u/GreyerGrey

This is inspired by the recent post about the Tokyo Airport line cutter.

Last year late July/early August I was going to Calgary from Toronto for work. No big deal. Store visit and only out for a few days so carry-on and a checked back and I'm good to go. The line up is INSANE in Calgary coming home, but that's fine. I'm Canadian and I hop in the domestic passport line and wait my 40ish minutes to get through security.

As I'm almost there, like maybe 8 or 9 people from getting called in there is this couple begins to raise their voice to the Canadian Borders and Customs Agent. As they get louder, and more belligerent, I can begin to hear what the issue is.

As mentioned, I'm in the domestic passport line, with a Canadian passport (though I could've used another set of ID, passport is easy for flying). The people having the issue are not Canadians, and while they are insisting they were in the right line because they "aren't foreigners," they're Americans.

Yep. These Americans waited for 40 minutes in a security check line for domestic passport holders, thinking they weren't "foreign" because they were Americans.

The gentleman got very aggressive with the agent and security eventually came to retrieve him and that triggered the woman he was with. I have no doubt they got an expedited trip back home, but I do doubt they'll be able to come back.

Edting to add - the security line for domestic travelers (domestic passport holders or other ID).

So back when I was in university I worked for a mail chain store that was geared towards young girls and tweens (important detail). I was getting training at a different location than the one I was going to be working at because our store was not open yet, when the manager there mentioned in passing "Yea, so when you come in, you're going to find a lot of things on the floor. Just put them back on the shelf."

"Why are they on the floor?" I was thinking maybe it was because they were extra busy and didn't have time to do a full facing.

"It's just George; he likes to mess with us."

Record scratch. Who's George? Turns out George was the name they had given a "ghost," though it wasn't really known if everyone believe he was real at the time. Our store and then a few others that were geared towards girls 7 to 17 were general "targets" of George.

I tell my mom about this funny thing, passing it off as a non issue. We aren't a very woo woo family, and my mom is very much not woo at all.

"George? No, his name is Sam." I'm sorry - what?

My very real world present mother proceeds to tell me the story of Sam, the man who used to own a movie theatre in the mall and how he was being investigated (credibly) for (redacted)ing little girls. Credibly in that my mom works for one of the doctors who was working with victims, so mom believed he was guilty. There were over a dozen girls aged 8 to 16 who had come forward. He hanged himself in the theatre.

I only had a handful of shifts left, but when I was alone on my next shift I told Sam to fuck off, that he deserved what he got and he should leave our store alone. I never had an issue for my remaining four or five training shifts, but apparently as soon as I left, "George" returned.

I never did tell the other people who worked there. I feel like if they learned that it wasn't just a "fun thing to say" and that there was even the potential that it was related to something so dark, I dunno, it might've made it harder to be there.

Jazz - I have so many "siblings" like you, and so does my husband and I have a message.

Now, while this is a direct response TO Jazz, this applies to anyone else who is in that situation as well.

My husband and I are both kids of Barbara's. My mom and dad were both active in my activities as a child, and my husband's dad was a stand in to several of his friends who were in single mother homes. I just wanted to let you all know that you were and are deeply loved by your adopted families and that you had just as positive an impact on your own Barbara as she/he did on you.

I am lucky enough that I haven't had to say good bye to my parents yet, and my husband can say the same, but the reason why his father was a Barbara, was because his mother (husband's grandmother) was one too. When she died, the support from the community was amazing. The adults who had once been kids who GrandBabs fed, clothed, and sheltered sharing their stories with her kids and grandchildren made losing her just a little easier, because her spirit will live on not just through the kids she gave birth to, but those whom she helped.

If you have the opportunity to be a Barbara - do it. You never know how many lives you will touch.