I work at a farm/nursery. I am ringing up a lady who was buying a lot of flowers. She is white and looks like she just got off a cruise vacation; she has a tan/sunburn, huge sunglasses, and flip flops, and she is dripping with jewelry.

The lady spots my wonderful Cambodian coworker, who is wearing her giant sunhat to keep her hair and skin healthy as she works. The customer physically points at my friend.

Customer: Loudly “How can you employ one of those towel-head terrorists?! Don’t you know Muslim women will kill you in your sleep?! You should get rid of her immediately!”

I am shocked into silence for half a second.

Me: “Not that it’s any of your business, but [Friend] is Buddhist, not Muslim, and it doesn’t matter either way; she would be allowed to work here even if she was Muslim.”

I then speak in my meanest, scowliest possible manner.

Me: “You need to leave and never return.”

I took her cartful of plants and began putting them back. She stood there and sputtered for a while and then fled to the parking lot. We’ve had lots of idiot customers, but that’s the first and last time I’ve had to kick someone out.

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.”

I’m working on a farm just south of Canada in early February. As most people know, it’s cold and snowy in the northern states, and the farm I’m working on is no different. My boss owns a sugarhouse — a building in which maple syrup is produced. My boss tells me to shovel the snow at the sugarhouse as he is going to host an open house soon where visitors and tourists can check out the maple syrup process.

The building is in an L shape where people can hang out outside. The snow hasn’t been shoveled all winter, so there is a ton of snow to get rid of. I start shoveling and my boss comes over with his tractor to take away the bulk of it because I’m not lying when I say there is a TON of snow. We work steadily for an hour or so, he leaves, and I finish up, making sure the place looks neat and tidy for guests. My job is done and I go home.

I come back the next morning and I’m barely out of my car before my boss is yelling at me.

Boss: “How come you didn’t shovel the sugarhouse?”

Me: “What?”

Boss: “The sugarhouse! I told you to shovel it.”

Me: “I… Huh?”

Boss: *Sputters* “There’s snow everywhere!”

I look around, confused. I know I left the place looking nice. Did it snow last night? Nope. Was it windy? No. I’m trying to think of some explanation as to why he would say I hadn’t shoveled. I mean, he saw me shoveling, and he helped me for over an hour!

Me: “Okay, show me what I did wrong and I’ll fix it.”

We start walking to the sugarhouse, my mind whirling, trying to figure out what he’s talking about. Perhaps he told me something specific I forgot to do? Perhaps he thinks he told me something but never did? Both are a likely possibility. I’m not perfect, but neither is he, though he will never admit it. Once, he yelled at me for not cleaning something while I was on vacation. Turns out, he had given the direction to my fill-in while I was gone and she hadn’t done it.

The whole time we’re walking to the building, he’s berating me.

Boss: “I shouldn’t have to babysit you like this. When I give you a job, I expect you to do it and do it well. You need to get yourself a little book, and when I tell you to do something, write it down. I can’t be reminding you to do your job. You need to think. You need to think with your big girl brain.”

I used to work for him in high school and am starting to remember why I quit.

That last comment has me seeing red, but I keep quiet. We get to the sugarhouse and he’s still going on and on. I see the problem immediately. There is a perfectly straight and long pile of snow directly under the edge of the roof. The corner where the L is even has a pile in a perfect ninety-degree angle. I look at the snow pile, then at the roof, then at the snow pile again, and then at him. I’m waiting for him to get it. Nope. He’s still going on and on. I interrupt him.

Me: “I know what happened.”

Boss: “Well, you’d better.”

I point at the roof and then at the perfectly straight snow pile.

Me: “The snow fell off the roof.”

His face goes blank.

Boss: “Oh.”

Me: “How’s that big girl thinking for ya?”

I wish I could say he apologized, but he just walked off. I think he did feel a bit bad. He came to help me stack wood later, but instead of apologizing, he asked me why I hadn’t told him I’d shoveled. I didn’t think I needed to because he’d helped me shovel for an hour!

I have a piece of land next to my family’s farm that is mostly waste ground. The problem is that it is infested with rats, not helped by constant walkers and picnickers trespassing, leaving food waste, and damaging the crops — despite the gates and many signs.

I am out with my shotgun, trying to clear the nests, when I see a pair of walkers in the middle of the field.

Me: “Can I help you?”

Woman: “Oh, no, thanks. We know where we are.”

Me: “Let me rephrase that. You are on private property. You need to leave now.”

Man: “Whoa, I don’t like that you have that thing.” *Points to my shotgun* “Can you put it down?!”

Me: “Down? In the sodden ground? No, sorry, I can’t do that. But it’s unloaded and not cocked, so it’s safe. Again, I will invite you, kindly, to leave this property before I call the police.”

Woman: “But we’re just walking. What harm are we doing?”

I begin ushering them back to the road.

Me: “Seeing as the whole field is fenced in and locked, you must have damaged something to get in. Again, last warning before I call the police.”

Woman: “We have rights! I’m calling the police.”

Me: “Fine, but do it on public property.”

They refused to move. The woman was getting hysterical and the man was being paranoid about the shotgun. I decided to wait for the police.

What happened next was months of legal issues. They lied about being threatened, meaning my shotguns were taken away; luckily, I had camera footage. They denied breaking the fence to get in and I couldn’t prove otherwise.

Eventually, everything was dropped, but I still had to pay for the repairs, and the walkers kept coming and finding their way in. It only stopped after I found their forum and got the moderators to remove all mention of my land under threat of legal action.

I own a small acreage divided into two pastures. One is my horse pasture and I lease the other parcel to a neighbor every summer for his cows. Each cow and calf is called a pair.

I am explaining this to a guy who is visiting.

Guy: “How many cattle will be in the pasture?”

Me: “Ten pairs and a bull.”

Guy: “What’s the bull for?”

Me: “…”