I work in an international-themed diner popular with tourists. Different tables have different themes from all over the world, and the menu is full of signature dishes from many countries. Our pies are stored in a large glass globe, with the continents etched on to them – very cool-looking in my opinion!

 A tourist family comes in and their young boy (maybe four or five) immediately sees the chocolate pie contained within the globe, and he is transfixed.

Me: “Hi, welcome to [Restaurant] what can I get you?”

Father: “We’re from New York; do you have any dishes from there?”

Me: “I’m afraid not, sir, as the menu theme is international. Was there something specific you were looking for?”

Mother: “This is ridiculous! What about our children? They can’t eat this foreign crap!”

Me: “We do a simple children’s’ menu, ma’am, that contains burgers and fries?”

Mother: “And for dessert? What are my children supposed to be rewarded with for good behavior?”

Weird question, but okay.

Me: “The children’s menu has a chocolate brownie and ice-cream, ma’am.”

Father: *Looking at the menu* “$5.95 for a brownie! That’s highway robbery!”

They continue in this vein for a while, and I finally get their orders down (with half the flavors or ingredients taken out because they sound “foreign.”) They are adamant that they are NOT ordering dessert for their son, even though he keeps whining for some. The parents stay quiet enough throughout the meal, staring at their phone mostly while their son remains generally well-behaved.

I am serving some other customers (we’re very busy) when the father storms up to me.

Father: “You’re trying to poison my son!”

I suddenly fear an allergic reaction and go into medical mode. As I am asking questions he points to his son, who is gulping down ice water and looks very uncomfortable.

Father: “How can you give him something so spicy!”

Me: “Sir, there’s nothing spicy on the children’s menu. I—”

I stop and look closer. The boy’s face is covered in chocolate, as are his fingers. I glance over to the glass globe and realize what has happened.

Me: “Sir, did your son, perchance, eat some of the chocolate pie from the bar?”

Father: “Certainly not, he—”

The father looks over at his son, looking properly as if he’s noticed him for the first time, including all the chocolate smeared everywhere.

Father: “—he… he might… you should have been watching him!”

Me: “Sir, that’s your job, not mine, although I do apologize for not noticing your son helping himself to our Montezuma chocolate pie, a delicious chocolate and chili recipe from Mexico.”

The father huffs and storms off. I got more ice water for the poor boy, but hopefully, that taught him a lesson about stealing food!

I made sure the pie was on their bill.

I am a customer at a well-known hair salon for a haircut. The store is in a slightly undeveloped area but the employees are very polite and do their jobs well; I’ve been getting haircuts from these employees since I was a child. I am patiently waiting with a couple in the waiting seats while a male employee and two female employees cut other peoples’ hair.

The phone rings and a male employee answers.

Employee: “[Salon], [Employee] speaking. How may I help you?”

Caller: *Unintelligible*

Employee: “Oh, you need directions to get here? Well, we are between [Avenue] and [Interstate Road].”

Caller: *Unintelligible*

Employee: “May I ask where you’re driving from to get here?”

The employee’s shoulders and head sag in disbelief.

Employee: “Brandon?”

Brandon is over a half-hour drive from Tampa. Everyone else in the salon laughs at the ludicrousness of that. I turn to a woman next to me.

Me: “Is a $15 haircut really worth that much gas?”

Woman: *Laughs* “I know, right?”

Employee: *Finishing the call* “Well, sir, I will see you in thirty to forty minutes.”

Me: *Raising my voice* “Don’t forget to factor in evening traffic!”

Employee: “Make that the next hour. Bye!”

I’m working in a restaurant in a landlocked state with no access to the ocean. We do have shipments of Maine lobster, though. I get a call.

Caller: “Hi. I’m wondering if your lobster is locally sourced.”

Me: “No, but we get our lobster from Maine. We actually have a shipment coming at two if you want something really fresh tonight.”

Caller: “That’s a shame; you should really support local businesses.”

Me: “I absolutely agree; however, since we’re in a landlocked state, we have to buy from Maine.”

Caller: “But supporting local businesses helps the economy.”

Me: “Unfortunately, we can’t buy local since we’re a landlocked state.”

Caller: “Huh?”

Me: “We don’t have access to the ocean.”

Caller: “Why not?”

Me: “Why don’t we have access to the ocean?”

Caller: “Yeah.”

Me: “Because we’re very far away from the ocean. It’s nearly 500 miles away.”

Caller: “But why can’t you just get local lobster? You should help support local businesses.”

Customer: “Do you have any fresh… What’s the name of it? Hold on. The fish named after a South American country.”

Employee: “Named after… Oh! Chilean sea bass?”

Customer: “No, no, it’s just the name of the country. Like if there was just a fish called ‘France,’ you know?”

Employee: “I don’t know any fish just named after a country. Brazil… Ecuador…”

He’s staring at a map of “where our fish are from” and naming every South American country under his breath.

Customer: “Oh, here it is! Tilapia.”

After he packages up the tilapia and the customer leaves…

Employee: “Either he needs to go back to high school geography, or I owe an apology to the Tilapian people.”

I overhear this when I work above a bar on the seafront. On a clear day, you can see the island of Fuerteventura from Lanzarote.

A customer is sitting on a barstool having a midday drink.

Customer: “What’s that island I can see out there?”

Barman: “That’s Fuerteventura.”

Customer: *Sips his beer* “It wasn’t there last year, was it?”