I work in a tourist gift store, so most customers are tourists. The customer is paying for something with exact change and I notice that they hand me a Vermont state quarter.

Me: “Oh, did you want to keep this as a souvenir and give me another quarter? This is a Vermont quarter!”

Customer: “Vermont has its own currency?!”

I said nothing and took the quarter. 

Related:
In A State Of Confusion, Part 7
In A State Of Confusion, Part 6
In A State Of Confusion, Part 5
In A State Of Confusion, Part 4
In A State Of Confusion, Part 3

When I was in middle school, my mother moved from Florida to Vermont to live with my step-father. My parents worked out an arrangement where I would visit her over long school holidays several times a year, flying as an unaccompanied minor.

I am, and always have been, the sort of person who is happy to have random conversations with strangers, so I would end up with a “plane buddy” by the end of every flight.

One such temporary friend was a — presumably — nice middle-aged man with whom I had chatted back and forth with for the entire three-hour flight about nothing much at all. We were leaving the terminal and walking together towards the baggage claim when I spotted my step-dad at the terminal entrance waiting for me.

I happily pointed and said, “There’s my step-dad!”

But by the time I turned back around, my companion had vanished.

When I asked my step-dad what happened, he said he saw me pointing and the man with me took one look at him, turned pale as a sheet, and then fled the other way.

I should point out that my step-father is a massive man whose appearance is best described as “biker Santa Claus,” and he is twice as strong as he looks. I have no idea if that guy had any unsavory intentions or if he was just afraid he would be accused of such, but I did get a light scolding from my step-dad about being too trusting of random men in airports.

I am a shift leader at a popular donut shop, and for about two months our receipt printer has been on the fritz so we can never get the receipt. A customer comes through the drive-thru, since our lobby is closed because of lockdown. She is an elderly lady.

Customer: “Can I sample some bacon?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we can’t do samples at the moment because of the health crisis.”

She is angry but decides to get some of the bacon anyway, along with tap water.

Customer: “I want the senior discount.”

Me: “We only do discounts on drinks.”

Once again, she is pissed.

Me: “The total is $4.25.”

Customer: “It’s ridiculous that I have to pay that much for a bottle of water and an eight-piece snacking bacon. I want my receipt!”

Me: *Calmly* “Our printer is broken, so I am unable to give you a receipt. I could hand write it for you?

Customer: *Screaming* “I want the real receipt!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but the printer is broken.”

Customer: “I want to speak to the manager!”

Me: “That is me at the moment.”

Her jaw drops. She pays for it and I give her the hand-written receipt. Then, twenty-five minutes later, she comes back and starts to scream at me.

Customer: “I don’t want your f****** bacon and your water! I want my money back and my real receipt, and if you don’t give it to me, I’ll call the cops!”

She pulls up to the window, throws the food at me, and holds out her hand for the money. She paid with a credit card.

Me: “I’ll be happy to put it back on your card.”

Customer: “No! I don’t trust you and I want cash! I’m going through a hard time.”

I didn’t want to deal with her anymore, so I gave her the cash. She was still waiting for the receipt. I rolled my eyes and closed and locked the window and walked away.

A woman wanders into the store looking very out of it. She starts talking out loud even though there is no one close by to answer her. She wanders around the store for a bit before coming up to me holding a packet of scratch-and-sniff stickers.

Woman: “I have a question.”

Me: “Of course! What is it?”

Woman: “Where exactly do you scratch and sniff?”

Me: “Uh, well, you have to take the plastic packaging off first.”

The woman looks confused.

Me: “But then you just scratch the sticker.”

She attempts to scratch the sticker through the plastic and then holds it up to her nose.

Woman: “Hmm… I guess you have to take the plastic off first!”

Me: *Pause* “Yes.”

I’m roadtripping with my mom and step-dad from my home in Florida to their home in Vermont, along with my best friend. We’re on the last leg of the journey and I’m driving while everyone else is asleep, as it’s around six or seven.

The roads are familiar to me but I’m not used to driving over hills, so when I crest a hill at speed, I’m unable to slow down enough before crossing into the construction zone on the other side.

Of course, I’m immediately pulled over, though I try to be as smooth about it as possible to not wake everyone else.

Officer: “License, registration, and insurance?”

I hand them over.

Officer: “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

Me: “Speeding in a construction zone. Sorry, sir, I’m not used to driving over hills.”

At this, the officer does a double-take at my Florida license, then walks behind the car and takes a good hard look at the Florida plate, and then walks back up to the window and hands back my documents.

Officer: “Is your destination close?”

Me: “Yes, sir. Next town over.”

Officer: “Carry on. Drive safe.”

Me: “Thank you, sir.”

I drove off just as my passengers were stirring from the talking and lack of car movement. I told them to go back to sleep and then later regaled them with my short tale of how being a silly Flatlander got me out of a nasty speeding ticket.