At the time of this story, I’m a very shy and very petite high school freshman. My locker is right next to my homeroom. A middle school friend’s locker is right next to mine, which we’re both excited about… until she gets a boyfriend a couple of months into the school year. Every time I go to my locker, they’re making out and grabbing each other against it. I try going between different classes, during lunch, and at the end of the day, and they’re always there. It takes me several tries to get their attention, and then they only move over enough for me to barely get my books out. This goes on for about a week.

One morning, I am running late and have about ninety seconds to grab my books before the homeroom bell. I sprint to my locker and, of course, they’re making out right in front of it.

Me: “Um… excuse me!”

They ignore me. I tap my friend on the shoulder.

Me: “[Friend], can you please move over? I need my books.”

She waves me off.

Me: “Come on! I don’t want a detention!”

I try to squeeze around them but get shoved out of the way. My fuse is officially lit. In the loudest voice my 4’11”, super shy, freshman self can muster, I yell:

Me: “WILL Y’ALL GET A ROOM ALREADY?!”

They stop and stare at me.

Friend’s Boyfriend: “What did you just say?!”

Me: “You block my locker all day, every day! There’s a freaking hotel down the street; go there! Now move!”

They jump apart. I get my locker open in record time, grab my books, and dart into homeroom as the bell is ringing.

Me: “Am I late?”

Homeroom Teacher: “Not at all.”

Classmate: “I didn’t know you could yell that loud.”

Me: “Did y’all hear all of that?”

Most Of The Class: “Yes!”

My face turns red. My homeroom teacher chuckles.

Homeroom Teacher: “Don’t worry about it. They won’t be doing that again against your locker anymore!”

He was right; they didn’t. My friend didn’t talk to me again until we were sophomores.

I work at an outdoor/camping/adventure store.

Customer: “I want to buy a knife.”

Me: “This is our selection here.”

She grabs a knife before I can start explaining them.

Customer: “Are you sure these are sharp? They don’t look sharp!”

As she’s asking, she runs her finger down the blade. Confirming if the knife is sharp is not needed as blood starts to run out from her finger.

Customer: *Angry* “You should warn people that they’re sharp! People will want to test them!”

My manager responds before I can.

Manager: “All I can say, ma’am, is that it’s a good thing you didn’t want to buy a gun!”

I’m a manager and not easily expendable. My coworker is, due to ovarian cysts, a heavy stoner. Having her working is just a little better than being short-handed, so she is often the recipient of the bosses’ ire. I traded shifts with [Coworker] one day.

I overslept on the morning shift and arrived two hours late, roughly. I lived about ten minutes’ walk away, so I didn’t call first; I just booked it over.

As I walked in, the bosses were making a fuss over [Coworker], very angrily. Since we had done an official swap due to [Coworker]’s health, I had expected that I would be the one in trouble.

Me: “Excuse me, hi?”

Boss #1: “Oh! Great! Are you busy now? Or do you know where that b**** [Coworker] is? We need someone before the rush.”

Me: “I’m here to work. Our valued coworker, [Coworker], is unable to walk due to extreme pain.”

Boss #2: “Well, she knows she needs to call out and get coverage! As soon as she can get her butt out of bed… Well, I might as well fire her.”

Me: “You might as well not fire her! Excuse you. I’m the one who is late. You were notified of this. As soon as the swap was approved, this wasn’t her responsibility.”

They actually kept arguing, refusing to believe that it wasn’t somehow [Coworker]’s fault.

Me: “Look, you’ve been harassing her all morning. I’m going to apologize to her, but I expect you to do so, too. This is unacceptable. You shouldn’t be angry with her for my error.”

Boss #1: “Where were you this morning, then? I had to cover…”

I stared him down.

Me: “Sleeping.”

Boss #1: “Oh. Okay.”

Me: “I am going to catch this place up. Since both the owners were working in my stead, I’m sure it’s not too far behind, of course. We can discuss this later. Please apologize to [Coworker] for harassing her while she is in pain.”

They never brought it up with me again. When I next saw [Coworker], she told me only one of them apologized, barely, and the other continued to blame her for everything.

I’m with my two-year-old at a playground. As she’s two, I’m keeping pretty close to her, in case she needs anything while she’s running around. 

Another girl, about four, is climbing on the playground equipment nearby. My daughter goes past her to get to the slide — just near her, not touching or cutting in line — and out of the blue, the other girl hits her.

Me: “Don’t hit.”

Girl: “You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my mom.”

She moves as if to hit my daughter again.

Me: “DO. NOT. HIT. PEOPLE.”

Girl: “You’re not my mom!”

An older woman comes over, looking tired and distracted.

Older Woman: “Is there a problem?”

Girl: *Pointing to me* “She’s trying to tell me what to do, Grandma!”

Me: “I told her not to hit my daughter after she did so unprovoked.”

Older Woman: *Sounding dazed* “Oh.”

Girl: “But she’s not Mom!”

The older woman shrugs and wanders back to the benches on the side of the playground.

Other Girl: “See?”

Me: *Pointing to my daughter* “I am her mom, and I can tell you not to hit her.”

The other girl pouted and, finally, left to terrorize another part of the playground.

I once worked for a telephone service that took calls for a number of private doctor’s offices. We would take calls that came in outside of office hours and send a message to the doctor, who could then prioritize. We were also instructed to tell anyone calling in with an emergency to call emergency services for immediate help. 

We have public healthcare in Sweden, which is available for everyone to use, but you can also choose to pay for private healthcare if you can afford it. This caller definitely had the money and the self-entitlement that came with it.

Caller: “Hello, I need the doctor to come right away. it’s an emergency.”

Me: “The doctor doesn’t make house calls. If it’s a medical emergency, you need to go to the emergency room or call 112 (the Swedish emergency number).”

Caller: “My son is having an allergic reaction. I need to talk to the doctor now.”

Me: “The doctor isn’t in right now. I repeat, you need to take your child to the ER or call 112, right away.”

Caller: “You listen to me. I’m not paying all this money for private healthcare and not getting help when I need it! Get me [Doctor] on the line, right now!”

Me: “He will tell you to go to the ER!”

Caller: “I’m not going to spend the night at a public hospital. I pay for private healthcare, and I will have private healthcare!”

I knew what the answer would be, but just to cover my own a**, I tried to get hold of [Doctor]. He picked up, in the middle of dinner, not very happy.

Me: “Hi, sorry I’m calling so late. I have [Caller] on the line, and she’s requesting to talk to you because her child is having an allergic reaction.”

Doctor: “What? She’s crazy! She doesn’t need to talk to me; she needs to go to the ER!”

Me: “I’ve told her that. Repeatedly.”

Doctor: *In the coldest, angriest voice imaginable* “Transfer her over.”

I wish I could have overheard that conversation. Yep. The lady would rather risk her child’s life than be forced to use — gasp! — public healthcare.

I don’t know exactly what happened after that, but at least the kid was fine in the end, and I believe [Doctor] reported the incident to Social Services