[The following takes place when my coworker is working for me.]

Front Desk Agent: [Responding to a call of a naked man asleep in the lobby elevators.] “Oh my God! Call the cops!”

[She does see a naked man passed out in the elevator, and a pile of poop next to him as well. She also alerts Hotel Security and they capture the man on the next floor up.]

Naked Man: What are you all bothering me for? I didn’t do anything!
Security: You’re not a guest here. Your clothes are in the elevator and you went to the bathroom in there. The police are on their way.
Naked Man: I didn’t DO anything!!

[He eventually picked up his clothes and cleaned his mess up after a highly angry Engineer ordered him to do so. Not quite sure if he went to jail or not after taking his clothes off and going to sleep inside of our elevators, after having gone to the restroom in them.]

(I overhear this conversation between my English teacher and one of the other English teachers before class. My teacher is holding her computer charger.)

Teacher: “So, you know, cats are like sharks. They don’t bite things to bite them; they bite them to feel them since they don’t have hands. Well, [Cat] quickly found out just how ‘spicy’ this wire was yesterday.”

(The way the store is set up, when you walk in the front doors, registers three through six are immediately along the front wall to the left, with the customer service station and registers one and two in front of them. There’s one line for all registers starting just behind the customer service station and snaking toward the side wall and back to the opening between registers one and three. I am on register one. A woman walks in with a return when I happen to be away from my register cleaning, but mine is the only one with a light on.)

Security Guard: “She’ll take you on register one, ma’am.”

(The woman looks around at all the numbers, confused, and walks up to register three.)

Security Guard: *pointing* “She’ll get you on register one.”

(As I thread my way back around toward my register, the woman walks up to register one, looks up at the lighted number, PASSES IT, and starts winding her way down the line from the registers to the start of the line.)

Me: “Ma’am, I’m on one, right over there.” *points*

(The woman continues down the line to its start, getting to the “enter line here” sign just as I get behind my register, then turns and looks at me expectantly.)

Me: “I’m on register one, right here.” *indicates the counter in front of me*

(She looks like she finally gets it for a second and starts to walk out of the line around the customer service station, which is the shorter way to go, but halfway around starts looking confused again, checking the numbers above the registers. But since there’s really only one way to go at this point, she ends up in the right place in front of me, which was exactly where she had started when she walked in the door.)

Customer: “Oh, THIS is where it is. I didn’t know that. Someone could have told me. I wouldn’t have had to walk all around if someone had told me.”

Me: “…”

(A teenage boy of about fourteen or fifteen comes out of the bathroom and approaches me.)

Boy: “Um, ma’am, there’s a problem in the bathroom.”

Me: “Okay, let me take a look.”

(I am thinking I’ll just have to plunge or something. I walk in, and my eyes grow wide. The entire floor is covered in poo water. A HUGE ball of paper towels full of poo has clogged the entire toilet — not just the drain, the whole bowl — and some is hanging out of the toilet. Several more pieces of paper towel are strewn on the floor. The empty paper towel roll is laid on the counter. Yes, there is an ENTIRE ROLL OF PAPER TOWELS in the toilet.)

Me: “What happened?”

Boy: “Well, there wasn’t a lot of toilet paper left, so I tried to use the paper towels.”

Me: “You needed that many paper towels to take care of yourself?”

Boy: “No. I mean, I used the first bit, but then it wouldn’t flush down, so then I just kept shoving more in there thinking it would fix it. I’m really sorry; this is so nasty.”

(I look at him, and then, in silence, I walk out and fetch his mom. I bring her into the bathroom to take a look. She peeks in, and as she does, the boy says:)

Boy: “I’m so sorry, Mom. I didn’t know what to do.”

Mom: *with a blank face she responded* “Oh, honey, it’s okay. Don’t be embarrassed; this happens.”

(In my mind, I’m screaming, “NO, IT DOESN’T! THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN. THIS IS NOT A THING PEOPLE DO. PEOPLE DO NOT SHOVE ENTIRE ROLLS OF PAPER TOWELS DOWN THE TOILET. THAT IS NOT SOMETHING THAT JUST ‘HAPPENS.’ WOULD YOU BE SAYING THAT TO HIM IF HE DID THIS AT HOME?!” But I keep my cool and I stay silent. The mom looks at me.)

Mom: “Okay, let’s go, Son. Or did you want to ask about that book?”

(I’m standing in a puddle of her son’s poo water, staring. The boy looks at me and says:)

Boy: “Oh, yeah. Do you have Bram Stoker’s Dracula?”

Me: *still staring* “No. No, I don’t have that one. Or any more paper towels.”

(The mom laughs. The boy laughs. I do not laugh.)

Mom: “Okay, have a nice afternoon!”

(The mom and boy walk out. I’m still standing in the middle of poo water in the bathroom. I stare at the mess around me, dumbfounded. I call my landlord and ask her to send a plumber over. I begin cleaning. The plumber arrives, and he gets to the bathroom, opens the toilet, and exclaims:)

Plumber: “OH, MY GOD, WHAT HAPPENED?! THIS COULD CLOG A SEWER! THIS IS NOT TOILET PAPER!”

(Yes, yes, I know. $95 and two hours of cleaning later… Moral of the story: I now understand why there are signs in public restrooms stating, “Do not flush anything down the toilet that isn’t toilet paper.” We’ve removed all paper towels, napkins, and hand towels from the bathroom and put them outside.)

My friend and I were in New Orleans for Mardi Gras. We are both New Zealanders. We met up with my American cousin and we were having a few drinks. We went to a different bar, and my friend and cousin went to order.

Shortly afterwards, my cousin came back to me saying I needed to go help at the bar. I went up and saw that the bartender had my friend’s passport and was arguing with her. Turns out the bartender thought it was fake, and was yelling at my friend about how our country isn’t real. I stepped in, showed her my passport, and got the same response. We Googled New Zealand on our phones and showed her, but she still refused to believe that our passports were legit or that New Zealand exists.

We decided to go elsewhere and the bartender wouldn’t give the passport back, still going on about how it was fake. I leaned over and wrenched it off her and ran out before she could call any security. Who knows? The security might never have seen a world map, either!