I’m working a booth at a pop-up art fair selling handmade ceramic tiles with painted quotes and designs. A fairgoer walks over and picks one up.

Customer: “This is cute, but can you do it in white marble instead?”

Me: “No, sorry, these are all handmade from clay, each one is fired and glazed in our little workshop.”

Customer: “But I saw something just like this at Restoration Hardware.”

Me: “Well, theirs are machine-stamped. These were made by an 83-year-old woman named Dot who listens to jazz and swears at the kiln.”

Customer: “So… no white marble?”

Me: “No, but she’s been known to bedazzle a few if she’s had wine.”

She did not buy tiles, but we felt it was no great loss.

I’m not that big on Renaissance festivals, but my friends were, and we lived near one of the best in the country, apparently. So, friends from four states away would come down to visit in what to me was… the local fair thing fifteen minutes from where I grew up. Fine by me, a dozen friends from all over the country showed up to eat, drink, and watch jousting.

Rain was called for, so I wore waterproof hiking pants, a rain jacket, and a large hat. My friends all wore period garb, including big hoop dresses. Two friends didn’t dress up at all, so I wasn’t the odd one out. A MASSIVE downpour happened, and everyone got soaked but me. I wasn’t terribly far from my car when the rain happened, and I managed to get in it before the rain really hit. My outfit protected me from the light rain after.

But then…

As we were leaving seven or eight hours later, there was a traffic jam. That was fair; 16,000 people showed up for this one festival in a grass and mud parking lot. The road to leave was one lane in each direction and not far from a mall. It gets BUSY.

Normally, at a four-way stop, one car goes, then the one to the right, then the one to the right, and so on. For whatever reason, the police directing traffic had one lane of cars go for ten minutes or more. Then, the next line of cars would go, and for another ten to twenty minutes, only that lane was open.

In came [Woman]. She did not zero in on the cop directing traffic at the road, or his supervisor nearby. Oh, no. She beelined for the 100-pound “takes five months to grow a five o’clock shadow” teenage boy working there.

She demanded to know the hold-up. She argued that this was a waste of time and there was no one currently going within 200 feet of us. (The lane opened up was further off.)

He pointed out that even if he let her move forward, it was still a twenty-minute wait. She didn’t care. She was mad. It’s worth noting that it was 55F (12.8C) out, he was soaking wet, and she was dry — meaning she likely got there after the morning rain.

I don’t yell at women typically but will absolutely tell a man to behave himself in public. But lord, this teenage boy looked like he was going to cry.

Me: “Hey, lady! You, talking to the employee and not the manager! Get back in your car, and stop screaming like a drunk banshee!”

Woman: “EXCUSE ME! THIS IS BETWEEN ME AND—”

Me: “Between you and the underage child? The kid you outweigh by thirty pounds and twenty years? Sit down and be quiet. You sound like fingernails on a chalkboard on their third marriage, and I have delicate ears.”

Woman: “I AM JUST LETTING HIM KNOW THAT—”

Me: “So, call his adult manager over; she’s right there. Call the giant friggin’ cop right past him. He can’t hear you over the traffic, but I sure can. Go home! Go home and poorly manage a softball team. Let your anger out on the ref until you get kicked out of the game.”

Woman: “I… You…”

Me: “GO HOME AND POORLY MANAGE A SOFTBALL TEAM, AND LEAVE THE LITERAL CHILD ALONE!”

She got back in her car. When it was my turn to leave, I was about to apologize to the kid for making a bigger scene, but instead…

Kid: “Sir, thank you so much. I thought she was going to hit me. I just turned fourteen, and my aunt got me this job, and this is my first job, and I… My God, I thought she was going rabid.”

My friends were in the backseat, two of them crying with laughter still.

Friend: “I… am so cold. And soaking wet. And my feet hurt. And it’s all worth it to hear you shout out, ‘Step away from the underage boys, coach!’ Like Mean Girls!” *Pauses* “Wait, why aren’t you cold?”

Me: “My entire outfit is insulated and waterproof. I also got to the car when the rain started and took a nap for the twenty minutes it lasted.”

Years later, we were at a cafe in NYC. I got there five minutes after everyone else. I think I was finishing a slice of street pizza, and outside food wasn’t allowed.

My friends looked at me and said they wished I’d been there five minutes sooner. Apparently, an Entitled Jerk was going off on the barista until she nearly cried. Not enough soy? Too much soy? She couldn’t make a hot iced latte with hot foam and no milk? Something like that.

Me: “What could I have done?”

Friends: *In unison* “You could have told her to go home and poorly manage a softball team!”

I am at a town fair. I overhear a little boy walking up to a food stand being worked by a young worker and her manager.

Boy: “Do you sell pizza in a cup?”

Young Worker: “Little boy, this is a Dippin’ Dots stand.”

Manager: “Hang on a second. Little boy is on to something…”

I overhear the following at a stall at a county fair:

Seller: “I’m sorry, I don’t have anymore.”

Customer: “Can you check the back?”

Seller: “What “back”? It’s an open-air stall at a county fair! I don’t even have a counter with shelves, all I have is a table!”

The customer stormed off, muttering about lazy workers.

CONTENT WARNING: Animal Death (Bird kills bird)

This story reminded me of a time I visited the Renaissance Fair in Georgia. I was watching the birds of prey show, and they were talking about one of the birds. I can’t remember now what type, but perhaps a falcon.

The bird was at the top of the stage backdrop structure and was supposed to fly to a lure held by the handler. Instead, the bird suddenly launched itself behind the structure and out of sight. The handler excused himself and went behind the scenes to find out what was going on. But he accidentally left his microphone on, and the gate to the back was open.

Handler: *Panic in his voice* “Oh, s***! Oh, s***! D*** it! Oh, s***!”

Running ensued back and forth, which we could see through the open gate. We could also hear more exclamations from the handler, similar to his earlier outburst.

A few minutes later, the handler returned to the stage and explained.

Handler: “So, our birds of prey are obviously still wild animals. Instead of coming to the lure, he decided that a passing bird looked like a tasty snack and went after it instead. We don’t want to discourage their natural behaviors, so we’re letting him finish his meal in peace back in his enclosure, and we’ll continue the show with another bird instead.”

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