I work in a Pennsylvanian Dutch amusement park. A Russian woman comes up with her toddler, babbling away in baby talk.

Apparently, this child is talking to me, because the mother gets very upset at me, yelling and cussing me out because I can’t understand her two-year-old child speaking Russian baby-talk. Not only do I not speak Russian, but even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to understand him, just like I can’t understand other two-year-olds I have to work with. Usually, I just have them point at what they want or their parents will help, but not this lady.

Mother: *Cussing me out and yelling in Russian.*

When she finishes she seems to expect a response:

Me: “Uh, I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t speak Russian.”

She repeats most of it in English, still yelling, then grabs one of the things I am still holding out to offer the kid and storms off.

Back in high school, I got a summer job at an amusement park. If you were active-duty military, you and your dependents got free access to the park once a year.

A lady came in with a group of kids and other adults and handed me a FAKE active military ID. The image and information looked legitimate according to my reference sheet, but she had seriously printed it out and badly duct-taped it to a white plastic card. No one with her had a dependent ID, either.

Me: “Ma’am, I can’t accept this ID. I could lose my job for letting in a group of over ten people for free.”

She argued with me. I pointed out that her fake ID was actually illegal, but her attitude clearly told me she didn’t care.

Lady: “If you won’t give me free tickets, I want to talk to your manager, supervisor, or whoever!”

Me: *Gladly.* “Okay!”

A manager, who was in their twenties, came, but the woman yelled at them, too, and demanded a higher supervisor. The supervisor, an older, no-nonsense lady, came out.

Supervisor: “Ma’am, I’ll call security to keep you from leaving and gladly wait here with you for the cops to come.”

She finally left with her group and never came back.

I’m working in a theme park that features a world showcase of eleven countries, and each of those countries is staffed by actual citizens of those countries; it’s a cultural representation program. I’m from Canada and so am working in the Canadian Pavilion.

Me: “Hello, how are you?”

Guest: “Where are you from?”

Me: “Alberta, Canada.”

Guest: “But you’re now American?”

Me: “No, still Canadian. The Countries in the World Showcase are staffed by people from the actual country; this way we can represent and teach about our country.”

Guest: *Starting to get mad* “Then you took a job away from my son.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you guys Canadian and he wasn’t chosen to participate in the program?”

Guest: “No, we’re true Americans that live here in Florida and my son can’t get a job here! If you illegals weren’t taking jobs here, then he could get a job here!”

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry to hear about your son, but the point of the program is so the countries have true representation and not people faking knowing about Canada or the other countries.”

Guest: “This is America, so it should be Americans first!”

Me: “I’m sorry, I really don’t know what else to tell you. Your son can always try again at the hiring department.”

Guest: “Yeah, he should and then he can take your job.”

Me: “Sorry, sir, he can’t. He’s not Canadian and only Canadians can work in the pavilion.”

At that moment, my Canadian manager — we have three that walk around the showcase and check on the staff; one’s American, one’s Canadian, and one’s French — comes in and asks a coworker what’s going on and then comes over to me and the guest.

Manager: “Hello, sir, what seems to be the problem?”

The guest looks at the manager and sees his name tag says he’s from Ontario, Canada.

Guest: “F*** this.”

As he walks away, my manager looks at me for an explanation.

Me: “Perfect timing. You just proved to him that only Canadians can work in Canada.”

Related:
Blame Canada! Part 11
Blame Canada! Part 10
Blame Canada! Part 9
Blame Canada! Part 8
Blame Canada! Part 7

A family requests a specific room layout, and the only one left is on the concierge floor, normally reserved for business guests and off-limits to kids.

Concierge has a special lounge area with couches and chairs. The dad is sitting in the lounge reading a paper, and his daughter is jumping around the room, couch to chair to couch. The girl at the concierge desk goes over.

Concierge: “Sir, please ask your daughter not to jump on the furniture, because she might fall and get hurt.”

Guest: *Flipping out, yelling* “Who do you think you are, telling me how to raise my kid?!”

As he’s screaming at the concierge, the little girl misses a couch, falls, and lands on the $18,000 cut-glass “Little Mermaid” coffee table, breaking it. The guy grabs the crying child by the arm and walks away.

Guest: “I told you not to jump around like that!”

I work in a theme park. Weekends get very busy. It isn’t unusual for the line to enter the parks to stretch all the way back into the shopping/entertainment complex, or even all the way back to security. It’s just how it is these days, and most people just roll with it. Most of them.

I’m positioned at the end of the line for purchasing tickets, wiping each counter and credit card machine down with disinfectant after each group, making sure people keep their masks up, etc. It’s about 1:30 in the afternoon, and we’re finally starting to get caught up after our morning rush. The line is only ten to fifteen minutes long. A couple gets in line and the man waves me over.

Entitled Dude: *Incredulously* “Excuse me, but we purchased annual passes online yesterday. Do we really have to wait in this line?”

Me: “Yes, sir, you’re in the right place. No need to worry.”

Entitled Dude: “No, I don’t think you understand. We purchased annual passes.”

Me: *Confused* “…and this is where you pick them up, sir.”

Entitled Dude: “I really don’t think we should be made to wait in a line with these people when we’re annual pass holders. We spent a lot more money than they did to be here.”

Me: “I’m sorry you feel that way, sir, but this is the only place to pick up those annual passes.”

Entitled Dude: “So, you’re telling me that I paid [price of the most expensive annual pass] for these passes and you’re going to make me wait in line behind them? This is unacceptable.”

The end of the line has moved at least ten feet so far during this conversation.

Me: “Again, I’m sorry you feel that way, sir, but to be completely frank with you, an hour ago this line went all the way to the other side of those arches. You are not going to be waiting long at all by comparison.”

Entitled Dude: *Getting huffier and huffier* “If this line had been that long when we arrived, I would have just gotten the passes refunded and left. This is not how you treat people after they spend [price of the most expensive passes].”

Me: “You certainly don’t have to stay in this line if you don’t want to, sir. If cancelling the passes is what you’d prefer to do, you’re more than welcome to do so.”

Entitled Dude: “Is there someone I could speak to about this? I am not feeling very welcomed here at all.”

Me: “Guest Services would be the only people who could assist you in this situation, sir. You’re welcome to visit them at your convenience, right over there.”

I pointed out another line and returned to my other responsibilities. When they got to the front of the line, I hurried to wipe down the counter of the unlucky coworker who was about to end up with them, apologized profusely for what she was about to deal with, and promised to fill her in when I could. I watched the transaction from a distance, and it took longer than it should have, seeing as it was a simple order pickup. Ultimately, one of our leads came up to them, spoke to them briefly, and walked away with them toward the entrance gates.

Long story short, they threw another fit with my coworker about having to wait. They had purchased our cheapest two-park pass as opposed to our most expensive three-park pass, and they refused to leave the window until they saw a manager. That’s when the lead showed up, gave them a completely insincere but convincing apology, and offered to escort them directly to the entrance to make sure they didn’t have to wait in another line, which placated them enough that no complaint about my coworker or me came in.

Joke’s on the jerk, though; by that time, there was no line at all at the front gate, so he didn’t actually get anything in the end… unless you count getting laughed at in the break room later!