I work at a warehouse. I’m heading out to my car to go home after my shift when I see one of the company vans parked in the space behind me, with its front bumper making contact with my rear bumper. I take a picture, go back inside, and inform the driving department manager, and he asks me to pull forward to show the damage so he can take a picture, as well. Luckily, the only damage is some barely noticeable scuffing.

[Driving Manager] tells me the driver of that particular van has had a history of close calls with parking, but this was his first time hitting someone, and he’ll have a talk with him about it. I am able to quickly buff out the scuffing on my car back home. From what I hear, [Driver] gets written up because it isn’t his first instance of him bumping other vehicles.

About a week later, I’m getting into my car when the driver of the van from the last time pulls into the spot behind me. Once again, he makes contact with my rear bumper, and I actually feel it this time. I quickly get out and assess the damage, and I take another picture — this time it’s more significant, as my bumper is cracked. The driver gets out at the same time.

Driver: “What are you doing?”

Me: “You just hit my car and cracked my bumper. I’m taking a picture of the damage.”

Driver: “Stop whining! I didn’t hit you at all! The damage was already there!”

Me: “No, it wasn’t. That is a fresh crack on my bumper. You can’t convince me that this wasn’t you.”

Driver: “I didn’t hit your car!”

Me: “No, you absolutely did hit my car. The damage lines up perfectly. You literally cannot deny that this was your doing.”

Driver: “Shut up! You’re just making this up to get me in trouble! For the last time, I did not hit you!”

At this point, [Driving Manager], who saw the incident while cleaning his own company truck, comes over.

Driving Manager: “Yes. Yes, you did hit him, [Driver]. I saw it, the parking lot cameras saw it, the dashcam in your van saw it, and I’m pretty sure [My Name]’s dashcam saw it. Go to my office and wait for me there, [Driver]. We’ll need to talk about this in a moment. [My Name], I’m going to take a few pictures of the damage, and then you can go home. When you come in tomorrow, come right to me and we’ll get things sorted out.”

When I went in the following day, [Driving Manager] helped me get an appointment set up to fix my car. The bumper had to be completely replaced, along with the parking sensors inside it, which ended up costing about $3,200 altogether, including the cost of my rental. The company’s insurance covered everything.

Meanwhile, [Driver] lost his job, not just for hitting my car again, but for adamantly insisting he was not at fault despite the large amounts of evidence proving otherwise.

From 1993 to 2008, my husband and I owned a hobby shop. I had a full-time job elsewhere, and my husband ran the shop.

After 9/11, he was called up for active duty (he was a reservist), and I’d been laid off, so I would work in the shop until I had to pick our kids up from school.

One morning, a woman came in and started looking at various Games Workshop figures and boxed sets. These were not cheap by any means, and retailers didn’t get the normal markdown from the manufacturer, so they were rarely discounted.

She approached the counter to check out, and I began ringing her up.

Customer: *Rather rudely* “I get a 50% discount as I’m the owner’s wife.”

Me: “Really? Wow. How long have you been married?”

Customer: “Oh, just a few months. We just recently got married…”

Me: “Really? Well, d***, it’s nice to meet you since I’m his wife and the one he f***s at night and not you. Do you still want this figure pack or not? Because you’re not getting any discount.”

The customer stood there like a fish out of water, the way her mouth was opening and closing. I set the figure pack under the counter.

Me: “Time for you to get out of my shop and never come back.”

After she left, I called my husband to tell him about it and he was like, “D***, some people will try anything!”

I live in a small town in Michigan in the middle of nowhere. Our police force is very small (currently ten active duty officers), and I only recently started my duty as a policewoman. I’m mostly stationed on the east side of the city, but I grew up on the west side. Not many people recognize me here, so I come across a lot of Entitled Jerks who don’t know I’m a cop when I’m off duty or undercover. We get a lot of them near the end of the month in and around our shopping mall, so even in my off hours, I spend some time down there just in case there’s an emergency.

One day, I was shopping for my friend’s birthday when I heard a commotion at the front of the store. It didn’t seem too major, but I decided I’d been shopping long enough, and I was curious anyway, so I made my way over to pay. At the registers, I saw a woman in a heated debate with one of the young employees working there. I set myself up in the checkout behind her and kept my hand near my phone in case I needed to text my on-duty friend.

Woman: “I DON’T UNDERSTAND! HOW STUPID CAN YOU BE?! DID YOU EVEN GRADUATE HIGH SCHOOL? I HAVE THESE COUPONS THAT COVER THAT AND THAT, AND THIS IS 50% OFF! THEREFORE, MY TOTAL SHOULD BE THIS AND THAT!”

Employee: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I told you that coupon is expired, and even with those coupons that aren’t expired, you can’t use two on the same purchase.”

Woman: “I DEMAND TO SEE YOUR MANAGER!”

Employee: “I’m sorry, she’s out at the moment. If you would like to wait for her, I can hold your items for you—”

Woman: “THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE! I HAVE PLACES TO BE! JUST GIVE ME THIS FOR FREE!”

Employee: “I’m sorry, I can’t do that—”

Woman: “THEN GET ME AN OLDER EMPLOYEE WHO CAN!”

At that point, the woman had gone from yelling to screaming and had thrown her coupons at the cashier.

Me: “Ma’am, please calm down. She’s just a teenager, and throwing things is just plain childish.”

Woman: “YOU DON’T TALK TO ME THAT WAY, MISSY! MIND YOUR OWN D*** BUSINESS!”

I shrugged and closed my mouth, but I told myself that if she did anything more aggressive, I’d pull out my badge. They kept at this back and forth for a while, the woman demanding the same things and the girl apologizing and repeating her answer.

Finally, when the woman realized she wasn’t getting what she wanted, she grabbed her bags and sprinted for the door. I waited for her to cross the security rails, and as they went off, I caught up to her in a few seconds (she was a very slow, portly woman) and tackled her to the ground. After reading the woman her rights, I called my buddy, and he came to arrest her, getting the camera footage from the store and even bringing me down to help him fill out paperwork. She was charged $500 for petty thievery and was banned from the store permanently.

I am working as a sign language interpreter in a classroom. I’ve been working with one particular student since she was five years old, and it’s been a pleasure to see her growing up and keeping pace with her classmates.

The teacher has just gotten a new aide: a stern, older-looking woman who — and I don’t mean to stereotype — looks like she’s stepped through a timewarp from the 1950s. She immediately takes a dislike to me, and she seems to favor specific students using the Ayn Rand method of education.

After a few days, I notice that [Teacher’s Aide] is standing between me and my student, blocking her view. It’s not a huge classroom, so she must not have noticed. I move aside and restore my line of sight with my student… and then [Teacher’s Aide] moves again.

Me: “Excuse me. You’re blocking my view with [Student].”

Teacher’s Aide: “Yes, I know.”

Me: “So, you’re doing it on purpose?”

Teacher’s Aide: “I’m doing it so that she doesn’t rely on you too much. She can’t be expecting to have interpreters every step of her adult life, so it’s in her interest to learn this now.”

Me: “She won’t be learning anything if she can’t understand what’s being taught!”

The teacher steps over and asks what’s going on.

Me: “[Teacher’s Aide] is purposefully blocking my view with [Student].”

Teacher’s Aide: “I’m not too sure what [Student] is doing here in the first place! She should be with her own kind, learning at an appropriate pace—”

Me: “Her own kind?!“

I admit that I said that way too loud. The children start murmuring.

Teacher: “[Teacher’s Aide], stop blocking [Student]’s view of [My Name]. We will discuss this further after class!”

The rest of the day went by unhindered.

After school, I returned to the classroom to speak to [Teacher]. She told me that [Teacher’s Aide] was a substitute and would not be coming back, based on her outdated opinions not just in [Teacher]’s class but in every class she had “assisted” that day. Good riddance!

I finally get a break and rush to the restroom for a long overdue pee break. I open the door to the ladies’ restroom, and there is an angry-looking customer just… standing there.

Customer: “Oh, my God! Finally! I’ve been trapped in here forever!”

Me: “Is there something wrong with the door? Was it jammed?”

Customer: *Pointing to the door* “No, but do you seriously expect me — a customer — to touch that?”

Me: “Well… yes?”

This was the wrong answer.

Customer: “You’re all disgusting! You can’t promise me that everyone has properly washed their hands, which means there’s likely urine all over that door handle! It’s preposterous for you to not have an attendant in here to open the door for customers!”

Me: *Beginning to do that little pee dance* “I tend to agree with you, ma’am, so what I usually do is open the door holding one of the tissues so that I don’t come in direct contact with the handle, and then I toss that tissue into the trash can right outside the restroom. There are also hand sanitizers right outside the restrooms, so I use those for a final ‘spritz’ before I go about my day.”

Customer: “That’s far too much work for the average customer!”

Me: *Pee dance picking up rhythm* “More work than just… waiting for someone to walk in and open the door for you?”

Customer: “The point is that I shouldn’t be forced to do all that!”

By now, the door is closed again, and I really, REALLY need to pee, so into the cubicle I go.

Customer: “Where are you going?!”

Where the h*** does she think I’m going? Narnia?!

Me: “I’m going to use what the main intention of this room was designed for, ma’am.”

Customer: “So, you’re not here to rescue me?!”

Me: “With all due respect, ma’am, I’m here to pee.”

Customer: “But I’ve been waving at the camera for minutes! No one saw me?!”

Me: “We absolutely do not have any cameras in here, ma’am!”

Customer: “But I’ve been waving at the camera by the door! You have to let me out!”

I stopped talking to her at that point and awkwardly tried to do my business while this customer shuffled around like a zombie right outside the cubicle door. I heard her huff and puff and finally give in and open the door of her own accord.

When washing my hands, I confirmed that the “camera by the door” she had been so vigorously waving at was actually an automatic perfumed scent dispenser.