I was a sheltered freshman living in dorms attached to campus. I was walking into the parking lot on my way to my next class, and I saw a guy sitting in a car smoking. He looked at me, groaned, then got out of his car and put his hands on the roof. I froze, not sure what to do. After a beat, he looked back at me and laughed.

Guy: “Oh! You’re not a cop.”

Me: *Wearing a green t-shirt and white basketball shorts.* “No.”

Guy: “I totally thought you were!”

I watch as he laughs and gets back in his car. Then he looks at me.

Guy: “I should probably move, though, right? That way if you call the cops, you won’t be able to tell them where I am.”

Me: “I guess…”

This is a small lot, with one row on either side. He puts his car in reverse and backs in a straight line into a spot directly across from where he was parked before. Then he waves at me.

Guy: “We’re good now.”

I wave and leave, not entirely sure what to do. When I come back, the guy is gone. My roommate reads me the riot act later for not calling 911 on a clearly impaired guy behind the wheel of a car and for how, by not calling the cops, I had endangered everyone on the road. My only excuse is that it was my first encounter with drugs, and I was baffled by the whole experience.

I’m at a Japanese restaurant. Our table is ordering some sushi, and the waiter is taking the orders and asking all the right questions. Then he points to the condiments at the table.

Waiter: “This is soy sauce. And this is wasabi.”

They have very large labels, so it’s clear what they are. Our table laughed about it and assumed we must look like we’ve never had sushi before.

About half an hour later, we hear the sound of someone slamming his fist on the table and shouting into the restaurant:

Customer: “God d***, these Japanese don’t f*** around with their guacamole!”

Everyone At Our Table: “Ooooooh, that’s why.”

I am having trouble locating a product online, so I call the company directly.

Rep: “Can I get the shipping address, please?”

Me: “It’s [Address in New Mexico].” 

Rep: “I’m sorry, we don’t ship internationally.” 

Me: “Where is it being shipped from?”

Rep: “[East Coast].”

Me: “So it’s not being shipped internationally.”

Rep: “We don’t ship to Mexico.”

Me: “NEW Mexico.”

Rep: “Right, we don’t ship to Mexico.”

Me: “New Mexico is part of the United States.”

Rep: “I think I know my states, ma’am.”

Me: “Google it.”

Rep: “Excuse me?”

Me: “Just humor me. Google ‘New Mexico.’ N-E-W Mexico.”

After a moment of googling.

Rep: “…I’ll, uh… I’ll get the manager.”

Turns out the lady on the other end was extremely embarrassed after she’d looked it up. I couldn’t find it in me to be angry at her. Education in this country is pretty crappy. I did ask to speak to her again, and we cleared the air.

Aside from her defensiveness when I challenged what she thought she knew, she was a lovely lady. 

Related:
In A State Of Confusion, Part 13
In A State Of Confusion, Part 12
In A State Of Confusion, Part 11
In A State Of Confusion, Part 10
In A State Of Confusion, Part 9

I work the front desk at a hotel. We get a call on the phone.

Me: “Hello, welcome to [Hotel]. How can I help you?”

Customer: “Hi. I’m from up in Nevada, and I was wondering if y’all took US dollars down there?”

Me: “…I’m sorry, can you please clarify?”

Customer: *Quietly.* “Oh, your English was so good I thought you’d understand!” *Somewhat louder and slower.* “I’m from up in Nevada. The United States. Do you take US dollars down there?”

Me: “This is [Hotel] in [City], New Mexico. Are you maybe calling the wrong number?”

Customer: “No. I’m not. I have a stay scheduled with you on [Date] under [Name].”

I check, and she does.

Customer: “We’re going on vacation, my boyfriend and I, and we were wondering if you take US dollars over in New Mexico?”

Me: “We do. New Mexico is part of the United States.”

Customer: “No… no it’s not. New Mexico is part of Mexico.”

Me: “…Do you also think that New England is part of England?”

Customer: “It isn’t?”

Me: “Uh… putting aside the geography lesson, yes, we do take US dollars here. Don’t worry.”

Customer: “Oh, good. See you on [date]!”

She did, in fact, arrive on [date]. I was a little worried that she might have gotten lost and actually gone down to Mexico, but she didn’t.

She and her boyfriend commented to me that New Mexico was ‘quaint’ and asked where to go to see ‘the donkeys’, so I got her a brochure for a petting zoo and a horseback adventure.

A customer approaches the counter, holding a very beat-up, overstuffed padded envelope.

Customer: “Hi, I want to send this to my cousin in Canada.”

Me: “Sure! I’ll just need to know the value of the contents for customs.”

Customer: “Oh, it’s priceless. I made it myself!”

 Me: “Okay, but I still need a number for the form.”

Customer: *Thinks.* “Fine. One million dollars.”

Me: “…Right. Well, if it’s valued at over $2,500, I’ll need a special export declaration and you’ll pay duty on the declared amount.”

Customer: *Suddenly horrified.* “What?! No, I’m not paying that! It’s just some homemade soap and a T-shirt!”

Me: “So… not one million dollars, then?”

Customer: “Ugh, I thought this was a post office, not the IRS!”

Me: “Ma’am, I promise we don’t take your money, we just weigh it and watch it leave.”

 The customer ended up settling on an amount less than fifty dollars.