(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.)

(In the days of travel agents, my father has to fly to Canada for business.)

Dad: “I asked you to book me on a flight to Vancouver, but you booked me to Toronto.”

Agent: “Couldn’t you just fly to Toronto and take a cab to Vancouver?”

Dad: “That’s on the other side of Canada. I’m actually closer to Vancouver now than I would be in Toronto.”

Agent: “Let me just change that ticket for you.”

(The company’s head office is out of California somewhere, and that is where the call is originating from. I’m in Canada.)

Caller: “Hi. This is [Caller] with [Company]. We noticed your membership with us has been inactive for quite some time. Is there anything I can do to get you to sign up with us again?”

Me: “I was very happy with your program, but the location I was frequenting has closed and now I’m with [Competitor]. Do you have another Ottawa location?”

Caller: “Yes! We have one at [address]!”

Me: “That’s the one that closed.”

Caller: “Oh, really? Well, how about the one in Brampton?”

Me: “That’s almost a five-hour drive from here.”

Caller: “Toronto?”

Me: “Four hours.”

Caller: “Oh… I’m going to butcher the name on this one. Miss… Miss…”

Me: “Mississauga? That’s further than Toronto.”

Caller: “Oh. I guess we don’t have anything near you.”

Me: “I didn’t think so. Thanks for calling, I guess? Let me know if you open an operation in Ottawa again.”

(I live in a small Canadian town and the area is a well-known spot for touristic deer hunting, so it’s not unusual for us to have a number of American customers. I can tell this is the situation for one group of men that comes in one day; all are wearing full camouflage and have thick Southern accents.)

Customer: “You didn’t give me my change!”

Me: “Yes, I did.”

Customer: “You’re trying to rip me off, aren’t you?! You owe me two dollars change, and now you’re trying to convince me that this is two dollars! I know better than that! What are these gold things?!“

(He shoves his hand towards me… where he holds two loonies. I have a very hard time not taking my palm to my face.)

Me: *calmly* “That’s two dollars; in Canada, we have a loonie, which is a dollar coin instead of a dollar bill.”

(He said nothing and walked back to his table.)