(Our train station kiosk is not owned by the railway company — like most here in the country are — and people often don’t know that besides selling coffee and snacks we also provide travel info. In the Netherlands, all students above 18 get a public transport card — PT card — which they can use to travel for free on weekdays and get a discount during holidays. It’s summer break at the moment. A mother and her teenage son walk in. They both seem quite nervous.)

Mother: “You don’t happen to know anything about student PT cards, do you?”

Me: “Sure, I do! I used to have one when I was in college. What do you need to know?”

Mother: “Well, my son here needs to activate his subscription on his card but we don’t know how!“

Me: “Don’t worry. It’s easy. Let me show you.”

(I walk outside with them to the machine. I put his card in front of the reader, select ”pick up subscription,” select the only option it gives next, and then proceed to hold the card in front of the reader a second time, like instructed on the screen.)

Me: “There you go. All set.”

Mother: “Oh, it works that fast? Can he travel using this card now?”

Me: “Technically, yes. But because it’s summer break it’s not valid yet, but it automatically will be once school starts. Until then, he travels with a 40% discount.”

Mother: “So, he won’t have to do anything to make it valid?”

Me: “No, ma’am, like I said, that happens automatically.”

Mother: “So, we can use it… like… right now?”

Me: *not knowing how to make myself more clear* “You could, but only with 40% discount. It’s not for free yet. It will be come September. 

Mother: “Are you sure? He can use it once school starts? What if he wants to use it now?” 

(This goes back and forth a couple more times. Finally, I manage to convince her they’re all set.)

Mother: “Well, because you did it so quickly, I just had to make sure, you know! Thanks for the help!”

(They are about to leave when the son speaks up:)

Son: “So, you’re sure I can use this now?” 

Me: *exploding inside*

(I’m in beauty school, currently in the hairdressing program. For those who don’t know, this is a program that comes with quite a bit of equipment — everything from combs and a hairdryer to a “mannequin head” on which to practice haircuts and styles. I have a suitcase that I can fit most of my tools into, but my mannequin head doesn’t quite fit. Picture a young woman with hot pink hair carrying what is essentially a disembodied plastic head around on the bus every morning and evening. On this particular occasion I’m gathering up all my stuff to get off the bus, and I pick up my mannequin head by the hair, as that tends to be the easiest, most secure way to hang onto it. As I lift the head, the woman sitting across from me makes this cheerful comment:) 

Woman: “I like your baby!”

Me: *thinking* “It’s actually a severed head, but okay.”

(In Brisbane, where I live, passenger trains typically have six carriages. Carriages two and five are designated “quiet carriages,” and passengers are requested not to talk loudly or play loud music or electronic devices. I like sitting in these carriages on my way to and from work because I’m very much an introvert and struggle with having a lot of people around me. These little areas of — relative — peace and tranquility make my hour-long commute so much more bearable. This story starts a couple of stops down the line from mine when a lady gets up out of her seat, walks to the door area, and loudly announces:)

Passenger: “Hello, train people!” 

(She then starts to ramble on about getting up and moving, and says something about dancing before playing some music on her phone. She then turns to the nearest person, which happens to be me, and tries to get me up to dance. At this, I simply pull one of my earbuds out of my ear, point to the “quiet carriage” sign on the window, and say:)

Me: “Just so you know, this is a quiet carriage.”

(She looks where I’m pointing, reads the bit about no loud music or talking, turns back to me, and says:)

Passenger: “Oh, do you want me to get off, then?”

(I am a bit taken aback that she hasn’t even made the smallest attempt to apologise for disturbing the carriage, so I say:)

Me: “Actually, if you don’t mind, that’d be great.”

Passenger: “I’ve got so much love in my heart. Do you need a hug?”

(I’m not proud of my reply, but all I want is to do was sit in peace on my way to work.)

Me: “No, I need you to shut up.”

(It did the trick, though, because she packed up her stuff and moved to another carriage.)

(My coworker answers a customer phone call early one morning.)

Customer: “How do your buses run tomorrow morning?”

Coworker: “They run on diesel fuel, ma’am.”

(I had to stifle my laugh, and so did the customer.)

(I am a bus driver. The base fare is $2 and a transfer to another route is an additional $1. The farebox on the bus I am driving jams and won’t accept any bills. This means all passengers ride free.)

Me: “Farebox is jammed. Have a seat and enjoy the ride.”

Passenger: “But I need a transfer.”

Me: “I can’t sell you a transfer; my farebox is jammed.”

Passenger: “But I need it for the 99 bus. I won’t have enough for the bus.”

Me: “You still have the $2 you didn’t put into my fare box.”

Passenger: “Oh.”

Me: “Have a seat, relax, and enjoy the free ride.”