(I am a security contractor for a local university and work at a lot of the sporting events for said university. This conversation happens during the first game of a series between the local university and their rival, who happens to have the word “Texas” in their name. I am checking tickets for this game. A patron goes through security checkpoint, and walks up to me without a ticket visible.)

Me: “Welcome to [University], sir. May I please have your ticket?”

Patron: “I don’t have one.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you in without a ticket.”

Patron: “I shouldn’t have to have a ticket.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but there is no entry without a ticket, no exceptions.”

Patron: “Well, where am I supposed to get one if they aren’t selling them at the ticket office?”

Me: “The event has been sold out for weeks; if you didn’t by a ticket beforehand, there is no way to get one now.”

Patron: “That’s bulls***. I went to Texas, my dad went to Texas, and my kids all went to Texas. I should be allowed in.”

(I’ve heard that argument at almost every game this season and can’t take it anymore.)

Me: “That old man who came in ahead of you was Mr. [Full Name], the man this field is named after. Now, I love him to death, but he had to have a ticket to come in. So, please explain to me what makes you so special that you should be allowed into a sold-out stadium for free, when even he had to pay.”

Patron: *walks off angry and doesn’t come back*

(Just to clarify, the man the field was named after gets complimentary season tickets, and even when he forgets, we wave him in because he is super nice and has trouble getting around due to his age. The patron didn’t know that, though.)

(My boyfriend and I are traveling in Thailand, and we decide to try and see a muay-thai match, so we go to a nearby stadium. At the ticket window, we check the prices, and decide on third-class for $20 instead of first for $60.)

Me: *tapping the seat chart, since my Thai isn’t great* “Third, please.”

(The ticket-seller glances at us, clearly the only white people in line, and also taps the chart.)

Ticket-Seller: “First.”

Me: “No, third.”

Ticket-Seller: “Farang—” *white people* “—always sit in first.”

Me: “We want tickets for third-class, please.”

Ticket-Seller: “But there will be Thai people there!”

Me: “I hope so; we’re in Thailand!”

(Third-class seats turned out to be perfectly comfortable, and everyone was too busy cheering the athletes on to notice or care about the white couple cheering, too. As an added bonus, my boyfriend checked out the first-class area in his way back from the bathroom, and it turned out they were selling the same beer for twice the price!)

(I am volunteering at a major international sporting event as a venue host, so I answer customer’s questions, show them to their seats, etc. All the flags of the participating nations in this particular event are hanging from the ceiling of the venue. I am also a huge geography nerd.)

Customer: “Excuse me; do you which country has that white and maroon flag?”

Me: “That is Latvia.”

Customer: “Oh. What about that red, green, and white one?”

Me: “That’s Belarus.”

Customer: “Did you guys have to memorize all this stuff?”

Me: “No, sir, you just happened to ask the right person about this stuff.”

(My school’s PE classes are a joke. To get us moving, my mom signs us up for the county track and field team. Anyone under 18 can participate, with events divided up by age. One day, my older sister and I are off training for our field events, but most of the team is training for long-distance running. My mom is watching the runners from the stands, keeping an eye on the youngest of our siblings. The teens finish first, of course. Then the pre-teens. Then the rugrats — eight and under — start trailing in. One of the teenage boys looks over and notices my little brother still has nearly a full lap to go, and is crying his tiny eyes out. He is three-quarters of a lap behind the next kid, and absolutely devastated to be so far behind.)

Teen #1: “[Brother] is in trouble!”

(All the teenage boys get up from their cool-down stretches, and dash over to my brother, pacing him for the rest of his lap.)

Teen #2: “Come on, [Brother]! You can do this.”

Teen #3: “1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4! You-can-do-this!”

(They all took up the chant, running in perfect time with his tiny, four-year-old legs. He stopped crying, and started to speed up a little, finally crossing the finish line. The moment he stepped across it, they swept him off his feet, carried him on their shoulders, and ran a victory lap, cheering and shouting his name. My mom sobbed, unashamedly. Not only did they know this little kid’s name, but then they did all that to encourage him, and keep him from quitting. My little brother has since become a fantastic runner. When he was 12, he started running more than ten miles to church for youth group, just for fun. We’re all very glad he never gave up.)

(My mom takes my younger brothers and me to a baseball game with some friends of ours. Before the game starts, my youngest brother announces he has to use the bathroom, so off he and my mom go. I sit in our seats with our friends for a while before the national anthem is sung, and it isn’t until the game starts that my mom and brother finally return. My mom is almost crying, she is laughing so hard. Apparently, my mom waited outside the bathroom for quite a while. When my brother finally came out, she asked him:)

Mom: “What took so long? Is everything okay?”

Brother: “The anthem was being sung, and I couldn’t sit down!”