Prices To Give You An Art Attack

, , , , | Learning | May 10, 2019

(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.)

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Not The Sharpest Guy At The Fair

, , , , , , | Working | May 6, 2019

(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.)


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Don’t Do Knives

, , , | Related | April 23, 2019

(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!)

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Snowly Does It

, , , , , | Right | March 7, 2019

(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.)

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If Dying Bunnies Doesn’t Make You Sad Then You’re A Rock

, , , | Right | January 25, 2019

(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!)

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