(At college, I take a course on the modern history of drugs. As you might expect, most of the class uses weed. Usually, anyone high in class just zones out, but one day we’re discussing regulation of marijuana post-legalization.)

Classmate #1: “I don’t even understand how people think you can regulate marijuana. It’s natural. It comes from the ground. It’s like lettuce!”

Me: *whispers* “How high do you have to be to say that out loud?”

Classmate #2: “I’m just pissed our term papers are due next week, because that’s a way better topic than mine.”

Me: “Weed Vs Lettuce: What’s The Real Difference?”

(The group in the section next to mine monitors the notification line for reports of incidents and spills in the state. They take all sorts of complaints and information requests. On off hours, the line is transferred to a .wav file and sent in email for the next day. Here is one they received:)

Caller: “Yes, this is [Name]; telephone number is [number]. Highway [location] down from a… it’s, uh… I don’t know the location. You got oil and water look that’s, uh, running down the stream; the amount I don’t know. I took a sample. It’s in my car storage. You know, I’m about to lose my life… going up and down this highway. I called about that oil spill out there by the football stadium. You put that new green tank. You hadn’t said “thank you.” I work for [Oil Company]; still working for them. I got [Training Certification] in my wallet. I don’t carry it around. I’m just trying to get my respect back. I got two bad kids who think that I’m NOTHING. They get in my face and they talk about me worse than the kids do on the outside. My wife seems to think I’m stupid, too, but I’m not! All I want to do for you all is get my name cleared up, get my stuff, uh, and I’ve been told to get out the country and I’m gon’ get out the country. I want my passport and my visa and get my shots and stuff together, and I’m gon’ get out the country. Okay? I’m going to Great Britain. And goin’ get out the country. And you won’t have to worry about me NO MORE! Let’s make that happen. And tell [Name] with the [completely unrelated State Legal Agency] that I’m telling the truth. My glass has been broken, they broke my ankle, my arm been broken, and going to [General Hospital] they say “come back, come back, your family needs ya.” They were talking about that in Fort Worth, Texas. Make them boys tell the truth. I don’t think all of them bad but I need to get out of here. M’kay, I’ve been done my time and I’m ready to go.”

(They wrote it down as an oil spill…)

(It is 2013. I am counting out a register at closing and find the rattiest-looking coupon I have ever seen. It is very old, wrinkled, and the paper is super soft and almost cloth-like from being folded and crumpled so many times. The expiration date is what really gets me. Even though our restaurant is really lax about expiration dates on coupons, the oldest coupons that customers usually try to use are a few months or so old.)

Me: “[Manager], look at this!”

(My manager is counting the register beside me and grabs the coupon I hand over. She too sees the expiration date.)

Manager: “1995? Well, I know one policy that’ll be changing soon!”

(The next day after a managers’ meeting, there is a sign on the bulletin board in the back room.)

Sign: “Attention All Employees: No coupons may be accepted more than a year past their expiration date!”

(I just turned 21 a few days ago and so my mom and granny decide to take me with them to spend a weekend in Louisiana, to go to a few of the casinos there. I have a current driver’s license, but it dates to when I was 17 or 18 and has “UNDER 21 UNTIL [Date three-to-four days ago]” in red letters in the upper right hand corner. At the first two casinos we go to, they just looked at the ID and let me enter and sign up for their perks and the like, but the third one goes a little differently than we planned. Having gone through the song and dance twice before, I’ve already got my ID card in my hand because I already know what to expect.)

Security Guard: “May I check your ID?”

Me: “Sure thing; here it is.”

(I hand it to him and was expecting to get it back after a few seconds after he verified that I was 21, but NOPE!)

Security Guard: *handing my ID back* “Sorry, can’t let you in.”

(All three of us, almost at the same time, speak up about the decline.)

Me: “What?”

Mom: “And why not?”

Granny: “Excuse me?!”

Security Guard: “It says he’s under 21.”

(My mom and granny are both about to speak when I look at them, non-verbally telling them to let me deal with it.)

Me: “Excuse me.” *I hold the ID and point to the date listed under the “UNDER 21” notice which, as I stated before, was a few days ago* “It also say until [Date], see. ‘Under 21 until [Date].’”

Security Guard: “Sorry, but I can’t let you in with an ‘Under 21’ license due to the law.”

Me: “Excuse me, but I went to both [Casino #1] and [Casino #2] without an issue. Can you get your supervisor here, please?”

Security Guard: “He’ll tell you the same thing, but fine, if you want to waste my time!”

(He pulls what I presume to be an in-line mic and says what I can only guess to be a code for assistance. Afterwards, he motions to my mom and granny.)

Security Guard: “You two can go in, but he has to stay out here.”

Mom: “That is my SON! If you’re not going to let him in, I’m not going in!”

(He just releases a bit of a huff and says more code into the mic, and after a few moments the supervisor comes… followed by a police officer.)

Supervisor: “What seems to be the issue here?”

Security Guard: “He’s trying to get in but has an ‘Under 2’1 license and these two are claiming to be his mother and grandmother to try to get him in.”

Mom: “We aren’t ‘claiming to be’ anything!”

Supervisor: *to me* “Can I see your ID, please?”

(I hand him my ID and quickly I see the supervisor narrowing his eyes before dismissing the police officer.)

Supervisor: “Did you even bother to see his date of birth?”

Security Guard: “No, why should I? It very clearly says that he’s under 21.”

Supervisor: “It says he WAS under 21 until about a few days ago! His 21st birthday just passed!”

Security Guard: “Then why is it still there?!”

(At this point the supervisor just shakes his head and begins to escort my mom, granny, and me into the casino room and towards the sign up area for player cards. After we sign up and/or update information, he takes our player cards and walks me over to one of the machines that checks point balance and perks. He slips my card into it and then starts entering some codes and does the same for my mom’s and granny’s cards.)

Supervisor: “There you go. In addition to each of your birthday bonus and rewards — happy birthday to all three of you, by the way — I added another $21 in bonuses for the hassle. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other things I need to do.”

(I don’t know what the “other things” were but when I had to leave the area about 30 minutes later to use the restroom the original guard was gone and replaced with a new one. A quick flash of my player card and I was back in the area without problem.)

(My husband, toddler, and I are staying in a hotel adjacent to a well-known party street. It is about eight pm on a weeknight, and the area is starting to get busy but not crazy yet, so we decide to walk over to a nearby pizza shop to get a few slices to take back to the hotel. Again, we are stone-cold sober and have a toddler with us.)

Me: “Could I get a [Slice #1] and a [Slice #2], please?”

Pizza Girl: “Sure thing.” *Grabs [Slice #2] to put in oven, but not [Slice #1]*

Me: “Oh, I need a [Slice #1] too, please.”

Pizza Girl: *annoyed* “I got it.” *grabs a [Slice #1] to put in the oven and says to Cashier* “[Slice #1] and a [Slice #2].”

Cashier: “That’ll be [amount].”

Me: “Oh, I’m paying for [Husband], too.” *gesture to my husband and toddler, who are still standing by the pizza display and have not yet ordered*

Cashier: *annoyed* “It’s [same amount].”

Me: *confused* “For four slices?”

Cashier: “Wait, what?” *turns to Pizza Girl who is getting my slices out of the oven* “She’s getting four slices?”

(It finally dawns on Pizza Girl that my husband might like to order, and she takes his order while Cashier rings me up for all four slices. Pizza Girl then hands us each two flimsy paper plates with huge slices of pizza on them, which we’ll obviously need to somehow manage to walk somewhere with while holding a toddler, as there is no dining area.)

Husband: “Could we get a couple extra plates, please? We need to walk back to our hotel with these.”

Pizza Girl: “Oh, would you like boxes?”

Me: *wondering why they wouldn’t think to offer these before* “Yes, please.”

(Seriously, if four slices of pizza was that much trouble for them, I’d hate to see what a mess that place is at two am!)