I’m checking out at a big box store. Since the customer ahead of me is taking a while, I have the time to load my items onto the belt in groups: frozen items together, toiletries together, etc. The cashier seems new, so I want to make it easier for her — and for me to unpack my bags.

It’s finally my turn. The cashier eyes my reusable bags nervously.

Cashier: “Did you… did you want everything in these bags?”

Me: “If it fits! Anything else, plastic is fine.”

She tosses my reusable bags down to the end and starts scanning… slowly. As my items accumulate in a heap, I pick up one of my bags and start packing it.

Cashier: “No… Wait… I was going to put these in that one.”

Me: “It’s fine, really. I don’t mind bagging my own stuff!”

Cashier: “NO!”

She grabs the bag and begins awkwardly shoving some frozen meals into it.

Cashier: *Looking nervous* “These will go in here.”

Me: “Okay, sure.”

I take the other bag and start putting some toiletries in it.

The cashier then takes those OUT of the bag and methodically stuffs them in the first one.

I’m a bit taken aback and too tired to argue. I figure she has a method to her madness. She’s looking around nervously, so I wonder if a manager has yelled at her for letting a customer bag their own items.

She continues scanning and bagging, but in the most bizarre order: reaching for items of various sizes to play Tetris with the bags. She completely ignores my item groups, putting cleaners in with frozen meals, canned goods in with random lemons or potatoes, cosmetics in with juice, etc.

And she does all of this very slowly… while the line behind me gets longer.

I try a couple of times to help pack things, but she glares at me and ends up rearranging things. Finally, she’s done.

Cashier: “There you go. Got it all in your bags.”

That’s not what I asked, but okay. I paid and lifted the (extremely heavy) bags into the cart.

I’ve never had a cashier fuss at me for trying to help bag. And when I got home, I regretted not insisting on bagging my own items as the bags were difficult to unpack!

My husband and I are at a family-themed resort in Orlando, finishing breakfast with our two children. He takes them to get more food while I sip my coffee. Almost immediately, a man appears.

Man: “Is this seat taken?”

He gestures to the seat my husband occupied not two minutes ago. I look around and see several empty tables.

Me: “There are open seats everywhere else.”

He sits down.

Man: “So, what’s your name?”

Me: “That’s my husband’s seat.”

Man: “I’m [Man].”

Me: “Please leave.”

Man: “How long are you—”

Me: *As loudly as I can* “LEAVE!”

The man nearly falls out of the chair. Several people around us have stopped eating and are now watching.

Man: “I’m just—”

Me: “Leave.”

Man: “No, I—”

Another man chimes in.

Man #2: “Hey, dude, you should leave her alone.”

Man: “I’m trying to be nice! She was sitting alone!”

Me: “I’m not alone.”

I point at my husband and children, now watching the show. My husband smiles and waves.

Man: “F****** b****.”

Man #2: *Standing up* “Look, you can’t talk like that. There are kids.”

[Man] makes a hasty retreat, though not into the resort. Instead, he walks out across the parking lot and leaves completely. My family sits down.

Husband: *Grinning* “Making friends?”

Me: “As always.”

We spoke with the front desk after breakfast. Apparently, the man lives nearby and often comes over to help himself to free food and harass women. They told us he is banned from the property but unless they call the police — which they don’t want to do because it would tarnish the resort’s reputation — they can’t do anything except keep an eye on him.

I work at the front entrance of a theme park. Today, I am stationed at the Will Call area, where people can pick up pre-purchased tickets. A woman comes up to me with her digital ticket on her phone. At the top, it basically says, “This is your ticket. Go directly into the park.” Occasionally, people actually read it.

Guest: “I have a question.”

Me: Yes?

Guest: “This is my ticket.”

I have heard countless people say these four words as a question. This woman is a native English speaker with an American accent. There is not the slightest bit of inflection in her voice to make it sound like she’s unsure. This is 100% a statement.

Me: “Yes, it is.”

Insert a few seconds of staring contest here.

Me: “I’m sorry, you said you had a question?”

Guest: “This is my ticket.”

Again, it is 100% a statement.

Me: “Yes, it is.”

Guest: *Still calm* “So, what do I do now?”

Me: *A little confused* “You… go in.”

Guest: *Instantly full of rage* “You know, you really need to get a better attitude and respect your elders!”

I open my mouth several times, but I genuinely have no words.

Guest: *Mimicking my voice* “’You go in!’ How on earth was I supposed to know that?!”

Me: “Because… you have your ticket, ma’am?”

Guest: “And just how was I supposed to know that?!“

Me: “You… said those exact words yourself, ma’am.”

Guest: “So? You still can’t expect me to know that!”

Me: “I… can’t expect you to know… what you yourself just said, ma’am?”

Guest: “No! I’ve never been here before! How am I supposed to know that if I’ve never been here before?!”

Me: “How are you supposed to know… the words you just spoke yourself?”

Guest: “Yes! Apparently, what I’ve heard is true; they do only hire idiots at these places!

I lost all powers of speech again at this point, but at least that meant she stormed off to harass someone else.

I am visiting a major theme park (well before the health crisis) with my uncle, a Vietnam Navy vet with mobility issues, and he is in a wheelchair I am pushing around. We are queued for the latest must-ride attraction that simulates riding a flying creature, and the wait is almost two hours from start to finish.

As the line loops back on itself, a woman well behind us leans over the railing and addresses my uncle, who is wearing a cap with his ship on it.

Woman: “Thank you for your service.”

Uncle: “Thank you.”

Woman: *To me* “Do you need help with that? I’m sure you’re tired from holding that on this hill.”

Me: “Nope, I have it, thanks.”

She turns away, the line moves us apart, and I think that’s the end of it, but a short while later, behind me, I hear:

Woman: “Excuse me, please, I’m with them. Here, let me take that.”

Suddenly, she’s nudging me out of the way to take the handles of the wheelchair, insisting it would be an honor for her to push a veteran’s wheelchair. [Uncle] is craning his neck around trying to see what’s going on as the wheelchair is starting to rock from the struggle, but he isn’t really in a position to do anything but hold on. I’m not a small guy, and I try not to budge, but she’s no slouch, and I really don’t want to get in a physical altercation at the happiest place on Earth. We’re also in a sea of people waiting, so even if there was a staff member in hearing distance, backup getting to us would take time, and the rest of the line is just gawking, confused.

Panic takes over and I end up shouting out a meme:

Me: “That’s my uncle! I don’t know you!”

Somehow, that’s what makes her slink back off to where she was originally. I’m not sure if she was abandoning the rest of her group or the plan was to bring them up once she’d secured her place, but she was only gaining maybe ten or fifteen minutes in the line and was relying way too much on us letting a stranger grab our wheelchair.

On the bright side, when the ride properly starts, my uncle, who has been grumbling for the rest of the time we waited in line, bellows out:

Uncle: “This was worth the wait! This was worth the whole trip!”

I work in the ticket windows at a major theme park. A guest comes to my window with a boy of about six in tow.

Guest: *Pointing to the boy* “We forgot this one’s annual pass. Can we get a new copy?”

Me: “Of course, what’s the name on the pass?”

Guest: “David Smith.”

Since the pass is for someone clearly too young to have an ID to match it to, I search for the name “David Smith” and establish that I have the correct pass by verifying the phone number and email address on file. I’m given the correct information, so I finish the process and print a new pass.

Me: *Handing the new pass directly to the boy* “Here you go, kiddo! Maybe have Dad help you keep closer track of it this time, okay?”

He looks at his pass, and then he looks like he’s about to cry.

Boy: “But my name is Wyatt.”

Guest: “Why did you reprint David’s pass?”

Me: “Because you said the pass you needed belonged to David Smith.”

Guest: “No, David Smith paid for it. But the pass is for Wyatt Jones. So why did you reprint David’s?”

Me: “Because I didn’t ask you who paid for it. I asked whose pass it was.”

I start the process over, searching for and verifying the correct pass this time.

Guest: “There’s a difference?”

Me: “Well, unless Wyatt paid for his own annual pass, yes, there is a massive difference.”

Guest: “But I pointed to Wyatt when we forgot his pass. Shouldn’t you have known to look for his pass?”

Me: “How?”

Guest: “How what?”

Me: “How would I have known to look for Wyatt’s pass when the only name you gave me was David?”

He opens and closes his mouth several times. I seem to have stumped him. His wife, however, turns out to be just out of my sight and she understands exactly where he went wrong. She tells him so in ways I only wish I could while being on the clock. I hand him Wyatt’s pass.

Me: “Here is the pass you actually needed. Please make sure to give David his new pass before he visits again and explain to him why the one he has no longer works. Have a nice day.”

He looked like he wanted to say something, but his wife moved him along with an apologetic glance, still giving him grief.

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