I’m on a walking tour of the Capitol Building with my very curious, very unfiltered four-year-old. He’s been good and asking questions about some statues and paintings.

We get into an elevator. A man on crutches joins us, one pant leg neatly folded where his leg used to be. My son’s eyes go wide. He speaks to me in a ‘stage whisper’ that is somehow louder than his normal voice.

Son: “Mom… what happened to his leg?!”

I freeze. I’m about to launch into a whispered lecture on being polite, but the man just smiles.

Man: “I lost it about a year ago, buddy.”

Son: “Did you check between the couch cushions? My mom says she always loses s*** in there.”

Silence.

I want the elevator to break, or vanish, or swallow me whole. The man lets out a loud laugh.

Man: “Well, I thought I looked there… but maybe I missed a spot!”

I mouth I’m so sorry while my son just looks proud he was helpful.

CORRECTION: A bit of colorful language was left uncensored in the original version. This has now been corrected.

I work at a medieval historical site in England. We have a castle that’s been on the site in some form since the 11^th century. I get a call on the customer enquiry line and hear an American accent.

Caller: “Yeah, hi, I’m visiting next month. I’m on your website, and it doesn’t show how people with access issues can get to the top of the castle. Can you update the website to show that?”

Me: “I’m sorry, madam, but the castle tower isn’t accessible to people in wheelchairs or with mobility issues.”

There is a noticeable long pause before she says:

Caller: “You’re kidding?”

Me: “I’m afraid not, madam. The rest of the castle has been updated with accessible features like ramps and a small elevator for the main floors, but the tower is simply a winding staircase that was built hundreds of years ago. There’s no room for an elevator.”

Caller: “That’s totally unacceptable! How am I supposed to get up there?!”

Me: “Our website has a virtual tour of the tower and photos of the view that—”

Caller: “—I know it does! I’m on it right now!”

Me: “…then you can see that there’s no room for any kind of elevator.”

Caller: “Build one outside!”

Me: “We put in a lot of effort to preserve the castle as much as possible, and building a large and modern elevator on the outside of the tower would—”

Caller: “—so other people can get up there, but I can’t?”

Me: “We… don’t limit access to those who feel they can climb the steps, madam.”

Caller: “That’s not fair! This is illegal!”

Me: “We have a duty to make reasonable updates to the site to allow more accessibility, which we have done. Building an elevator on the outside of the tower would ruin the image of the castle and would be considered unreasonable.”

Caller: “I’ll tell you what’s unreasonable!”

At that point, she breaks out in a barrage of bad language and threats to sue us for breaking all kinds of disability acts. I had to wish her a good day and hang up quickly, apologizing once again that the 13th-century castle wasn’t designed with disabled people in mind.

I work in a call center for a popular local tourist attraction. One of the big draws is a huge garden area, and since spring is just around the corner, we’re getting slammed with calls about tickets. We already have several completely sold-out days. The queue is over forty callers, so we’re just going one after another, trying to get through them as quickly as possible.

I answer a call that just blows my mind.

Lady: “I’ve been on hold for fifteen minutes! This is unacceptable! I’m an annual pass holder!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we have a very large call volume today. You have me now, and I’ll be more than glad to assist.”

Lady: “I have tickets I want to use.”

Me: “Great! What’s the order ID so I can look them up and verify?”

She jerks me around for a while, saying she can’t find it in her email, and asks if I can just do her a solid and set them up. Umm, no. I am not getting fired for giving away something you don’t have. After I explain exactly where to find the number, she magically finds it.

Lo and behold, the tickets have been refunded and are no longer valid.

Me: “It looks like these were refunded on [date].”

Lady: “Yes, I had them refunded.”

Me: “Sooo… when you get a monetary refund, it invalidates the tickets, because you got your money back. These aren’t able to be used.”

Lady: “No, they are still good.”

Me: “No, ma’am, they aren’t. If you want to come on the 3rd, you’ll need to buy new tickets since you got a refund. They’re not valid anymore.”

Lady: “That’s bull-s***!”

Me: “I’m sorry, that’s our policy. Did you want to buy tickets for 2:30 on the 3rd?”

Lady: “I guess I’m going to have to since you’re being mean to me, huh?”

Me: “If you want to come, then yes.”

Lady: “How much are you going to price-gouge me today? Tickets for you all are ridiculous! $130 just for an old f****** house nobody lives in anymore and a run-down garden!”

Me: “Prices for the 3rd are $149 per person.”

Lady: “I’m not paying that!”

Me: “That’s the price. If you want to come, that’s what it will cost.”

Lady: “I’ll just keep calling back until I get someone nice who does this for me!”

What a basket case.

I’m browsing in a small souvenir shop in my hometown, which sits right on the edge of a massive national park. It’s summer, which means peak tourist season, lots of sunburns, sandals, and questions that feel like fever dreams.

A customer walks in and heads straight to the counter, where the shop owner is sorting postcards.

Tourist: “Hi! Quick question! What time do they feed the bears in the park? We’d love to go watch!”

There’s a beat. The owner doesn’t even look up from the postcards.

Shop Owner: “It’s at 8 AM, right next to the waterfalls after they turn them on.”

Tourist: “Perfect, thank you!”

She leaves, blissfully unaware. I just stare at the shop owner, who finally looks up and says:

Shop Owner: “If she makes it back, she gets a magnet.”

Our National Park doesn’t even have waterfalls.

I’m a docent on a rotating shift, answering questions and helping manage foot traffic at the Lincoln Memorial. A man approaches with his teenage son in tow.

Tourist: “Now this… this is where George Washington gave the Emancipation Proclamation, right?”

Me: “Actually, sir, that was Abraham Lincoln. This is the Lincoln Memorial.”

Tourist: “Well, yeah, but Washington helped him write it, right? I mean, they were both presidents.”

His son looks mildly horrified.

Me: “Washington died in 1799. Lincoln wasn’t even born until 1809.”

Tourist: *Already ignoring me.* “Well, maybe they were pen pals.”

I gesture to the massive statue of Abraham Lincoln behind me.

Me: “Sir, if George Washington helped write the Emancipation Proclamation, then I’m the Queen of England.”

Tourist: “So you’re saying that’s not Washington?” *Points at the statue.*

Me: “You’ve just given Lincoln a whole new reason to look that disappointed.”