At my town pool, they have three pools. There is the Swimming Pool, which is for lap swimming, water polo, and all those games. The second, known as the Baby Pool, is the smallest. Since you have to be at least four years old to go into the Swimming Pool, the toddlers are allowed to play in the small, easily watchable Baby Pool.

The final pool — the Splash Pool — is where this situation went down. This pool is full of cool blue and white structures that spray out water. It is the only pool that accepts water gun use, although there is “Peace Time” twice per day: Toddler Time and the first hour of opening. The first hour of opening is self-explanatory, but Toddler Time is when parents can allow their little ones to play without the fear of them being caught in the crossfire.

During wars, there are typically two “Clans” who took up territory and roleplay total destruction. My little brother and I usually get a good set of teammates due to the fact that we always carry big double-barreled-shotgun-like sprayers. On the day of this encounter, my friend was with us, using a big Super Soaker AR with multiple firing types. We had another teammate who only had a basic pistol, but I had played with him before and he had good tactics.

On the other Clan were two kids [Kid #1] and [Kid #2] with some pretty cool Super Soakers. They needed some more people, so when [Kid #3] and [Kid #4] came from the Swimming Pool, they handed them some basic foam push guns. Due to their soft padding, they were also used as batons for close-quarters combat, and it was always a good complimentary weapon when used correctly. Of course, with our pistol-wielding clansmen, we had ditched the batons. The war started, and almost immediately [Kid #3] and [Kid #4] charged at us with their guns held baton-style. [Kid #4] was shot in the face and started screaming. His friend got hit as well and stopped, trying to call a timeout. Their teammate came from behind them, confused.

Kid #4: “WHO SHOT ME?”

Friend: “Me. Why’d you call a timeout?”

Kid #3: “BECAUSE YOU SHOT MY FRIEND IN THE FACE!”

Little Brother: “Why wasn’t he wearing goggles? It’s his fault if he wasn’t.”

Kid #4: “SHUT UP! YOU GUYS ARE STUPID LITTLE PIECES OF S*** WITH YOUR STUPID GUNS!”

[Kid #4] started hitting my brother with his gun, and [Kid #1] and [Kid #2] yanked his and [Kid #3]’s guns away.

Kid #1: “You guys are terrible at the game! Go away!”

Kid #2: “You guys are also mean. We don’t want babies.”

[Kid #4] and [Kid #3] left the pool, [Kid #4] still crying, and they walked back toward the Swimming Pool. We started setting up a game with three teams of two, but before we could start playing, we heard a woman yelling at us. We looked in the direction of the voice to see a woman with [Kid #3] and [Kid #4] in tow. It was [Kid #3]’s mom.

Mom: “WHO HURT MY SON AND HIS FRIEND?!”

Me: “No one! They should have been wearing goggles if they didn’t want to get hit in the face!”

Mom: “What do you mean?! Why would my son be hit in the first place?!”

Me: “We were playing with our water guns. They were on a team and were shot. That’s the point of the game.”

Kid #3: “No! He’s lying! They shot us when we were minding our own business!”

Kid #1: “Hey, that’s not true! You guys were f—”

Mom: “You think it’s funny to attack my son?! Give me your weapon, now!”

She tried grabbing for my gun, and [Little Brother] just sprayed her.

Mom: “YOU BRAT! DON’T TOUCH ME!”

Me: “Stay back!”

I started thinking of the worst thing I could say and found a good word.

Me: “Stay back, b****!”

Mom: “EXCUSE ME?! THAT’S IT! WHERE ARE YOUR PARENTS?!”

Me: “They aren’t here. They dropped us off! Leave us be, or I’ll spray you again!”

Mom: “Wow! Your parents aren’t here to chaperone in a pool! That’s very dangerous. I will call the police because I guess you are being neglected by them!”

She thought she had won, and she started to walk away. [Friend] and I, figuring this was over, started playing Rock Paper Scissors. [Mom] looked over her shoulder and saw us.

Mom: “What are you doing?!”

Friend: “Playing a game.”

Mom: “No! You are insulting me!”

[Mom] started trudging toward us in the water, and [Little Brother] sprayed her again. She got up close to [Little Brother] and started yanking the gun away from him. Some nearby man started screaming at [Mom], telling her to stop. She ignored him until a whistle was blown. Then, she looked at the man. He had his shirt off and was wearing red pants that said “Lifeguard” on them, and he had a whistle in his mouth.

Mom: “HELP ME! THESE VIOLENT CHILDREN ARE ATTACKING ME!”

Lifeguard: “No. They were playing with water guns. Toddler Time was an hour ago, so there is no reason they can’t play. Those boys did agree to play. I’m asking you to leave the pool, now!”

Mom: “NO! THAT’S NOT FAIR!”

The lifeguard walked over to his chair and grabbed a walkie-talkie. He called for pool management staff. A minute later, an employee was there with two other lifeguards, and they forced [Mom], [Kid #3], and [Kid #4] to pick up their items and leave.

We found two new kids to play with us and continued our war until closing time.

I work at the service desk at a grocery store. We handle returns, money transfers, bill payments, and lotto at the desk. Sundays are always busy in the afternoon because of the post-church rush, and this day is the same. One great thing about working every weekend is getting to know quite a few of the regulars who come in once a week for whatever they need.

It’s about 4:00 pm, and the line is wrapped around the desk.

Customer: “This line is crazy! It’s terrible you let it get this long!”

Me: “We’re working as fast as we can, ma’am. It’s always busy on Sunday afternoons.”

This woman is a white lady. She looks at me and in a serious tone says:

Customer: “I just need to pay for this. I shouldn’t have to wait like these people.”

Cue one of my favorite regulars who is a Black woman standing in line. She clears her throat.

Regular: “And what in the h*** do you mean by ‘these people’?”

The lady goes pale(er) and rushes out of the store. I thank the regular when she gets to the register, and she gives me a big smile.

Regular: “No problem, darling. I love making racists sweat.”

A recent event reminded me of a time we used to go to a particular restaurant.
Until that is they changed managment and the wait staff.

The service went down hill from there, but what stopped us coming back was what we overheard.

We were sat near the bar and saw a waitress come back from a table dropping her empty tray loudly on the bar.

Waitress 1: ugh there’s a right brat on 22.

Waitress 2 : whats it doing?

Waitress 1: I dunno making stupid noises and dropping things.

Waitress 2: great i’ll be the one that has to tidy that up then!

Waitress 1: why can’t they just teach their kids some manners.

As if it wasn’t bad enough to talk about your customers in ear shot of other customers, we only saw one family leave the restaurant. The child clearly had additional needs.
The parents seemed lovely and thanked the first waitress, apologising for the “disruption”.
Why some people have to jump to conclusions and be so toxic I will never know.

I work in an office at a college. Students can come to dispute resolution to try to handle difficult situations. Typically, we see arguments about shared spaces or mediate complaints about class policies.

This time, we got something a little different. A student has requested to speak to the board and shows up holding a few sheets of paper.

Student: “Look, I’m sorry to waste your time on this, but I’m out of options.”

Board Lead: “Don’t worry about our time. We’re here to handle any issues you’re having trouble with. What’s going on?”

Student: “I live in [Dorm], and every Saturday morning, there’s someone out playing the bagpipes. It starts at 9:00 am every day. It’s the first thing I hear every Saturday.”

Board Lead: “That’s outside of quiet hours, but I think we all know that most students are still asleep on Saturday mornings. You could certainly try a noise complaint based on how loud they—”

Student: “That’s not the problem!”

He begins to wave his papers around, and I see they’re stacks of sheet music.

Student: “He’s playing the d*** song wrong! That’s not how Scotland The Brave goes!”

That was years and years ago. Now, whenever the board misses the mark on what a student is actually upset about — which happens a lot — someone will inevitably add, “That’s not how ‘Scotland The Brave’ goes!”

It’s the final week before lockdown ends and I’ve helped rearranged my parents’ entire (small) store from Christmas to spring/Easter, so even though I don’t work there I know the inventory by heart. Customers are allowed to pick up curb side, so my mum puts the calls on loudspeakers and lets me fetch/check the requested items while she talks to the customers.
It’s also important to note that in German, ‘wool’ is often used synonymously for any type of yarn, not only the one spun from some actual kind of wool. Another important fact is that the German word for ‘cotton’ is ‘Baumwolle’, though most people know the English word by now from labels in their clothes. I’m sure you know where this is going…
Customer: I need wool.
Mum: Certainly, what brand and colour?
Customer: I don’t know the brand, but the colour is 242.
*Note: We have a few different brands of wool and yarn. Every brand uses a different colour-coding system. I find one in hot pink numbered 242, the only one with that number across all woollen brands.*
Mum: Is it pink?
Customer: No, it’s 242.
Mum: Could you please tell me what colour that is? Red, green, yellow…? And is it wool, mixed or cotton?
Customer: I can’t tell you what colour it is. I’ve been knitting a Trachtenjacke (a traditional jacket) with it. I don’t know the colour. It’s definitely wool, though.
Mum: Alright. Can you tell me anything else about it? What size of needle do you use, was it a skein or a ball, anything else?
Customer: Well, it does say ‘cotone’ somewhere.
Mum: Oh, that’s actually Italian for cotton –
Customer: No, I’m sure it’s made from wool. It says ‘cotone’ somewhere on the back of the sleeve. It must mean something else.
*Meanwhile, I’ve brought a popular cotton yarn in 242, which is middle grey. This definitely fits the colour scheme for a Trachtenjacke.*
Mum: Do you remember anything else about the sleeve?
Customer: *reads off everything the sleeve in front of us says, starting with the brand she didn’t know, ending with the words ‘100% [cotton in 10 different languages, ‘cotone’ being somewhere in the middle]* So, you see, it can’t be cotton.
Mum: No, that’s definitely cotton. What makes you think it isn’t?
Customer: It says ‘Mix’ on the front.
Mum: It says ‘Mix and match with [other yarns]’. That just means people can use it together with [other yarns]. We definitely have the yarn and colour you want, how many skeins do you need?
*The customer wants 10 and they need to be the same LOT number as hers, meaning they were dyed in the same batch (most of the time, the colour difference is minuscule, but it’s still a valid concern). Mum tells her no can do, we only have two of the last batch left and just received a new shipment, but maybe the last batch is the right LOT number? No, she bought hers 14 months ago. Mum tries to explain what LOT is and that she won’t find the same LOT anymore if it’s been that long. The customer doesn’t believe her and says she’s going to ‘phone around Austria’ to find the correct LOT.
Of course, the following day she phones again, emphatically requesting the last two old skeins and eight of the new ones. We tell her that it would be wiser to take ten of the same LOT, but she doesn’t believe us that the older ones won’t look more similar to her yarn.
She also wanted the same buttons she had on a ~30 year old jacket to match the two. This, we really couldn’t do.*