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.
Related:
Shopping Follows The Circle Of Life
I’m watching a juggler on stage at an outdoor fair. He’s doing some very impressive tricks, never missing once.
Juggler: “I hope I don’t screw this next part up. After all, I just had laser eye surgery this week and I can’t see very well.”
The audience laughs. The juggler then proceeds to build a rickety tower out of chairs and other objects, precariously balancing while still juggling.
Juggler: “I hope I don’t slip. I spilled hot cooking oil on my feet yesterday and they still really hurt!”
The audience laughs again.
After he’s done, I stay on my bench, waiting for the next musical act. Most of the audience leaves, and then other people start arriving. I’m surprised to see the juggler sit down next to me. He takes out a bottle of eye drops and begins treating himself.
Juggler: “Excuse me for doing this here, but I just had laser surgery this week.”
A few minutes later, he removes his shoes. His feet are swathed in bandages.
Juggler: “I hope you don’t mind. I spilled some hot cooking oil on myself yesterday and my feet really hurt.”
I thought he’d just been kidding around with the audience, but apparently, he really was pushing through the pain!
