(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.)

(My friend and I are volunteering at a fall fair. We are manning one of the games, where you get a ball and you have to throw it into one of the buckets. Everything is going fine until my friend goes out to grab a quick bite to eat and then a set of triplets — one boy and two girls — shows up with their parent.)

Me: “Hello! Would you like to play a game?”

Parent: “Sure! Here, kids, listen to what he has to say.”

(I explain all the rules and give them each two balls, as that is how the game works.)

Boy: “I threw mine and they didn’t make it in; what do I get?”

Me: “You get one ticket!”

(The tickets are the prizes to trade in; they get one for participation.)

Boy: “I want more!”

(He then proceeded to take the balls out of his sister’s hands, and started throwing them at me. I caught one, but then he threw them at my sensitive area. He hit me twice, and my face one time. He then took the buckets, and he was about to throw that at me when his mom finally looked over and dragged him out. Thank you, mom!)

(My mum decides to hire out a hall at a very popular local park and run a Christmas Fair. Whilst she is deciding whether she should do the Christmas Fair or not, my dad goes for surgery six weeks after an unexpected heart attack and dies on the operating table. As a result, we decide that rather charge for admission we will ask for a £2-per-adult donation for a big national charity that researches heart conditions and supports those with heart conditions. Due to a mix-up that we only realise afterwards, the local park has advertised the Fair as “free entry.” Therefore, a few people grumble at having to pay. Since it is a charitable donation, we just inform them that we can’t make them pay if they don’t want to, and they can go straight in. The Fair turns out to be very, very popular, and there is a long queue to get in. Two of my sisters and I are running the front desk at the entrance. An old woman storms up to me.)

Old Woman: “Excuse me. This event was free entry! I’m very annoyed that you are now suddenly charging admission! I’ve brought sixteen people with me, and this is unfair!”

(She is fumbling around in her purse and slams 50p on the table.)

Me: “Well, we are asking for a charitable donation for [Heart Charity]. We can’t make you pay it if you don’t want to. We are just trying to raise some money.”

Old Woman: “Oh, good!”

(She leaves the 50p on the table and flounces in. As she moves away, she yells back to the group of women she has brought.)

Old Woman: “You don’t have to pay! Just walk straight in!”

(My sisters and I all dropped our jaws at the audacity of what she said. A few of the women in the party followed the old woman, but the majority of her party stopped. They pulled out their purses and donated the £2, looking noticeably embarrassed. In the end, we raised thousands for the charity in my dad’s name, and the event was a hit!)