summer even after her friends had left.

I am on a campsite with a swimming pool. For campers, the pool can be included in the price. In this case, the campsite reception will give you a wristband. The pool is also accessible to people from outside the campsite, but they have to pay.

One day, we decide to go to the campsite swimming pool. Before us, there is a couple that we meet coming out of a house outside the campsite.

Man: “But we paid for the pool when we came.”

Pool Employee: “In that case, we would have given you wristbands.”

Man: “But we left them in the mobile home.”

Pool Employee: “The campsite is not that big; you can go and get them.”

Woman: “But it’s the mobile home at the other end. The first one!”

Hearing this, my father interjects:

Father: “Oh, that’s funny! That’s our one!”

The couple pays and goes to the pool. We show our wristbands.

Employee: “Well, that was a coincidence about the mobile home.”

Father: “I was bluffing; we’re in a tent, not a mobile home.”

I have volunteered for a regional summer camp for many years. I am calling parents and caregivers to confirm and clarify information on their written applications, as well as give reminders about payments. This camp is pretty well known in this area and has been around for decades.

For the purpose of the story, let’s say it’s called Green Tree Venture Camp. I am calling a parent.

Me: “Hello! This is [My Name] with Green Tree Venture Camp, and I’m—”

Parent: *Interrupts* “I told you to stop f****** calling! I’ll pay you when I f****** can!”

I’m startled; I have never spoken with this parent and I’m the only one making these phone calls.

Me: “Um, um, I’m sorry, I don’t… Ma’am, I’ve never called you?”

Parent: “Yes, you f****** have! You keep calling me to pay for a test I took months ago. This is bulls***!”

Me: “Ma’am, no, ma’am… I’m calling from Green Tree Venture Camp about [Child]? Going to camp in July?”

Parent: *Pauses* “What?”

Me: “Yes, I have your application here and I just wanted to clarify some information so we can register your camper.”

Parent: “Why didn’t you say so?”

Me: “Who did you think I was, ma’am?”

Parent: “Some place called Venture that I owe money to.”

I work in the medical field, and I have a sudden moment of recognition.

Me: “Ma’am, did you think I was Venture Diagnostic Labs?”

This is a local place where most of the area’s blood and urine medical testing is done.

Parent: “Yes, you should be clearer on the phone! Who even calls people anymore?”

I work in the kitchen of a summer camp. Most of our campers are in their early to mid-teens, mostly from affluent families. It is around the time where vegetarianism is beginning to be a fashion statement among Swedish teens. It is also around the time when mass-produced vegetarian alternatives are actually beginning to taste good. The new hot, heavily-marketed, and very expensive vegetarian thing is a fungus-based protein source that can be turned into mince, nuggets, faux-chicken fillets, etc.

I am a vegetarian myself at this point in my life, but as I have a very limited budget, I have taught myself to cook with the traditional vegetarian protein sources like beans, lentils, and other actual vegetables. I splurge for the “New Hot Vegetarian Thing” for myself sometimes on special occasions, but I can’t afford it often, and neither can the camp kitchen. A small bag of this vegetarian “mince” costs more than twice as much as the same amount of minced beef.

It’s taco night at a weekend camp. The head chef usually puts me in charge of the vegetarian alternative since she knows I can handle it, and I spend an hour putting together a lovely spicy lentil stew with fresh vegetables and real spices instead of the pre-fabricated spice mix the meat-eaters got. I am very proud of it. The head chef deems it delicious.

Then come the campers, hungry after a day of activities and looking forward to their taco night. The meat-eaters load up their plates. The vegetarians gather around the vegetarian alternative with a look of absolute horror on their faces. I walk past and ask what’s wrong.

Camper #1: “What’s this?“

Me: “It’s a lentil stew with fresh tomatoes, onions, sweet peppers, chili, cumin, and a little bit of cilantro.”

Camper #1: “But I’m a vegetarian!”

Me: “Yes, this is the vegetarian alternative. I’m a vegetarian, too, and I made it myself.”

Camper #2: “Where’s the [fake mince] we always get at home?”

Me: “Well, that’s a very expensive product and it’s difficult to get from our vendors, but I can assure you that this stew is vegetarian and none of you have reported any allergies to anything that’s in it. Why don’t you give it a try?”

Camper #1: “But we’re vegetarians. We should get [fake mince].”

Camper #2: “Screw this. They’re clearly too cheap to give us real vegetarian food. I guess we’ll just have to eat the beef, instead.”

And that is how we discovered that we had to cook extra portions of the meat alternative for these young “vegetarians” just in case they didn’t like the vegetarian option. If we didn’t, they called their parents, and the parents called us to complain.

The upside of the story is that I ate extremely well that weekend since I got the vegetarian leftovers!