My dad had a role as an extra for a TV show about the goings-on in the backrooms of parliament.

He was playing a driver for one government minister, and they were filming in and around Parliament House.

Waiting outside the main entrance, dressed the part, and in an official-looking vehicle, my dad waited for the scene to start shooting.

It turns out the delay was the current leader of the opposition coming out of parliament.  

Seeing the car my dad was in, he climbed in the back and directed my dad to take him to the hotel bar where the party members were known to stay when parliament was sitting.

The leader’s staffers and production staff for the TV show all bustled around, trying to get the leader out of the back of the car.

My dad let him know about the filming but told me that he was very tempted to take off and see how far he could get before the police tracked him down.

(It’s December 27^th, 2016. I’m second in line, waiting to check out. The man in front of me has light skin and a shaved head. The clerk is wearing a Star of David, and has been very efficient.)

Clerk: “Your total is [total], sir.”

Customer: “What about my discount?”

Clerk: “What discount do you mean, sir?”

(The man pulls a card from his wallet and brandishes it.)

Customer: “I’m a member here, so I get a 10% discount.”

Clerk: “We don’t have memberships for [Store Chain]. You are showing me a membership card for [Different Chain], sir.”

Customer: “Listen, you [Jewish slur] b****. I want my god-d*** discount now!”

Clerk: “Sir, we do not have a membership. I’m sure that when you stop at [Different Chain], they honor that card.”

Customer: “Trump is in charge now, you know. He’ll round up all you k***s and gas you all, and it can’t happen soon enough.”

Me: *very angrily* “Obama is still in charge until January 20^th, you racist piece of s***. I’m tired and want to buy my stuff and get home. Take your crap off the counter and get the f*** out of my way.”

(If looks could kill, the glare he fired me would have left me dead on the floor, but he handed some money to the cashier, got his change, took his stuff, and got out.)

Cashier: *to me, softly* “Thank you. If I had said anything, I’d have been written up for ‘disrespecting a customer.’”

Me: “That’s insane. Your corporate needs to understand that in cases like that, the customer is never right and always an a**-hole.”

(I fired off an angry e-mail to their corporate when I got home demanding they kick racist customers out of the store or I’d stop shopping there.)

(I am volunteering at a booth at the local county fair. I’m running a bit late for my scheduled shift, so I’m hurrying past the various tents and stands. One that I pass belongs to one of the two main political parties. I barely even glance at the tent, since I’m more focused on getting to where I need to be. As I pass, the man running the political tent shouts:)

Campaigner: “Too scared to talk to us, huh?”

(Way to make sure I DON’T vote for your candidates, dude.)

Coworker: “If these people are sent into endless spirals of paralyzing existential horror by having to choose between three kinds of turkey, why do we allow them to vote?”

(This took place nearly a decade ago. I’ve already voted and am just waiting for my wife to finish. I see an old man being wheeled in by three ladies, who I assume to be his wife, daughter and granddaughter. After entering, the old man takes a good look around before loudly asking a question:)

Old Man: “Where the f*** do I vote for the Nazis?!”

(Most of the voters freeze, and several stare at the old man. The ladies with him all look either shocked or embarrassed.)

Daughter: *sounding shocked* “Dad, you can’t f****** vote for them anymore.”

(They left quickly, and I never saw the old man ever again.)