I’m an intern, handling animals for live shows at a local museum. We bring out three or four creatures a day to show guests, usually hissing cockroaches, armadillos, maybe a hedgehog or two, but today’s special guest is the big girl: our anaconda.

She’s massive, easily more than the length of the display table, and it takes three of us to lift her. Her head’s almost the size of mine. She’s calm, used to being handled, but still… she’s an anaconda. 

We’ve just finished setting her up on the display table when it happens. A high-pitched squeal cuts through the crowd.

Little Girl: “EEEEEEEEEEE!”

Before anyone can move, this tiny blur of toddler energy rockets up the stage stairs and makes a beeline straight for the snake’s face.

She’s two feet away when our director lunges forward and snatches her out of the air like a linebacker intercepting a pass. The snake doesn’t even flinch, but all of us do.

For a solid five seconds, the director just stands there, holding this kid at arm’s length in sheer disbelief.

Then, from the audience, we hear the most tired, disinterested voice imaginable.

Mom: “Oh… honey, don’t do that.”

That’s it. No panic. No apology. Just mild disappointment.

To be honest, I think the mom was low-key hoping the anaconda would eat her kid.

I overhear two young guys looking at a large piece of abstract modern art.

Friend #1: “I could’ve painted that.”

Friend #2: “Sure, but he actually did.”

Friend #1: “Fine, give me some paint and a canvas and see what I could do in an hour.”

Friend #2: *Googles something.* “This is how much oil paint and a canvas this size costs.*

Friend #1: *Looks at phone.* “D***. It might be cheaper to buy the painting and just pretend I did it.”

I work customer service at a fairly large museum. Most of the calls I get are very general, opening times, prices, details on exhibits, etc. This one was a new one:

Caller: “Yeah, so I found a meteorite.”

So far, not totally out there. People think they’ve found a meteorite (or “space rock”) all the time.

Me: “Okay, sir, how do you know it’s a meteorite?”

Caller: “I was trying to sleep last night and something in the sky was making a d*** racket.”

Me: “You heard it hit the ground?”

Caller: “No, but I couldn’t sleep, so I went outside and shot it.”

Me: “You… shot it?”

Caller: “Yeah, and then I went back to sleep. Woke up this morning and found this rock on my driveway.”

Me: “Sir… are you claiming to have shot a meteorite from out of the sky?”

Caller: “Yeah. Anyway… how much do I get for it?”

Me: “I am not qualified to answer that.”

Caller: “Well, can you put me through to someone who is?”

What I say next I am proud of, because I did not lie once.

Me: “Sir, if you did indeed successfully shoot a meteorite and it landed in your driveway, this would be unprecedented and worthy of scientific study from the brightest minds in the nation, not a lowly museum like ours. You should call the Smithsonian.”

Caller: “Wow! Really? Thanks, I’ll do that.” *Click.*

Customer: “Hi, I’ll take this astronaut suit for my son. He’s going as Neil Armstrong for Halloween.”

Me: “Great choice! That’ll be $49.99.”

Customer: “Hmm… I think you should give me a discount.”

Me: “Oh? May I ask why?” 

Customer: “Because it’s not authentic. It’s not a real Apollo suit.”

Me: “…Right. That’s because it’s a children’s costume, ma’am.” 

Customer: “Still. You’re charging full price for something that’s not the real thing.”

Me: “Yes. Because the real thing is worth millions of dollars and belongs in a climate-controlled vault, not a trick-or-treat bag.” 

Customer: “Well, I’ve been a member of this museum for years. Surely that should count for something.”

Me: “It does. You get 10% off. On everything. Including children’s costumes. Which, again, are not genuine NASA-issued equipment.” 

Customer: “But my son needs to look authentic for school. This isn’t. So, you won’t discount it further?” 

Me: “If it helps, I can throw in the moon dust for free.”

Customer: “That’s just glitter!”

Me: “…Yep, same authenticity rating as everything else we sell. If not, I’d be very worried about the black hole keychains.”

I may have been sassier than I needed to be, but it seemed to finally drive the point home to the customer.

The museum I work at has a replica church with a graveyard behind it. It looks very realistic and even has some flowers on the graves for some reason, but I’ve had it confirmed that not only are there no dead bodies, but none of the names and dates are real, either.

I’ve gotten tired of my campers screaming about it, asking about zombies, and even refusing to walk through it, so now I exclusively refer to it as “the fake graveyard”. We’ve been walking through the historical buildings and are a distance from our classroom.

Me: “Okay, let’s vote. Who wants to go back through the fake graveyard?”

About five hands go up.

Me: “Who wants to go back the other way?”

About seven hands go up.

Me: “Okay, we’ll go back the other way.”

The kids make a few disappointed noises.

Me: “It’s okay! We’re actually going to walk by it, and you should be able to see it; we just won’t walk through it.”

I lead the line of kids down the path.

Camper #1: “Is the fake graveyard real?”

Me: *Trying very, very hard not to be sarcastic.* “What do you think?”

Camper #1: “No.”

Me: “That’s right.”

Camper #2: *Roughly one minute later.* “Is the graveyard real?”

Me: *Slightly more hopeful about this interaction.* “What do you think?”

Camper #2: “Yes.”

Me: “…?”

Maybe he was joking. I hope he was joking. I really, really hope so.