(I work for a popular Canadian coffee chain.)

Customer: “Do you take American? Hundreds?”

Me: “Sorry, we don’t take AmEx or bills larger than 50s.”

Customer: “What? You don’t take American money at all?”

Me: “What? I… Oh, I’m sorry, usually American means American Express credit cards here. Yes, we take American money; we just don’t take any bills larger than 50.”

Customer: “You don’t take American money?” *passes me a Canadian toonie*

Me: “Yes, we do, we just don’t take—”

Customer: “You should. You’d better. Best country in the world. Best money in the world.” *walks off calmly*

Regular Customer: *in line behind him, doing a fake Trump voice* “Best money ever. The very best. There has never been any better money before our money.”

(I work at a tourist information centre. Pendle Hill is, strangely enough, a very large hill in Pendle; it can be seen from miles around and is impossible to miss.)

Me: “Hello, [tourist information]. My name is [My Name]; how can I help you?”

Customer: *on phone* “Hi, I’m just ringing to see if you know the postcode for Pendle Hill; I want it for my satnav.”

Me: “Well, the hill itself doesn’t have a postcode, but I can give you the postcode for the village at the bottom of the hill, which is [postcode].”

Customer: “Are you sure you don’t know the postcode of the hill? I’m worried that I won’t find it from there.”

Me: “It’s a hill, so it doesn’t have its own postcode. The village is right at the bottom; it’s impossible to miss from there. I really do think you’ll find it.”

Customer: “Can you give me the postcode for any of the attractions around the hill, just in case?”

Me: “Not really, since it’s just the hill, on its own; like I said, there’s a village at the bottom, there are a pub and a couple of shops, but that’s it.”

Customer: “So, Pendle Hill is just a hill? I thought it was like, a tourist attraction or something.”

Me: “Well, yes, it is a tourist attraction, but the idea is to walk up the hill; there’s a very good view from the top, but there isn’t much else to do there.”

Customer: “Oh, I thought there was more to it than that. Are you sure it doesn’t have its own postcode?”

(My friend and I are waiting in a very long, slow-moving passport control line to travel back to Canada. An agent begins to direct EU citizens to a different line. The man behind me has a clear American accent.)

Agent: “EU passports, gates D and E! Come this way!”

Man: *behind us, to his wife* “We’re going to gate D!”

Agent: “EU passports only, gates D and E! Please come to this line!

Man: “That’s us! We’re gate D!”

Friend: *turns around to man* “Are you an EU citizen? Do you have an EU passport?”

Man: “I’m gate D!”

Friend: “But do you have an EU passport?”

Man: “But she’s saying gate D, that’s us!”

Friend: “Gate D for EU citizens only! Are you from North America?”

Man: “No, I’m not from North America! I’m from Chicago!”

(Leaving the fast-food drive-thru window, I am overwhelmed with a wave of nausea and dizziness. I manage to pull across several parking spaces and wait, hoping I’ll feel better. I don’t. I think I might pass out, and wish I’d throw up because that might make me feel better. Clearly, I can’t drive, and I have no idea what was wrong. Dizzy, scared, and disoriented, I call 911.)

911: “911! What’s the address of your emergency?”

Me: “I have no idea. I’m at the [Fast Food Restaurant] on the corner of [Highway] and [Cross street].”

911: “But I need a specific address.”

Me: “I can’t give you a specific address. I’m in pain and scared. I’m at–” *repeats cross streets* “Please help me!”

911: “We cannot help you without a street address, ma’am.”

Me: *losing my cool completely* “Okay, start at the hospital. Drive north on [Highway] a few blocks. When you get to [Major Store], look to the east, to your right. You will see [Fast Food Place] with a car parked across several spots. That’s me!”

(Funniest thing, they did find me! It turned out to be a kidney stone.)

(I’m visiting my boyfriend from out of state. He takes me to a local ice cream store, and since it’s slow, we’re talking to the one employee there.)

Employee: “Oh, where are you from?”

Me: “I’m originally from Washington state, but I’m living in [State] now.”

Employee: “Oh, so, that’s… in Mexico, right?”

(My boyfriend buries his face in his hands and is trying not to laugh.)

Me: “No, it’s in the northwest United States. Up near Canada?”

Employee: “Oh, so you’re Canadian! Your English is really good! How long did it take you to fly over? Or did you take a boat?”

(I couldn’t even think of a witty response.)