Laundry Day.

Laundromat, 10am, a Thursday in December.

Alone.

Enter man, gesturing frantically at safety pin and saying something (thick, unintelligible accent) about his pants and not letting anyone come in.

Realization: He's saying the zipper broke (and you pray he isn't asking for your help). Pants situation regulated, man asks where you're from. You tell him you're American. He instantly becomes overjoyed, gives you a big kiss on the cheek, and informs you that his ex-girlfriend is from Mexico. Lived here since 2007.

I swear, I couldn't make this stuff up if I dropped acid.