(A few years back, I was volunteering behind the scenes at the planetarium. One day I am taking a shortcut through the exhibit space. A young boy comes in with sort of a dismissive attitude. He looks at a plastic pyramid, about 12 cm tall, with something in it.)
Visitor: *disparagingly* “What’s THAT?”
Me: “That? It’s a piece of the Moon.”
Visitor: “You mean all this stuff has been in space?”
Me: “Yup.”
Visitor: “WOW!” *starts really looking at the Apollo exhibits*
(My local museum has a refurbished antique carousel patrons can ride on, which is manned by volunteers. Before admitting any riders, the volunteer has a small speech they have to give — a short summary of the carousel’s history, followed by a warning that, because it’s an antique, there are several horses that no longer “jump,” and then moving on to the rules and whatnot. My friends and I are there and decide to take a ride, so we go to the carousel pavilion. The volunteer begins to speak, and it is obvious she is on the verge of losing her voice. My friends, and several other museum patrons, are trying to listen to her talking about the history of the carousel when a four-to-five-year-old boy runs over, grabs at the rope divider, and begins shaking it while loudly jabbering about the horse he is going to ride. I get his attention, put my finger to my lips, and point to the volunteer, who has started to explain the safety procedures as loud as she can, which, again, isn’t very loud at all. All of a sudden I feel a hand grab my arm. I turn and there is an irate woman glaring daggers at me.)
Mother: “Did you just tell my son to shut up? How dare you try to parent my child!”
Me: “I’m sorry; I just figured that letting this poor girl tell us the carousel rules, so that we can ride the carousel, was really important, and I didn’t want her to have to strain her voice doing it.”
(The operator thanked me afterward; I gave her a couple of throat lozenges and told her to hang in there.)
This story is part of our Roller-Coasters roundup!
(My partner and I go with a friend of ours to the museum. We are both college students, but our friend just graduated from college. She is 24 years old but is often mistaken for a child because she is very small and petite.)
Partner: “Tickets for three adults, please.”
Clerk: *looking around in confusion* “Where’s the third adult?”
Friend: “Right here.” *raises her hand so she can be seen over the counter*
Clerk: “Oh! Really? Okay…”
Me: “Do you do student discounts?”
Clerk: “Yes, we do!”
(My partner and I pull out our college ID cards and hand them to her.)
Clerk: *to friend* “And yours, dear?”
Friend: “Oh, I’m not a student. I graduated.”
Clerk: “Oh, when did you graduate?”
Friend: “In May.”
Clerk: “Oh, well, that’s close enough! Three tickets at college discount. Here you go!”
(As we walked away, we realized that she probably thought our friend had graduated from high school in May and hadn’t started college yet, not that she’d graduated from college…)
(Preparing for a big event the next day makes us all work overtime until late hours. Therefore we all have supper in the working place. Our boss is there, too.)
Boss: “You know, I just think it should become legally mandatory: everyone having tepid coffee, tepid tea, and tepid soup. That way, eating and drinking would take much less time and everyone could go back to work a lot faster!”
(Everyone cracked up. But knowing the guy I’m still not sure if he was joking or not.)
(The museum I work at has five price brackets: Senior (65+), Adult (16-64), Youth (age 6-15), and Child (age 3-5), with under 3 being free admission. These are listed on the sign above the cashier’s heads at the admission desk, but it’s confusing enough that to save time I usually just ask guests for the ages of their kids instead of listing them all. The following happens about once a day.)
Me: “Okay, so that’s one adult for general admission, and how old is the kiddo?”
Guest: “She’s—” *stops and peers at price list* “Uh… five.”
Daughter: *looking outraged* “NO! Mommy, I’m SIX and a HALF.”
Guest: *refuses to meet my eyes* “Oh, sorry, honey. Right. She’s six.”
Daughter: “—and a HALF!”
Me: “Great! So one adult and a youth will be [amount]!” *smiles sweetly*
