(My sister, cousin, and I go to the annual agricultural show for our area. I am 21, sister is 18, and cousin is 15. The children’s ticket price is for under 16 years old. We each buy our own ticket and as we walk away from the ticket booth our cousin realises she’s been sold an adult ticket so she goes back to the booth.)

Cousin: “Uh, excuse me. I thought I asked for a child’s ticket.”

Ticket Seller: *looks her up and down* “I need to see ID.”

(She hands over her student ID and gets her child’s ticket. We head into the show and sister stops to put her change away.)

Sister: “How much were tickets again? I think I got too much change… Oh, look, I got charged for a child’s ticket.” *she looks young*

Cousin: “Yeah, figures I get ID’d to get my ticket and you don’t. What did you ask for?”

Sister: “I just said ‘one, please.’”

(Later on we stop at a wine tasting. I decide to taste a couple of wines. The guy serving them gives me one. My sister walks up with her hand out. Legal drinking age is 18.)

Guy: “Yeah, nice try.” *tries handing a wine to our cousin*

Cousin: “No, thanks. I’m 15.” *as we are walking away, to Sister* “Sucker! That’s what you get for pretending you are a child.”

(I was waiting in line to get some French fries while at a Renaissance Faire and the guy ahead of me in line is being condescending to the girl taking his order.)

Customer: “Honey, this shouldn’t be taking all day; do the people back there need me to show them how to use a deep fryer?”

Employee: “They’ll be ready soon. They’re constantly making new ones so it doesn’t take too long.”

Customer: “Well, it’s already been taking too long, so what are you going to do about it?”

Employee: “There’s really nothing I can do to speed it up. When they’re done you’ll get them.”

(The customer then walks over to the next counter, grumbling the whole time. I walk up and place my order, which coincidentally I had been waiting to do for as long as the guy had been waiting for his fries. After paying, I went and stood next to the other customer and waited for our orders.)

Customer: “Jesus, can you believe this s***? It shouldn’t take so god-d*** long!”

Employee: “Okay, they’re ready!” *brings out two plates of fries and places them on the counter*

Customer: “Thanks. You gonna put ketchup on ’em for me or do I have to wait another ten minutes for that, too?”

(She sighs because she is so obviously done with dealing with this guy and reaches in front of me, grabs the ketchup bottle, and squirts a bunch on his fries. Then she walks away and takes another customer’s order.)

Customer: *to me* “Christ, did you see the stupid look she gave me? It’s just putting ketchup on some fries. It’s not like it’s rocket surgery or something.”

Me: “Well, it seemed to be too hard for you to understand, so props to her. Hope that rocket surgery goes well for you.”

(I am naturally blonde; while in college I decide to be a redhead — a redhead on a budget. So about once a month I would buy a $2 box of dye, in all different shades. Sometimes I was deep auburn, sometimes I was copper penny red. Clearly I was dying my hair. I worked with this guy for two years during this time period. He had a huge crush on all the girls there, myself included. It is worth noting that he was Hispanic and very vocal about all perceived racism and stereotyping. He told a tale of woe about how awful his life growing up had been with being picked on because of his race, until a year later his younger brother started working at the same place, and we find out he grew up in a small town that was nearly 90% Hispanic and the reason he was picked on was because their dad was the Sheriff and his mom a judge, and he made use of that. One day during a conversation I make a comment about dying my hair.)

Guy: “Wait, wait, you aren’t a natural red-head?!”

Me: “Dude, you’ve been in my pants. No, I am not.”

Guy: “But… but what are you, then?”

Me: “What? Blonde.” *laughing* “Why does it matter?”

Guy: *with a look of horror* “Are you kidding me!? You are a liar and a fraud; all blonde girls are mean, stuck up b****es! They think they are so much better than anyone; will never give a guy like me the time of day!”

Me: “Seriously? You’ve known me for two years. Have I ever given you that impression? We have known each other intimately; are you seriously going to sit there and tell me that you have such a problem with the hair color I was BORN with, that knowing me for two years doesn’t matter, because I am blonde? Seriously? You don’t see the utter hypocrisy you have going on right now?”

(He didn’t see the hypocrisy — and we no longer hung out except as work forced us to.)

(We have a small bookstore at a renaissance festival, which tries to focus on history over fantasy. We carry books on making clothing, drying cloth, heraldry, medieval and renaissance recipes, blacksmithing, etc. These are two overheard customer comments that have never left us.)

Customer #1: *looking at books of names and heraldry* “I wonder if any of my relatives were alive during the Renaissance?”

(Passing by outside:)

Customer #2: “Oh, look, a bookstore! We should get Harold a book!”

Customer #3: “No, Harold already has a book…”

(I’m working a sand art booth at a fair that comes to my city every year. I had the sand set up in the front of the booth so the kids could see it and fill up their jar with whatever colors they like. A little boy that looks around 8 or 9 years old approaches my booth.)

Little Boy: “Excuse me, miss.”

Me: “Hello. How may I help you?”

Little Boy: “What flavors are each of these?”

Me: “Um… it’s sand.”

(The little boy looks at me in confusion. After a few seconds he points to the purple container of sand.)

Little Boy: “So… is the purple grape flavored?”