(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!)

(I’m running an inflatable bouncy house for a small town carnival. I’ve only just started working with the company who does the inflatables, but apparently we did the same carnival the year before and had some trouble with the lady in charge. She hadn’t paid the extra fee to use one of our generators, and supplied no power source of her own, so there had been difficulties getting set up. They wound up giving her the generator for free. This year she does the same thing again and just expects us to provide her the free service. It’s important to note that I DIDN’T KNOW ANY OF THIS BEFOREHAND.)

Client: *walks up behind me and suddenly speaks very loudly, startling me* “So, what’s your game plan? How are you setting these up?”

(Note that I am not technically on the clock yet. I am just hanging out by the setup area to keep an eye on company property while our setup guys go to get extension cords.)

Me: “Oh, hi! I’m actually not sure yet. I just got here, but the guys just went to buy extension cords.”

Client: *disdainfully* “Oh. So, you didn’t have them in your truck? Last year they just gave me a generator.”

Me: “Oh… okay? I’m not sure what they’ve got going on, but they should be back soon.”

Client: *suddenly angry* “Well, you had better be set up by noon! Last year you were an hour and a half late setting up and I swore I would never hire you again!”

Me: *staring at her in shock because I have no idea what’s going on*

Client: “When they get back, you tell them the ‘mean lady’ said they’d BETTER. BE. READY. BY. NOON.” *storms off*

(I am at a Renaissance Faire. I have created a custom piece of artwork for a customer. He ordered it a month ago, and it features his, his wife’s, and his children’s names. As he is coming to pick it up today, I have it visible behind my counter. A woman is looking at the piece and complimenting me on it. She seems a little drunk.)

Customer: “Gah, that’s so beautiful. How much is it?”

Me: “Well, that’s a custom order; he paid [total] for it. If you are interested, I can create something custom for you.”

Customer: “Nah, I want that one!”

Me: “I’m afraid that one is paid for; it was custom made and it has his family’s names on it. I can create one for your family, or if you want to take something home today, I have a similar piece for sale over here.”

Customer: “Why can’t I have that one?”

Me: *more firmly* “It’s not for sale. It belongs to someone else.”

(The drunk woman starts crying, but goes quiet, and sits down outside my booth. Five minutes later, I am talking to another customer and hear shouting. The woman has snatched the piece from behind the counter and is trying to run away with it! She makes it around the corner with me in tow yelling, when a man steps up and blocks her way with outstretched arms. Too drunk to figure out how to get around him, she sits down and starts crying. I take the piece from her, then realize the man who blocked her path is the customer who ordered the custom piece! I hand it to him, laughing.)

Me: “I guess you had to earn this one!”

(We sent the drunken woman to first aid to get her water and help her sober up. This year, she came back to the faire far more sober, and was browsing my shop. I don’t think she remembered the previous adventure, and she ended up buying a piece that was legitimately for sale.)