(I am a foreign tourist traveling in Sri Lanka. I am perusing the goods of a local spice vendor.)

Me: “How much is your saffron?”

Vendor: “For you, my friend, I’ll sell to you at [price that is similar to what I would normally pay in my home country].”

Me: “Aww, gee, I don’t think that’s going to work for me. And how come your saffron powder is so much cheaper than your saffron threads?”

(I point to a large jar full of orange-colored powder that is clearly marked, “SAFFRON,” with a price that is unrealistically low.)

Vendor: “Uh, well, you see, the reason it’s so cheap is because that’s actually turmeric. I keep the real stuff behind the counter.”

Me: “Thanks for your time.” *walks away*

(I appreciated that he was being honest with me, but that doesn’t make it okay to lie to other people!)

(My friend run a small business and, on occasion, they have special events that include renting out market stalls. They take bookings ahead of time, but on this occasion, one of their regulars hasn’t arrived so there is an empty table. The rent they receive goes to a charity. I am helping them out in their main shop when one of their staff members comes over.)

Staff: “Hey, [Owner], I thought the table next to my shop was for [Regular Stall Holder]?”

Owner: “It is; she’s not arrived yet.”

Staff: “Well, some woman has just sat down at it and started putting out items, and has been asking people to buy them.”

Owner: “I’ll come over and take a look; maybe [Regular] asked her to start setting up.”

Staff: “There’s nothing there that she would normally sell.”

(A few minutes later the owner comes back, he is fuming.)

Owner: “What is wrong with people? This woman saw an empty table and decided to set her own stall up. I asked her what she was doing, and she told me she wanted to sell her things. I told her that she needed to pay rent for the stall. She refused to do that because ‘it’s a charity event and the tables should be free.’ So, I asked how much of her takings she would be donating, and she told me that she isn’t going to donate anything because she is selling her own things.”

(Stall holders were also donating a percentage of their sales towards the charity. They ended up kicking her out and sitting one of their volunteers at the table with their own stock.)

(I’m visiting my sister in Idaho, and she takes me to what’s essentially an antiques flea market – a long building crammed with rows and rows of assorted antiques, separated into booths. It looks like a very established place [and I know my sister has been going there for years], but when I go up to the checkout with a $3 trinket, this happens:)

Me: “Just this, please.”

Cashier: “Okay. And how will you be paying?”

Me: “Debit.” *I get out my debit card, and the cashier’s eyes go wide*

Cashier: “Oh, please don’t. You don’t have cash? Or a check?” *she hesitantly pulls out a tiny, outdated-looking card-reader, not quite bringing it out, like she’s praying I’ll change my mind*

Me: “Uh… I have a $50 that I haven’t been able to break yet. I don’t want to clear out your register.”

Cashier: *lighting up and throwing the card-reader back under the counter* “Cash is great! Please just break your $50. That’ll be best.”

Me: “Okay. That’s fine with me.”

Cashier: *counts out my change* “Would you like a receipt?”

Me: “No, that’s all right.”

Cashier: “Oh, it’s already printing. Here you go!”

(She hands me the receipt, which is a full 8.5 x 11 sheet of printer paper, with my tiny $3 purchase filling one line at the very top.)

(I work at a fruit market and a customer is making a scene.)

Coworker: “That’s just bananas! I wish someone would turnip the music to block that guy’s voice out!”

Me: “You’re fired.”

(I don’t do puns.)

(I am a Caucasian female but am fluent in Punjabi because I grew up in a heavily Indian neighbourhood. I am at a flea market and am looking at some fruit at a cart run by an Indian man.)

Indian Man: *to daughter in Punjabi* “Watch this. I bet I can get this girl to pay $10 for that peach.”

(I try and act like I am not listening to their conversation and inspect the peaches.)

Indian Man: *to me, in English* “Ah, looking at these locally grown peaches, huh? They’re not like the outsourced peaches you would find in grocery stores. These are organic and don’t use child labour like [Popular Fruit Company]. I can sell five to you for $10.”

Me: *in Punjabi* “Thank you, but I think I’ll pass. I don’t buy from people who try to scam me based on how I look.”