I work at an aquarium near the touch pool; a simulated rock pool with crabs and sea anemones the kids can touch, situated right above the open topped Black Tipped Reef Shark and Moon Ray tank. That’s right, I said open topped. With about 1.3-metre-thick glass sides. It’s filled with water, sharks, and stingrays.

About three times a day I have this conversation:

Me: “Ma’am! Please do not dangle your baby over the shark tank!”

The parents were not impressed by my adherence to basic common sense. I got thrown incredulous looks, angry retorts, the lot. The crowning glory though was the dad who informed me:

Dad: “It’s fine, you can just jump in there after them.”

Me: “Sir, I am a 5ft 2′ minimum wage worker, you could not pay me to jump in shark infested water to save your baby that you just dropped.”

My husband used to work for an American company. We were invited to Presidents Week — a week-long beano for “high-fliers” at a five-star beach resort in Mexico.

One day, we went on a boat trip across a huge bay to an island, where we rode the most placid horses in the world to a waterfall-fed swimming hole and then on to a shallow beach for lunch, sunbathing, and a little light snorkelling, before returning to the boat. It was an okay day — pleasant enough.

Until, on the way back…

Out on the bay, a fluke (a whale’s tail) was spotted right in our path. Then another. And another, and another. A huge pod of humpback whales — around forty —was suddenly just… there.

It gets better. They started breaching — that “jump” up into the air, to come crashing back down into the water. They started small but built up and up until up to seven whales were fully out of the water at a time.

We kept our distance and just watched. It wasn’t safe (for us or the whales) to try to continue, as we had no idea where the next one was coming from. It was possibly the most exhilarating sight of my life.

My husband and I were quietly chatting with the English-speaking local guide and the crew. He’d been a guide on this sort of trip for twenty-four years, some of them had been doing it longer, and the captain was a man easily well into his eighties who had spent his entire life out on the water. None of them had ever seen anything like it in their entire lives, nor had they heard of anyone seeing anything like it.

It was well worth being an hour and a half late returning to the dock — though one “princess” threw a fit about that.

I work on a tour boat. We have to rip the guests’ ticket stubs as reference for how many passengers are on board, and every day without fail there will be someone waving it in front of us:

Tourist: “You can see we have tickets! See ya!”

Fortunately, the second crew member at the top of the ramp will always send them back down regardless of their hissy fit.

I am a third-party tour guide, and I am showing some tourists visiting from the Midwest around The Alamo, the famous historical building in Texas. I am explaining the history of the building and the famous “Battle Of The Alamo” to the tourists.

Me: “So, after the thirteen-day siege, the Texans fell to the Mexican Republic—”

Tourist: “Wait… we lost?”

Me: “Uh… yes.”

Tourist: “That’s not how I remember it.”

I go on to explain in more detail what happened and how it was a turning point in the Mexican-American War. The tourist looks angry but is listening quietly.

Tourist: “Well… The Alamo is in America now, so… I guess we won in the end!”

I drive tourists around a large Safari park in South Africa. We get tourists from all over the world, and while I would never EVER laugh at someone’s accent or command of English, sometimes they will come up with something I can’t help but smile at.

Tourist: “When will we see the… how you say?”

Me: “Can you describe the animal to me?”

Tourist: “Like… pony, but looks like… prison?”

Me: “A zebra?”

Tourist: “Yes! When will we see prison pony?!”

That’s what I’m calling ’em from now on!