I spent ten years conducting English-speaking tours of the Colosseum in Rome, Italy. This was the one question I got from a tourist that stumped me in all that time:

Tourist: “Is this where Jesus fought the lions?”

Me: “I… uh… no.”

Tourist: *Disappointed.* “Oh.”

The tourist’s spouse then chastised her:

Tourist’s Spouse: “Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone knows that happened in Jerusalem.”

Tourist: “Oh yeah!”

Some of the other tourists are chuckling at the interaction. One of the teenage boys says:

Teenage Boy Tourist: “That sounds like a bad-a** movie!”

I couldn’t help but agree!

It’s the Catholic Church’s Jubilee in Rome and the Vatican, so naturally, there are a lot of pilgrims around. And when I say “a lot”, I do mean it: the city is packed to the gills with people. Because yellow and green are the “official” color scheme for this Jubilee, most pilgrims wear at least a yellow-green scarf with the logo, an important detail for later.

I am bar-tending during a lull in activity, when a guy reaches the bar counter and orders a pretty strong cocktail. He pays, I make it, and, after a few sips, he starts talking to me.

Customer: *In English.* “Between you and me, what do you think of all those people going about with Hezbollah colors?”

Me: *Confused.* “Excuse me, what?”

Customer: “You didn’t notice? All those people going about, wearing green and yellow keffiyeh and s***. F***ers have gotten bold.”

Me: “I… sir, you do know it’s Jubilee Year, right? Those are the official colors.”

Customer: “F***’s a Giu-bi-li?”

Me: “…No? It’s a bit too long to explain, but… It’s a Catholic tradition.”

Customer: “Of what, celebrating the Crusades?”

I decided to switch the topic to something else, in case he turned aggressive towards me or something. The level of logical leapfrogging needed to get in that position sounds hallucinatory to me.

I am giving an English-speaking tour of the Colosseum to a bunch of tourists.

Tourist: “Why didn’t the Romans build a parking lot for the Colosseum?”

I laugh, thinking she’s joking.

Tourist: “Look, I’m not an idiot, I know they didn’t have cars back then and stuff, but they had horse and carriages, right? My husband and I tried to find parking to be here today, and it was really tough finding a spot! Those Romans should have thought of that!”

Me: “Uh, well, this is an ancient historical site, so there’s not much opportunity to forward a complaint to the original designers.”

Tourist: “This is why America is better. We have no issue tearing something down to make it better.”

I look at the rest of her tour group for a sign – any sign – that she’s joking. Alas… she is not.

CONTENT WARNING: Child abuse

I work part-time at a place selling stuffed pizza bread triangles, sorta like “handwiches” but actually worth it, which are very popular.

A woman enters with a boy who looks to be about six years old. There’s nobody else in line.

Woman: *In English.* “Order up now.”

The boy then says a phrase I can’t really understand. I decide that, hey, maybe he was just pronouncing things wrong.

Me: “I am sorry, I did not understand. Can you please say that again?”

The boy freezes up and stutters out some syllables.

Woman: *Shouting.* “Why do you always waste everybody’s time like this?”

Boy: “M-Mom I—”

Woman: “So, order now for all of us, c’mon!”

Boy: “I, uh… I… I would like one of your pizza… things, with…”

He stopped to look at the menu; apparently, that was the wrong move.

Woman: “What are you waiting for? Speak!”

This causes the boy to freeze up and stare at me pleadingly. I decide to try to salvage the situation.

Me: “We have meatballs in red sauce—”

Woman: “—No, he made this bed, now he’ll have to lie on it.”

Me: “Eggplant parmesan—”

Woman: “—Why are you enabling him?”

I decide to stop and, mentally, go for Plan B.

Boy: “I-I would like to have one pizza thing with meatballs, for me; zucchini thingamajig for mom; and… uh…”

He stops for quite a bit of time and stutters nonsense. I open my mouth, but before I can speak…

Woman: “Ugh, you’re so useless! Let’s go get your dad.”

So, they leave and return shortly after with the father in tow. I must stress that, at this point, that neurotic b**** and the child are the only customers.

Man: “You’ve got anything Alfredo?”

Me: “No, we have cream cheese and anchovies, if you want something with mostly cheese.”

Man: “Okay, fine, let’s go with that.”

I go and prepare the order. In the corner of my eye, I see the man scolding the boy, who is looking dejected. At this point, I’m more convinced than ever to go with Plan B. I serve them up, then add a brownie to their order. When they go pick it up…

Woman: “A brownie? We didn’t order a brownie.”

Me: “Oh, it’s for the kid, customary stuff.”

Woman: “F*** your customs, he ain’t getting s*** until he stops being so difficult with strangers.”

She then grabbed the brownie, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it before returning to the table, where she kept on berating the boy.

Not sure about the boy’s exact problem with speech, but he definitely didn’t deserve such horrid treatment!

My job is as a tech at a diagnostic imaging clinic: think echographies, x-rays, and so on. The clinic cannot offer any other sort of services whatsoever.

A young man calls for an appointment “as soon as possible” for a foot x-ray. The day comes, and he gives some general information to the doctor. He says he suffered a domestic accident and wanted to be sure. The doctor asks him to remove his shoe and socks. When he does, even I can tell something’s very wrong with his pinky toe, because it’s bruised and as purple as a plum.

Doctor: “That definitely looks fractured! Why aren’t you in urgent care!?”

Patient: “Doctor, if I told the nurse at the hospital’s desk I stubbed my pinky toe on a bedside table, how many hours do you think she would’ve laughed at me?”

Doctor: “How the h*** are you even walking? That looks like you’ve gotten bone dust in there.”

Man: “I dunno, just put on some ice and a f***-ton of Voltaren on it.”

In the end, his pinky toe was really fractured. In fact, it was beyond fractured: it apparently was never going to heal properly. I want to have that man’s pain tolerance.