I used to love traveling until one vacation that I was looking forward to all year got canceled due to bad weather. I was crying all night and, to make matters worse, I was treated like a criminal for HOURS by airport authorities.

Since then, I’ve decided that staying home is better, and I’ve been to all the places that I’ve wanted to visit anyway. My brother, who was supposed to vacation with me but was traveling separately, was very disappointed that he had to vacation by himself. He cursed me out, blaming me.

I’ve told my sister everything about it.

Sister: “It’s terrible what happened to you, but I think that [Brother] had it worse.”

Me: “What?”

Sister: “Well, he had to travel twenty hours to vacation with you and you didn’t even show up. He was all alone on the cruise.”

Me: “It wasn’t my fault! Do you think I wanted to be at a freezing airport overnight when I was supposed to be in a different country?! At least he got to go! I wasted money!”

Sister: “I know, but I just think he was worse off.”

We argued about it and she wouldn’t give me a reason why she thought that he was worse off, just that she felt it was. She does think the airport authorities were out of line when they demanded to see the money in my bank accounts. At least my brother saw that I was right and apologized later.

I am a French Canadian woman visiting Paris as a tourist. I am traveling by myself. I have never boarded a plane in my life before. I have never even set foot into an airport. Unfortunately, between my anxiety due to the novelty of the experience and turbulences, I’ve felt sick during most of the flight and have gotten no rest.

Adding jetlag to the equation, I’m far from my best upon arrival, so I decide to take it easy and explore the area close to my hotel on foot. I head for the Basilica of Sacré-Coeur and start climbing the long stairs in front. I try to figure out where I am supposed to enter as I am climbing, but I see no indication. A group of young men is sitting in the grass. One of them gets up and walks confidently towards me, so confidently that I’m starting to wonder if he is a volunteer for the Basilica.

He addresses me in several languages for some reason while I’m trying to figure out why he is there. He then makes a sign for me to put one hand in front of me, which I do. He gets what seems like a simple sewing thread spool out of his pocket and makes a gesture to put it around my middle finger.

As if hit by lightning, I suddenly get extremely uncomfortable at the idea of a stranger attaching anything to my body. Without thinking, I bolt away. He calls me back, but I only glance behind to make sure he is not following me while scrambling away from him as fast as I can.

The experience leaves me completely puzzled. I later ask a French friend in Paris if he has any idea what that was about and he is as clueless as I am.

Five years later, I am browsing videos at random on the Internet, from dashcam scams to tourist scams. I finally stumble on an intriguing video. It turns out that this was a variant of the “Friendship Bracelet Scam” in Montmartre, only in my case it was apparently a ring variation. If I had let him string my finger, he would have harassed me for money or one of his friends could have tried to steal from me. At last, I can make sense of what took place. As far as I can tell, this scam had yet to be widely documented at the time of my trip.

I am slightly mad at myself that I let him even approach me. I use an anti-theft bag whenever I know I might find myself distracted in a crowded area at home and take even more precautions when I travel without anyone to rely on. However, I am also very relieved that my instincts kicked in just in time to keep me out of harm’s way even if it took place in a moment I was, understandably, not as alert as usual.

The lesson I derived from the experience is that I’m likely to be most vulnerable right upon arrival. Two years later, a fake and insistent taxi driver in a New York airport also got me confused before I ever got a chance to see the multiple written warnings everywhere, but again, I escaped him and gathered my thoughts in a restroom. I’ve yet to have anything unsettling happen to me after the first day of a trip!

I am only fourteen, coming back home after visiting my dad, with only enough money to pay for my bus ticket and a meal. Student cards are only given out after school pictures have been taken.

Me: “One ticket to [Town], please. And I’m a student.”

I show him my student card.

Teller: “That’s from last year. You need this year’s student card.”

Me: “But, my school only took pictures a couple of weeks ago. We don’t have this year’s card yet.”

Teller: “No, pictures were taken two months ago. You should have your card by now. If you don’t have this year’s card, you’re a dropout and need to pay full price.”

Me: “We didn’t get our pictures taken until just a couple weeks ago. We haven’t gotten our new IDs yet.”

Teller: *yelling* “No! Pictures were taken two months ago! You are a dropout and you have to pay full price!“

Me: “Pictures were only two weeks ago! We haven’t gotten our new IDs yet!”

Teller: “If you don’t want to pay for your ticket, then get out of my line and let me serve an actual customer!”

I paid full price for my ticket, using my food money to cover it. Thanks to him, I went twelve straight hours without eating anything. My new ID didn’t arrive for another three weeks.

This happens when my daughters are very young — around seven and five. My husband and I just took a road trip from Winnipeg, Manitoba to see my parents in British Columbia.

During our trip home, we intend to stop for the night in Edmonton, Alberta, but we get a flat tire. Luckily, we are able to make it to a garage with no problems, but by the time the tire is replaced, it is late afternoon.

Husband: “The way I see it, we have two choices. We can keep driving to Edmonton, but we won’t get there until around 9:00 pm.”

Me: “Yuck. That would be okay if it was just you and me, but the girls will be exhausted and cranky.”

Husband: “Yeah, I agree. That leaves us with option #2: stop somewhere else. Jasper isn’t that far away.”

Me: “Huh. I’ve never been to Jasper. It’s a bit expensive, though, isn’t it?”

Husband: “So I’ve heard, but that’s our best bet.”

Me: “Option #2 it is. I’ll phone the hotel in Edmonton and cancel our reservation.”

So, we head for Jasper. We are a bit concerned that we won’t be able to find a place to stay, but after only a couple of tries, we find a nice hotel. It is indeed a bit more pricey than the Edmonton hotel would have been in, but not by much. Jasper itself is beautiful; it’s surrounded by mountains and the town is charming. We have a lovely dinner in a cozy restaurant, and then we turn in for the night, happy and comfortable.

The following day, I phone my parents to let them know how our drive home is going, and I tell them of our little adventure.

Dad: “What?! You stayed in Jasper?! Are you nuts? That’s a tourist trap! They charge you an arm and a leg! Why didn’t you drive to Edmonton?”

Me: “I told you, Dad. The kids would’ve been miserable, and so would we.”

Dad: “Oh, for Pete’s sake. They would have survived.”

Me: “Jasper wasn’t even that expensive, and we had a really nice time.”

Dad: *Sarcastically* “Well, good to know that you’re made of money.”

I gave up at that point. I should have remembered that when my parents and I took road trips when I was a kid, Dad was the “drive for as long as possible until your passengers are in tears from discomfort and boredom and then stay in the very cheapest motel you can find” type.

To this day, my family and I reminisce about that evening in Jasper. It was one of the highlights of our vacation.

A couple of friends and I go to the Oceanarium and we are in line to purchase our tickets. Ahead of us in the queue is an American family with their son. 

Customer: “Three tickets.”

Employee: “All right. Is your son over twelve years old?”

Customer: “No. And I am a veteran.”

Employee: “Okay, so one child and two adult tickets; that will be [price].”

Customer: “That’s too expensive. Did you apply a discount for me being a veteran?”

Employee: “There is no such discount. Children, senior, and family discounts are all we have, and a family discount requires you to have two children under the age of twelve.”

Customer: “That’s completely unacceptable. I have served in the Marines and I deserve a discount.”

Employee: “As I already told you, there is no discount for that. You might have served in the military, but that was not in Portugal, so it makes no sense for you to get a discount here. And even if you had served in Portugal, we have no discounts for people in the military.”

Customer: “I want to speak to your manager.”

The employee calls the manager.

Employee: “He is unavailable at this time; he’ll need at least thirty minutes before he can come here.”

Customer: “Is that the service you give customers in Europe? I demand to speak to a manager immediately.”

Employee: “As I have told you, he’s unavailable for the next thirty minutes. Right now, you have three options: you pay [price]; you step aside and I can give you our complaints book so you can make a written complaint; or you leave the queue.”

Customer: “I think I will just wait here for the manager.”

Employee: “That is not a possibility, I’m afraid. You are holding up other customers, and that is not okay. You’ll have to choose, now, one of the three options I have just presented to you; otherwise, I will call security and they will choose for you.”

Customer: “Fine! Back in the States, we can see better fish, anyway!”

And at that, he and his family turned around and left, but not before throwing all the Oceanarium maps and pamphlets on the ground.