(I work in a very “gothic” shop inside a theme park; as such, I’m supposed to theme as semi-creepy. One day, a guest comes up to buy something with his family – his wife and three kids of varying ages.)

Me: “—and the total is [total].”

Customer: *while looking for payment inside wallet* “Can I give you an IOU? Pay you tomorrow, or Tuesday, or next week, maybe?”

Me: “I don’t think I can accept that, but I’ll consider a first-born sacrifice.”

(Without missing a beat, the man points to his oldest child.)

Customer: “You! Over there!” *indicates my side of counter*

(I help my parents put on a yard sale. Most of the morning goes without problem and we are pretty busy. Around noon, a dumpy old car pulls up. The lady that steps out is one of those “the world revolves around me” types — very fake tan, way too much makeup, latte in hand, and very over-the-top, loud clothes. I’m sitting in front of my house in the shade and she stomps right up to me, shoving other shoppers out of the way. She grabs a box near me, dumps out its contents, and shoves it into my arms.)

Customer: “Follow me around and keep track of what I take.”

(I’m a really quiet person, so I just stand and start following her. The box is very large, maybe two feet long, wide, and tall. She starts tossing junk into the box and I’m frantically trying to keep track of what she’s getting. This goes on for ten minutes. After she fills two large boxes, she whirls around to me.)

Customer: “I’ll give you $5 for all this junk.”

Me: *surprised* “Ma’am, I kept track as you asked me to, and the total is closer to $30. And I’m rounding down.”

(She tries to haggle with me for a while, but eventually, she stomps off to her car to loudly demand money from her driver. She stomps back to me and shoves the money in my face. As she’s doing so, she looks at my necklace.)

Customer: “Darling, I love your necklace.”

(She then reaches for it and tries to take it off my neck. Naturally, I back away, confused.)

Customer: “Darling, I said I love your necklace. That means I want it.”

(She tried again to snatch it. When I backed away again, she started trying to bribe me, but it was my favorite necklace so that wasn’t going to happen. After a while, she gave up and I helped her put her boxes in her car. As soon as she got in and the car started to drive away, she rolled down her window and made eye contact with me. I thought she was going to say thank you or goodbye, but no. She tossed her half-full latte out the window into my driveway. It splattered everywhere and they drove away. As if that wasn’t bad enough, when I went to count the money she had shoved at me, it was only $20 and not the $30 I had asked for.)

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My family went to Disney World years ago. My little brother — four years old at the time — loved Pluto more than any other character, and spent the entire trip down talking about how he couldn’t wait to see him in person.

We got there, and my parents took us into the small line to take pictures. My mom sent me up first, but my brother refused to go. No crying; he just shook his head and planted his feet. My parents couldn’t convince him, so he stayed with Dad, and Mom and I got our pictures done.

As we walked away, they asked my brother why he’d changed his mind. He shouted across the park: “WHAT IF HE HAS FLEAS?!”

Pluto is still his favorite character.

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(I work for a famous theme park. As I’m bilingual, I wear a name tag that displays certain languages I can speak: Spanish and English. My family decides to come to see me for a week and I take the entire week off, of course, to be with them. On the first day of their vacation, we go to one of the parks. I’m walking down the streets talking to my family when, all of a sudden, a random man approaches me and begins jabbering away at me in rapid Spanish.)

Guest: “Do you know where the fast-pass kiosk is? I’ve been looking everywhere! Nobody can help me!”

Me: “Yes, it’s behind the walls.” *points toward it* “If you need any further assistance, a cast member can help you or will find someone who can.”

Guest: “Thank you.” *walks off*

Mom: “So, how did they know that you can speak Spanish and work here?”

Me: “I… I have no idea.”

(I double-checked to make sure I wasn’t wearing my name tag by mistake, despite being in regular clothes, and I have no Hispanic features. The funny part is, every time I went to the parks at my own leisure, I’d get stopped regularly by people asking for help. And not just at my park, but at others, as well. Not that I minded; my coworker friends and I decided that we all just have a certain look on our off time, and people just pick up on it and assume we know what we’re doing.)

(I work in a clothing store that has one wool sweater for sale. As we’re a tourist stop, we tell people how to wash the sweater when they purchase it. Normally people just nod, thank me, or ask a question like if they should have it dry cleaned. I recognize a girl from earlier in the day when she bought a sweater, but she is back with a friend who is buying one so they can use her discount card.)

Me: “This is 100% wool, so you’re going to want to hand wash it and lay it flat to dry. If you put it in the dryer it’ll become a sweater for a cat.”

Girl: “What’s wool made of?”

Me: *thinking I misheard her* “I’m sorry?”

Girl: “Do you know what wool is made of?”

Me: “It’s sheep’s hair.”

Girl: *looks confused*

Me: “You shear a sheep — basically giving it a haircut — and then that’s spun into yarn and tada! A sweater.”

(The girl looked at me like she was horrified that she’d asked such a stupid question. It was obvious she knew the answer but had just forgotten at the moment when she asked. The rest of the transaction was done in silence.)