(A friend of mine told me this story. She is meeting her eight-year-old granddaughter at the annual spring fair in our village. Note: ours is small village so the fair is tiny — two rides, one raffle ticket booth, one shooting range, and four stalls that sell sweets and toys.)

Granddaughter: “Grandma, I’m thirsty. Can you give me money to buy something to drink?”

Friend: “I already gave you ten euros.”

Granddaughter: “I spent it all.”

Friend: “And what about the 20 Euros that your godmother gave you?”

Granddaughter: “I spent that, as well.”

Friend: “Well, if you spent all your money, you just have to go home to get something to drink.”

Granddaughter: *outraged* “Clearly you WANT ME TO DIE OF THIRST!”

(And no, my friend didn’t give her any more money.)

(My school is holding an art fair so we can see how to sell art. There are lots of different types of artists. I go to the one who most closely resembles my art style. I am holding my best piece, which is a name poster. I figured people would want custom name posters, so I hope it will be easy to sell.)

Me: “Hi…”

Artist: “Hello there! Can I see your picture?”

Me: *hands it over* “Um… I know it’s not very good, but I was hoping people might like it enough to buy?”

Artist: “Hmm…”

Me: *talks more because silence makes me nervous* “It’s not like I’m looking for a lot of money, but my family is going through some… things… and I wanted to contribute if only a little… This won’t be a career; I’d only do this until I could get a real.”

Artist: “What did you make this with?”

Me: “Printer paper and some pens.”

Artist: “Well, it’s pretty good. You should probably use a ruler, but otherwise, the design is nice. But the materials are completely unacceptable! The first thing you need to do is go out and buy real pens. Don’t worry; I know where you can buy a set for under $100!”

Me: “Um, that’s not really–”

Artist: “And definitely upgrade your paper! It will be an expensive investment, but it will be worth it! I recommend getting a [fancy type of poster-quality paper].”

(I kind of stopped listening at that point, because she wasn’t listening to me. I didn’t have any money to spend on supplies. I still thanked her, but I left as soon as possible. In a way, she did answer my question; no one would want to buy my name posters.)

(I am heading into the county fair with some friends. I have a folding knife in its case attached to my belt. At the entrance gate, as we prepare to pay to get in, the ticket seller looks at me.)

Seller: “You can’t bring that knife in here.”

Me: “Why not?”

Seller: “We don’t want anyone getting stabbed.”

(I look past the gate. The VERY FIRST vendor inside the gate is selling knives, much bigger than the one I have.)

Me: “He’s selling knives right there!”

Seller: “You can’t bring it in. We don’t want anyone getting stabbed.”

(Note to self: if you want to stab someone at this particular county fair, you’re required to buy one of their knives to do it.)

(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.)