(I’m working as a traffic director at the state fair with several other people. We all have radios. I’m directing traffic along a road with a few other directors, all about a yard apart.)

Radio: “Come in, supervisor. We have a problem.”

Supervisor: “Yes, what’s the problem?”

Radio: “Um… There’s an old lady here at the tracks. She’s driving around the track and throwing plastic cups at people. She’s mad. I need backup.”

Supervisor: *stifled laughter* “I’m on my way.”

(The call ended, and my whole line was doubled over in laughter. The job was dull but calls like that made it.)

(Every summer, my town hosts a big fair. I am working at said fair, serving drinks, when a woman comes up and orders a lemonade.)

Me: “One lemonade, coming right up!”

(All drinks are made fresh in front of the customer. I have just finished adding sugar to the water and lemon juice when the woman starts screaming at me.)

Woman: “Hey! Did you just put sugar in my lemonade?!”

Me: “Uh… Yes.”

Woman: “What’s wrong with you?! It’s mandatory that you ask people if they want sugar in their drinks before making them! There are people out there with diabetes!”

(Having worked in food services for a while, I know this is pure BS, but I remain polite.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll make you a new one. No sugar in this one, right?”

Woman: “D*** straight!”

(I give her the sugarless lemonade. She takes a sip and makes a face before tossing the drink in the trash.)

Woman: “It’s too sour!”

(I am volunteering at a local agricultural fair that takes place in my county every year. Participants are exhibiting livestock such as cows, horses, goats, and chickens. All the animals on the fairgrounds are being housed in large barns that are open to the fairgoers. My job is to supervise one of the barns and make sure that people are safely interacting with the animals. The particular barn I am assigned to is one that houses goats and cows. I notice a woman and her five-year-old son going up to a pen with a very large bull in it. This particular breed of bull is known for being aggressive to humans.)

Me: “Excuse me, ma’am. I would advise to you not to get too close to the bull, as he is not very friendly towards humans.”

Woman: “Oh, don’t worry about it. I understand animals and their behavior. I have three dogs at home!”

Me: “Right. It’s just that bulls can act very unpredictably towards humans, and we have had some instances in the past where guests were harmed by the animals.

Woman: “I am not an idiot. Don’t tell me how to properly interact with the animals.”

(I shrug it off and walk away, thinking nothing of it. A couple moments later, I turn back around to see the mother trying to boost her son up over the fence into the bull’s pen.)

Me: “Ma’am, what do you think you’re doing?”

(I rush over to the pen and call security.)

Woman: “I want my son to get a better look at the cow!”

Me: “For God’s sake, please stop! You can seriously hurt your son!”

(Fortunately, security arrived. They were able to escort the woman off the fairgrounds. To this day, that remains, by far, the most shocking and unbelievable interaction I have had with a fairgoer!)

(I make and sell embroidered and cross-stitched cards. My designs are quite elaborate and I use good quality materials, so my prices are quite high. I set my stall at multiple fairs in many locations, and this happens when I’m in quite a small town. Most customers and about half of sellers are locals, and there’s a local elderly lady with cross-stitched cards, simpler and cheaper than mine. We’re on good terms, and she only sets her stall at this particular fair. This situation happens a few times during a two-day fair.)

Customer: “I’d like a wedding card.”

Me: *showing cards* “I can add the newlyweds’ names and wedding date, too. These cards are [price #1], and these are [price #2].”

Customer: “How much?! [Elderly Lady] sells hers for [price #3], less than half of your prices!”

Me: “Well, then, you are welcome to buy your card from [Elderly Lady].”

Customer: “But your cards look so much better!”

Me: “This is why they are from [price #1] to [price #2].”

(My town has an annual fair that has games, rides, and shows, and runs largely due to the work of community volunteers. My friends and I are looking for a particular show and see someone who appears to be a worker.)

Me: “Excuse me, sir? Can you point us to where the next water show is setting up?”

Man: “Oh, my God. NO, I cannot help you, and here’s why: I DO NOT WORK HERE! People have been coming up to me all day and asking me questions, and I’m just trying to relax with my family. What is wrong with you people?”

(After about five more minutes of him yelling at us, he finally asks:)

Man: “WHY DID YOU THINK I, OF ALL PEOPLE, WOULD HAVE THE ANSWER?”

Me: “Well… You’re wearing a shirt that says ‘[Town]-Day Fair’ on the front, and ‘Volunteer’ on the back. The same one that all the other volunteers are wearing.”

Man: *blushing bright red* “Oh. I, uh, I volunteered last year and kept the shirt. I guess I didn’t realize that when I was getting dressed.”

(Later that day, my friend saw him waiting in a line and pointed him out to me. He’d turned his shirt inside out.)