I had a project designing wedding invitations for a client and his very religious wife-to-be. They were very clean-cut.

Client: “There will be no alcohol at the wedding. We’re hoping that you can subtly include that information in the invitation.”

They explained that it was for moral reasons, and I didn’t inquire further.

Later, I was at a bar when I saw my client.

Making out with a man.

I don’t think his fiancée knew. 

I am a manager working the front desk at a hotel that is currently hosting a large wedding. I see a woman in a red dress being escorted out of the reception space, along with some of the groomsmen. A groomsman and a member of security approach me.

Groomsman: “This woman is not a guest of the wedding and is not to be allowed in the ballroom.”

Woman: “This is a public space! I’m allowed to be here!”

Me: “Ma’am, this is a hotel, not a public space. The ballroom is hired for a private event, so if you’re not a guest, you’re not allowed in there.”

Woman: “I have every right to be there! That b**** stole my man, and I have every right to fight to get him back!”

It is now obvious this woman has been drinking.

Groomsman: “For God’s sake, [Woman], you broke up seven years ago!”

Woman: “He was supposed to come back to me!”

Groomsman: “You dumped him!“

Woman: “To teach him a lesson!”

Groomsman: “He learned it! Stay away from red flags!”

Security: *To the groomsman* “We’ll take it from here, sir. Please go back inside and enjoy the party.”

The groomsman heads back inside, and the security guard tries to direct the woman toward the exit.

Woman: “Wait! You said I’m not allowed in the ballroom, but I can get a drink in the lobby bar, right?”

Me: “Ma’am, I can think of no other reason you would want to do that except to try to sneak back into the ballroom or try to ambush the wedding guests when they leave. I would recommend you leave the hotel for this evening.”

Woman: “But what if I was a guest?! Then you wouldn’t be able to kick me out!”

Me: “Ma’am, even if we weren’t fully booked tonight, which we are, we also have the discretion to refuse service to those who have caused or might cause a disturbance. I’m afraid you currently fall under the former and present a risk of falling under the latter. Now, we do have a responsibility, still, and based on my experience, you appear to have been drinking. I am happy to call a cab for you to take you home.”

Woman: “I’m not leaving, and you can’t make me!”

Me: “Then your cab will have some flashing lights on the top, ma’am.”

She sits on the floor cross-legged, like a toddler being stubborn. The security guard just looks at me.

Me: “It’s okay; I’ll handle it.”

I call the police and then get a clerk to put out some “hazard” signs that we usually put on the floor when there is a spill. The woman looks ridiculous but remains in place.

The police eventually show, and the woman gets an eye-widening “Oh, s***!” look on her face as she realizes she has taken this too far. The police talk to me, and I confirm what has happened. As the woman is escorted from the lobby, I can hear a shrill, “But he was supposed to choose meeeeeeee!” slowly fade away.

The groomsman later comes out and gives the security guy and me a tip for our troubles, and he gives us some context.

Groomsman: “Yeah, that’s the crazy ex. She came here to cause trouble when she realized he was really going through with it.”

Me: “That’s dramatic! I’m glad we were able to help, though. I hope the bride and groom are having a great time.”

Groomsman: “It’s a groom and groom, actually.”

I can’t help but show a quick look of confusion before the groomsman helps me out.

Groomsman: “Yeah, she was so crazy that she ‘red-flagged’ him into coming out!”

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I work in a small bookstore. We’re very cozy with a good atmosphere. We also have a lot of unvarnished cedar to drive away moths.

One day, we got a request to use our space to host a wedding. The bride and groom met as part of a book club and loved reading. The owner was charmed by the request and offered the space for free.

It… didn’t go as well as the owner hoped. The bride and groom were… reasonable. They weren’t a**holes or anything. But they had needs for the event, and those needs were incompatible with running the store.

There was endless rearranging. We had to move tons of books and shelves to make space for the wedding. When the wedding was over, the guests didn’t clean up, and they left a great deal of mess — rice, streamers, spilled champagne, cake frosting wiped on the spines of books, etc. We wound up having to shut the shop for three days before the wedding and five more after for cleaning and resetting the store.

After the whole event was over, I asked the owner what their thoughts were.

Owner: “My thought is that if anyone wants to do a wedding in my bookstore again, I’m charging seven thousand, non-refundable.”

Even before marriage ever came up between my wife and me, I explained to her how much I hate churches due to things I witnessed growing up. She was understanding and knew my feelings about churches.

Eventually, things keep going and we get engaged. Now, all the wedding planning takes place. [Fiancée]’s got ideas! I tell her any plans she has is okay with me, but the only thing I want is cheesecake for the wedding cake. (It was the best wedding cake ever! Everyone there had multiple pieces to try the three different flavors we had.) We go through a handful of places where we might be able to get married that could accommodate the number of guests [Fiancée] wants but to no avail. The only option left that can accommodate us is the church her family attends.

She hasn’t been to the church herself for years, but she likes the old pastor, and he’s a family friend, so he agrees to do our wedding ceremony even though he’s almost fully retired. The new pastor of the church has been handling weddings as he’s been transitioning into the position, but the old pastor says he’ll handle the ceremony instead, and this makes my fiancée happy.

However, there is one stipulation if we are to be wed at the church; we have to do premarriage counseling classes — a total of three one-hour classes. I roll my eyes at [Fiancée] when she tells me about this, but since this is what she wants, I tell her it won’t be an issue. Our wedding is still a good six-plus months away, so the classes aren’t something that have to happen right away. All three classes are scheduled a few weeks apart.

The day arrives for our first premarriage counseling class. We arrive at the church, and since the new pastor has been taking the lead on things, he is the one doing the premarriage counseling classes. We all exchange pleasantries and chat for a few minutes, and then [Fiancée] and I are taken to different rooms where we’re both given some marriage compatibility test that we have the next forty-five minutes to work on. It’s so stupid, but I read through all the dumb questions and fill in my choices on the answer sheet. I don’t recall if we ever get results back from the test or not, and nothing else of importance happens during that class.

A few weeks later, our second premarriage counseling class is due. We arrive at the church and meet up with the new pastor again. I don’t recall what we even do that day, but I recall we have a bit of time talking. As we sit on the couch in his office across from the pastor behind his desk, he asks questions and we answer. He talks about the church and blah, blah, blah. Things are dull and boring, and there are maybe ten minutes left in our class. Things ARE dull and boring until he drops this on us.

New Pastor: “I understand that [Old Pastor] is going to be doing the ceremony for your wedding, correct?”

Fiancée: “Yes. He was my pastor as I was growing up, and he’s a family friend, so he said he would do our ceremony before he retires this year.”

New Pastor: “Excellent! That’s good to hear. I don’t think I’ve seen you guys attend mass at all, so if you guys are interested, we have mass on [days and times]. We’d love to see you guys join us.”

Fiancée: “That’s something we can certainly think about.”

New Pastor: “That’s good to hear because we’d love to see you guys come in and donate money to us.”

[Fiancée], knowing how I felt about churches and the reasons behind it, noticed that the expression on my face went from an indifferent, don’t-want-to-be-here, bored look to anger. To this day, I’m still not sure what I would have done; I don’t know if I would have gone over the desk and hit him or if I would have just stood up and chewed him out for telling us that that we need to come to the church and give them money.

But [Fiancée] grabbed my arm and pulled me back onto the couch before I could get up. She then took one hand, put it on my cheek, and turned my face toward hers. I could see the fear on her face, and it wasn’t fear of what I was going to do but fear that I would ruin all the work we had put into planning our wedding if I screwed things up here. She didn’t have to say a word to me; the look on her face was enough to calm me down. I just nodded to her, calmly and slowly stood up, and walked out.

I went out to the car and sat there for about five minutes before she came out to join me. I didn’t ask what transpired after I left the office. [Fiancée] told me that our last class would be handled by [Old Pastor], not [New Pastor].

A few weeks went by, and we headed to the church and, sure enough, we met up with [Old Pastor]. We all sat and chatted and had some laughs, and I actually enjoyed my time. I never did see [New Pastor] again, and I don’t know if he decided to continue his work at the church or not.

I still don’t understand how [New Pastor] ever thought it was a good idea to tell people that they needed to come into the church and just give them money.

I’m at a wedding of a dear friend in the middle of nowhere, Southern Illinois. (To be fair, most of Illinois is “middle of nowhere,” but this wedding is literally in the middle of several cornfields, on a gravel road off a tarmac road.) I’m having a grand time at the reception, occasionally making conversation with folks I really don’t know, especially the father of a young boy.

This young boy could not be older than four. This kid was an absolute GOBLIN, and his dad was taking every punch — sometimes literally! He was the calmest, nicest, most patient father you could ever meet. His son was being kind of loud and rowdy, but his dad wasn’t angry. He kept telling his kid, calmly, that it wasn’t the time for applause yet. Okay, NOW it was the time for applause. It was rather adorable.

At one point, the entire table was being accused of… something… by this child. As I said, he was a little goblin.

There were miniature cupcakes served at this wedding and, of course, the kid made a beeline and grabbed a bunch of them.

I noticed he was eating them like any kid could: frosting first, then cake. At one point, his dad chuckled and grabbed the cupcake wrapper. He showed his son how to peel the cupcake wrapper away to reveal MORE CUPCAKE.

The son was awed. Slack-jawed and goggle-eyed, he called his father a magician and proceeded to eat every crumb. The kid ended up eating a couple of cupcakes in this manner: frosting first and then the visible cake, and then his father would peel the rest and the kid would scarf every last morsel.

I decided that if this kid wanted to see a REAL magician…

I grabbed my own cupcake and a butter knife.

Me: “May I enlighten your son as to the best way to eat a cupcake?”

His dad laughed and nodded. The kid stared at me, enraptured.

Me: “Okay, what you do is you peel the wrapping off first, so you get the whole cupcake, right? Then… you cut the bottom half horizontally… and you take it apart, like this, you see? And then you flip the bottom half over, and you make yourself a frosting sandwich!”

I then took a bite to show how delicious it was.

The dad was grinning, and the kid simply stared, eyes bigger than the moon, jaw on the table.

In his best goblin voice, he growl-screamed to his father:

Kid: “GET ME ANOTHER CUPCAKE!”

Father: *Laughing* “Now see what you’ve done?”

They tried it a couple of times (with varying degrees of success), and the kid was happier than a pig in muck.

I’ll probably never see that kid again, but it warmed my heart to pass on some wisdom… and to see a child go full-on GOBLIN MODE on some cupcakes.