My wife and I have two huskies, and we take them on car rides to the dog park almost every weekend (weather permitting) and to the pet store at least once a month.

It is early Sunday morning, and we’re heading to the pet store. We get the dogs in the car, and our female husky is content; she’s quietly sitting in the back and watching things out the rear window. Our male husky is his usual self — overly excited. He’s up and down over the back seat and being talkative for the first few minutes. It’s about a fifteen-minute drive to the pet store. After a few minutes, our male husky calms down, and he’s now laying down in the back.

We get within about a half-mile of the pet store, and both dogs must be able to smell the change in the air; they’re excited. They’re both now standing and watching out the windows as we drive closer and closer. We turn into the parking lot and it’s empty. It’s odd that the time is around 8:20 am and they’re not open. We pull up to the entrance and I read the “Hours of Operations” sign.

Sundays: Open 9:00 am.

We’re early. Okay, I guess we’ll make an unscheduled stop at the dog park about five minutes away and then come back.

My wife starts to turn and drive out of the parking lot, and our male husky freaks out and starts to panic. He’s trying to climb up into my lap in the front seat, and he’s whining like a baby and howling as we drive out of the parking lot and away from the store.

I’ve never seen him act that way before. It’s the funniest reaction I’ve ever seen a dog have. Drive to the pet store and then drive away without stopping? He was so upset. Poor puppy!

In the end, after about twenty minutes at the dog park, we go back to the store so he can get his people fix in. He loves meeting all the people, and if other dogs are in the store, that is just an added bonus.

My family is from Canada, and we’re on vacation at a magical place where all your dreams come true. My fiancée and two of her brothers — ages seven and ten — were invited to come with, so they agreed and flew down with us. Her youngest brother is deaf and primarily speaks using ASL (American Sign Language). He likes to hang around with me but looks nothing like me. I am Native American, while my fiancée and her brothers are Metis. It should also be known that I have my trained PTSD service dog in full vest with me.

I have just returned from getting myself something to eat and have sat down on a bench with the seven-year-old. He starts signing to me excitedly that he has just met one of his favourite characters while I was getting food, but he stops as he sees a little girl, around three, come close and pet my dog. He starts pointing to get my attention and I turn to look at the younger girl.

Me: “Oh, no, no, sweetie. We don’t touch this dog; she’s a working dog.”

Girl: “But I wanna!”

She goes to pet my dog with determination in her eyes like I have never seen before.

Me: “I know you do, but do you see the clothes she’s wearing? When you see this patch on a doggie—”

I point to the large patch on the side of the vest: a red hand with “STOP! DO NOT TOUCH: SERVICE DOG” on it.

Me: “—it means we don’t touch, because that dog is working.”

Girl: *Dejectedly* “Oh…”

She runs off to find her parents. I think this is the end of it, and I go back to signing with [Seven-Year-Old]. A few minutes later, however, I hear crying, and I look up to see a swearing man stomping up to me.

Man: “Who the f*** do you think you are, you [Latino slur]?! How dare you tell my daughter what she can and cannot do?!”

Me: “Your daughter was distracting my dog from doing her job, which puts my safety at risk.”

Man: “I don’t give a f***! All you [slur]s are the same, thinking they can do whatever they want! Why don’t you go back to Mexico where you belong?!”

Me: “First, I’m Native American, not Latino. I don’t even remotely look like I’m Latino in any way, shape, or form. Secondly, I’m from Canada, and I do expect to return in two weeks when my vacation is over. Third, there are children around you and you’re throwing a temper tantrum because I wouldn’t let your daughter touch my working service dog. What a great father you are, showing her that if you get loud and throw a tantrum, you can be a racist s***bag!”

By now, I can feel my dog nudging me to tell me that I am in a situation that I should leave or I risk having a meltdown of my own. I go to stand, but the man looks at [Seven-Year-Old], who has been playing with the light-up ears I bought him.

Man: “You and your [very racist slur for Native Americans] dad should go back to your reserve; you don’t belong in the white world.”

I lose it. I stand to my full 6’4” height, towering over the man before I lean over to look him square in the eye. By now, we’ve drawn a slight crowd.

Me: “Say that again, but to my face this time.”

The man began to stammer before a cast member arrived with security.

In the end, they took statements from everyone and kicked the man and his family out of the park.

I work at an international money transfer service. A guy comes in that seems kind of out of it.

Customer: “I’m buying a dog via money transfer.”

We go through the process, and he is able to send the money, but afterward, he just sticks around. I wait about ten minutes before I ask:

Me: “Did you need anything else, or…”

Customer: “I’m waiting to pick my dog!”

I then had to explain to him that he had likely been scammed and that our computer could only print receipts and checks, not dogs.

My manager and I are standing behind our wall just chatting after I have delivered food to my only table. As we’re talking, we see a diner has finished his roast beef and gravy meal. Just before I can go drop the check, I watch him pluck some hair from his own head, wrap it around the fork, and smear it around the plate.

He looks over and sees me and calls me over.

Customer: “This is unacceptable! There is hair in my food! I want a refund, or I am going to sue!”

I let him go on for a minute before telling him:

Me: “Sir, I watched you do that yourself.”

Customer: *Red and angry* “You can’t prove that! Get me your manager!”

Manager: “I’m right here, sir, and we have it all on video. Pay and leave. You’re not welcome in our restaurant again.”

My manager made him pay and off he went, hair and all.

An old lady wants a pink ribbon fabric as it is on sale for 60% off. The problem is that a customer called ahead and ordered a bulk amount of it because she works for a cancer organization and makes blankets for cancer patients.

This customer is wheeling a cart in the store with several large bolts of the fabric in it, which she special ordered, and we put it in the cart for her so she could continue shopping.

The old lady sees this.

Old Lady: “Why does that woman have all the bolts? It isn’t right that she’s hogging it all!”

Customer: “Well, in fact, I special ordered these. It’s for a charity and the fact that they’re on sale is why I bulk-ordered.”

The old lady continues to yell at the poor customer, who very calmly keeps trying to reassure her that she is not taking any of the store stock and that she makes blankets for dying women with breast cancer. She is a very sweet store regular who pays out-of-pocket for all the blankets, so my store held the fabric for her until the sale when she would come in and purchase them with her coupon.

Old Lady: “I don’t give a s***!”

And then this very angry old lady — I s*** you not — whipped out mace and tackled the other customer!

The old lady was escorted out of the store by security and then handed over to the police.

I don’t know what happened to her legally, but she would come in once every couple of months, give me the stink eye, then rebelliously write down recipes from the home and food magazines so she wouldn’t have to buy them, and then scurry out and come back again a few months later.