(I’m at a Renaissance fair. I’m standing in line for the bathrooms with two parents and their sons behind me. I’m dressed in full fantasy clothing — as are most visitors to the festival — while they are clearly happy civilian visitors to our weird little world. The oldest, about twelve, draws a small handcrafted dagger out of his belt. He’s clearly admiring the work of the blacksmith and not wielding it in a dangerous fashion.)

Son: “This is the start of something wonderful.”

Father: “Oh? Like what?”

Son: “Like a collection. I want one at every fair.”

Mother: “Really? We’ll have to see about that.”

Father: “Let’s just see if we will come back next year.”

Me: “Could be worse. Could be drugs.”

Son: “See?”

(I hope I run into them again next year!)

(I work as a cashier for a snow cone stand that gets very popular during summer. In this stand, one person makes the snow cones, another decorates them — you tell this person what flavor snow cone you would like — and a cashier gives you the total for the snow cones you are ordering. I’m the cashier. My coworkers and I have been working on a LONG line for over an hour. One of the customers has six children with her.)

Me: “Hi. How may I help you?”

Customer: “Hi! Can I get a strawberry snow cone?”

Me: “Sure, that’ll be—“

Customer: *to child* “What would you like?”

(She asked every child what snow cone they would like while repeating every order to me. I repeatedly asked her how many snow cones in total. It took over five minutes to get her to tell me the total of snow cones. After I got her to answer me, she then asked if I could even count — remember, I’m a cashier without a register or calculator. After this, I made sure the one making the snow cones was overflowing them, because they get heavy and spill easily if they overflow. The customer came back later asking for a small snow cone and a lot of napkins. Never mess with a cashier who’s back is hurting like a b**** and has worked with a never-ending line.)

(I paint rocks and sell them at craft fairs. Many of my rocks are painted to look like animals: cats, dogs, foxes, squirrels, etc. Two men approach my table. One man looks like your stereotypical sixties hippie: long hair, head bandana, tie-dye shirt, the works. He stares at my rocks for a moment before speaking to his friend.)

Hippie: “This looks like the end of a sad childhood, like she had a bunny and the bunny died, and now she paints these rocks and she just wants to hug them.”

(He said all of this right in front of me as if I wasn’t there! For the record, I have never owned a bunny, although I have had pet rats for as long as I can remember, and due to their short lifespan, I have endured quite a few losses. However, I just paint rocks because it’s fun!)

(I paint rocks and sell them at craft fairs. Many of my rocks are painted to look like animals: cats, dogs, foxes, squirrels, etc. A man approaches my table with his young daughter. He points to one of my rocks while talking to her.)

Customer: “Look, a killer whale! Just like Free Willy. You haven’t seen that, huh? They haven’t done a remake yet.”

(They walked away after that, leaving me to wonder why a movie from 1993 needed to be remade in order for his daughter to see it!)

(The main road is closed off for a weekend and turns into a large annual fair with insane amounts of sitting accommodations, and beer and food stands. However, as the streets need to be open to traffic again by Sunday at midnight sharp, it’s forbidden to sell beer after nine pm, so that there’s enough time to disassemble the stands and clean the streets. As you can imagine, German beer and an early last call don’t mix very well, and year after year there are problems with this. It’s 9:20 pm, and I’m working on disassembling benches when I see an obviously intoxicated person coming up to a beer stand nearby, where a cashier is still waiting for people returning their steins.)

Customer: “I’ll have another beer!”

Cashier: “Sorry, can’t do. It’s after nine o’clock. We’re not allowed to sell beer after nine.”

Customer: “Ah, come on! Shut up and pour me another one!”

Cashier: “Sorry, but no. You’re asking me to break the law. If somebody sees this, I could lose the licence for this stand.”

Customer: “Don’t be paranoid! Come on! It’s just one beer.”

Cashier: “Yes, for you. But if I make an exception for you, somebody will see it, and soon I’ll need to make an exception for everyone. Besides, as I already told you, you’re asking me to break the law.”

Customer: “Bulls***! I’m not asking you to break the law. I’m asking you for one tiny exception, only once. Just give me a beer and tell the people after me to f*** off.”

Cashier: “Sorry, bud, somebody already used that line today, so, as you are after him…” *grinning* “You know… f*** off!”

(For a second, he actually looked offended until the workers — quietly working nearby and listening — cracked up laughing. He stormed away, embarrassed.)