I’m driving cross-country because of a serious family medical emergency. I stop at a highway rest stop somewhere along the way to get gas and grab something to eat and drink on the road.

Because this is around 2020 or 2021, only two out of the eight or so food places inside are open — fast food burgers and a coffee chain. All of the tables and chairs have been removed.

I wait in line to order coffee. There are two people working; a cashier and a barista. Because of social distancing, after people order, they spread out and wait for their names to be called when their coffees are ready.

There are about five orders ahead of me that haven’t been made yet. A woman who was behind me in line pushes to the front and gets inches away from the barista’s face.

Pushy Woman: “I’m going to need you to make the two cappuccinos and the hot chocolate before you make anyone else’s drinks.”

Barista: “Please stand back. You’re going to have to wait your turn.”

Pushy Woman: “You need to take care of me first! I’m not waiting. I’m in a hurry and I want to get back on the road!”

I couldn’t believe the level of entitlement and disrespect — and the obliviousness.

The barista refused to push up the order, and the woman had to wait her turn with the rest of us — who also just wanted to get back on the road.

I’m a middle school teacher. I work hard at it, and it mostly pays off; I have great relationships with most of my students. I also try to get along with their parents, but that part isn’t always as easy, especially since I’m a large man with a full beard and mustache, kind of like a stereotypical biker beard. Parents don’t always give guys like me the benefit of the doubt around kids.

I stop for gas one day during summer break, and while I’m filling up, another car pulls up at the next pump. After the car stops and a woman gets out to start pumping gas, one of the back windows rolls down, and a recent female student of mine pops her head out of the window. I also recognize some of the other kids in the car as her cousins. They go to the same school, but they’re younger than the grade I teach, so I don’t know their parents.

Student: “Hi, Mr. [My Name]!”

Me: “Hey, [Student]. Having a good summer?”

Student: “Yeah, we’re going to the beach!”

Me: “That sounds fun!”

At this point, the woman pumping gas notices our conversation.

Woman: “Who are you?”

Me: “I’m Mr. [My Name], [Student]’s teacher at school last year. You must be her aunt, [Other Students]’ mom?”

Woman: “Yes, and I suggest you focus on getting gas and not watching [Student]. She’s only thirteen.”

Me: “I’m aware. I was her teacher last year, so I was just saying hi. I apologize for any confusion.”

Woman: “Well, you may be her teacher in school, but that doesn’t mean you have to follow her all summer, too, does it?”

I recognized at this point that I wasn’t going to “win” anything, so I didn’t even try to argue the fact that SHE had pulled in after me, so how could I be FOLLOWING them? I simply turned around and focused on my own car.

When I got home that night, I sent a quick email to the school principal in case the woman tried to start anything more. The principal assured me that nothing would happen; apparently, this woman was “known to be protective of her kids”. Reading that, I requested that her child — who I recognized would be entering my grade level the next fall — not be placed in my class, and the principal agreed that that was a good idea.

We’re washing this lady’s car, and it’s just gotten out of the tunnel, so we still have to hand dry it, shine the tires, clean the rims and jambs of the doors and tires, wash the windows and wipe down the dashboard.

We drive the car into the bay to do that stuff, and the lady comes in with her daughter and gets into the car.

Lady: “I’m in a hurry; you don’t need to do all that stuff.”

She then notices the hard water on her hood – we don’t have hard water, and hard water treatment is kind of risky in terms of peeling paint, so we don’t offer it.

Lady: “You didn’t dry my car fast enough! Now you’ve stained the paint with water spots!”

We tried to continue drying (we always hand-dry the car after it goes through the blowers, just to make it super dry) but she swats at us.

Lady: “That won’t fix it! You need to do something better!”

Me: “We can take the car through the tunnel again.”

Lady: “No! I’m in too much of a hurry!”

She then chewed out my manager and drove off. Very strange.

I briefly worked at a gas station. I say “briefly” because I was robbed three times in my six months.

On the third robbery, the guy comes in and appears to point a gun through his jacket at me.

Me: *Raising my hands* “Chill. I’ll give you what you want.”

Robber: “Give me all the money in the drawer.”

I only have $30, and he gets pissed that that’s all he’s getting.

Robber: “That’s it?!”

Me: “Why not just take a bunch of cartons of cigarettes?”

Robber: “What?”

Me: “A single carton is more than $30.”

Robber: “Why are you telling me this?”

Me: “I just work here; I don’t care what you take.”

He takes his hand out of his pocket, leaving the gun (if he has one, but I don’t feel like finding out) in the pocket.

Robber: “You really don’t give a f*** what I take?”

Me: “Nah, I really don’t.”

Robber: “Okay. Give me all the cartons you can.”

Me: *Starting to grab them* “Do you want a bag with that?”

Robber: *Confused* “Uh… sure.”

I give him a bag. He stuffs about ten cartons into the two bags, apologizes, and runs out. Then, I call the cops.

My coworker, who was hiding in the back, comes out.

Coworker: “You really gave him advice on how to steal from us?”

Me: *Shrugging* “I’m not dying for this gas station.”

I quit that night. I was tired of being robbed.

I have just started working at the gas station that also serves coffees, donuts, smokes, etc. The following happened all the time:

Customer: “I want my regular order.”

I have never met ANY of these people before because – obviously – I’m new to the job! In training they really don’t tell you who has what as a “regular” order.

Me: “I don’t know your regular order, sir.”

Customer: “I’m in a hurry! I want my regular order!”

I eventually find the fastest way to get it through to them that they need to tell me their order is to ask:

Me: “Sir, have you ever met me?”

Customer: “Uh…”

Me: “Do you know who I am?”

Thankfully, at this point, many of them concede that they need to chill out and tell me what they usually buy. But some press back:

Customer: “You should just know!”

Me: “Sir, stepping through those doors doesn’t magically tell me anything about you, so…”

If that doesn’t work, nothing will! 

Related:
This Job May Require Telepathy, Part 10
This Job May Require Telepathy, Part 9
This Job May Require Telepathy, Part 8
This Job May Require Telepathy, Part 7
This Job May Require Telepathy, Part 6