Over the weekend, I went to a very popular Renaissance Faire. Many people dress up in garb from that time period as well as other fun outfits and costumes. I was dressed as a Wood Elf.

I went into this corset shop to look around. After a few minutes, a young man in typical Ren Faire clothing announced that if anyone needed to be sized for a corset, he would be happy to help.

Three other women and I immediately said:

Us: “Oh, yes! Me, please!”

He had us make a line, and the woman behind me said:

Woman: “Thank God you said something. I can’t tell who works here and who doesn’t!”

We all agreed and had a little laugh together.

My mom is an amateur geologist. She makes polished cabochon rock necklaces to sell at gem fairs. She runs into a lot of interesting potential customers.

Customer #1: “You must have painted these! There’s no way the rocks are colored like that naturally.”

On another occasion:

Mom: “These rocks formed over millions of years.”

Customer #2: “No, they must be fake! The world is only six thousand years old!”

Neither person ended up buying anything.

When I was sixteen, I was working at a burger place at the local fair, and I was working a concert night. My booth was right between the beer garden and concert stands, so we had a lot of concertgoers stop and get food. Mind you, Saturday night is normally super busy, but add a huge concert to that… and it’s awful.

We had chicken and fish strip sandwiches that were pretty good. I had this couple that ordered one of each. The fish came out first.

Customer: “Why isn’t my chicken sandwich coming out?”

Me: “The chicken strips are denser, so they take a little longer to cook. It should only be about a minute left now.”

The man started screaming at me.

Customer: “You stupid, lazy b****! I want my sandwich!”

I started getting anxious and tearing up because I was a sixteen-year-old girl. My manager came over, told me to go take a break in the kitchen, and just let this guy have it.

I couldn’t believe this forty-five-year-old man screamed in my face because I told him chicken took longer to cook.

My family’s rescue ranch is a very big attraction in the area, acting as a pseudo-theme park of sorts. We have just opened up after a three-week transition from our Halloween attraction to our Winter attraction, which boasts carnival rides, meet and greets with the jolly man himself, holiday shopping, a craft market, etc.

Usually, I am in charge of the carnival area, which is called the “Winter Wonderland”. This night, however, just happens to be my father’s birthday, and my brother and I have taken over for our parents while they enjoy a night off together.

I am dealing with a flooding issue in our “Main Street” area when I hear security calling for my brother or me to head to the pathway between the illuminated forest attraction and the carnival attraction. My brother responds that he will go, as I am dealing with flood issues and will be busy for a while.

All is well and quiet until I hear this over the radio.

Brother: “Attention team members working the Illuminated Trail and Winter Wonderland: be advised that we have a ‘Cousin Eddie’ at the rest area.”

Perplexed and finished with the flood issue, I hop on my ATV and head up to the rest area in question. It takes me some time, but when I get there, I see my brother hanging an “Out Of Order” sign on the washrooms.

Me: “Hey, [Brother], what exactly is going on?” *Leans in* “What the heck is a ‘Cousin Eddie’?”

Brother: “Well, when you think of Cousin Eddie, from that Christmas movie, what do you think?”

I blink before my eyes go wide.

Me: “No.”

Brother: “Yes.”

I still have no clue why, but I unlock the door and take a peek. It is the stench that hits me first — I still smell it now — before the sight makes my eyes water. Out of the three toilet stalls, two of them have been covered in feces. It is everywhere — toilet, wall, door, everywhere. The sinks are covered in poopy handprints, and that is all I see before I shut the door and lock it. I turn to my brother.

Me: “How about we just burn it down?”

Brother: “Mom and Dad will never know what a s***ty situation we got ourselves in tonight.”

When I was about five years old, my parents took my three siblings and me to the state fair. At some point, I slipped away from the group. My mom noticed almost immediately but couldn’t find me. Cue panicked yelling of my name, and my dad asking a vendor to get security immediately.

Earlier in the day, my mom had bought us Disney pennants with our names on them. A man heard the yelling, looked down, and spotted a hysterically crying child holding a pennant with the name being called.

He crouched down and asked me to lift my flag as high as I could. I did so, and he picked me up and lifted me over the crowd.

Man: “[My Name]’s mom! [My Name]’s dad!”

The crowd cleared the way to my parents, some of them joining the call. My parents spun around and saw me now half-giggling, half-crying, being held like Simba, and ran to me. My parents thanked the man profusely, and those pennants were packed anytime we went to an outdoor event.

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