I run an anime/geek store, and we are really lenient with pre-orders. We used to not require a deposit to make an order, and in case you needed more time to pick up an item, all you had to do was ask. We could also hold the items for as long as needed in our storage if you wanted to gather a lot of items so you could save on trips or shipping.

Back in February, Funko released a special edition figure of Naruto Hokage. This one in particular had a one-in-six Chase variant (a rare variant of a common figure, with a slightly different design) that reached a resale value of up to $130. But the way I do pre-orders is that if you order six of the same piece, you are guaranteed a Chase. But if you only order one, you still get a one-in-six chance of getting the Chase. I just mix them up in random boxes and do a public stream raffle on social media, so everyone knows who won the Chase, and I get good publicity.

A client ordered just one and left $5 as a deposit; the piece was $15. This particular client won the raffle (along with several other clients), but he wasn’t that interested in picking it up or paying for the rest of it. I sent him a message letting him know that he had won the special variant and had a week to pay for it or he would lose his pre-order. At first, he was angry.

Client: “I want the normal version, not this yellow thing!”

Me: “We can change it if you want, but this one is far more valuable.”

He stepped away from the phone for a moment and then came back.

Client: “I asked my son, and he wants it anyway. But I need more time to pay.”

We gave him one more week. Then he asked for another week. And another.

Then, we had to close the store for a time — you know, for 2020 reasons. We told the client that we had to close, but we could still schedule an appointment to give him his item or wait until the worst passed. He never answered.

Eventually, we were able to reopen the store with regulations in place. We sent him another message telling him we could save the figure for as long as needed in these strange times. He still didn’t answer the messages, but eventually, he arrived at the store and demanded his money back, citing how we were in the middle of what was going on (fair) and he couldn’t waste money on frivolous plastic (also fair).

Me: “Are you sure? This figure is selling for nearly $150, and you just have to pay the retail price: $10 more.” *Shows him the current selling price*

Client: “I’m sure you’ve just made up those numbers. I ordered the figure for my son, but he doesn’t deserve it. I just want — no, I demand my money back!”

Me: “Fine, I’ll give you your money back. Also, I’ll just put this figure out for sale.”

Client: “Whatever, just give me my money.”

I made a point to grab a sticky note (I use them to put prices on items to avoid damaging the box), write in big, black letters, “$90 bucks, last one”, and put it on the glass window that leads to the street. I could see the client watching while I did this.

While my employee was giving the client his five bucks back and giving him a receipt, a young man knocked on the door. Per [health crisis] practices, I gave him some cleaning goo, checked his temperature, and let him in. He immediately asked to buy the Naruto CHASE figure. The angry client’s eyes went wide open over his mask as I picked up the figure and guided the young man to the desk, where he handed me the bills one by one.

The angry man stood there shocked as the younger man gushed about how hard that figure was to get and how he was getting it for half the price other places were asking for — and in such perfect condition, too. I couldn’t have had a better reaction even if I’d paid him for it!

The young man completed his purchase and left as fast as he’d come in. The angry man looked at me, almost as if accusing me of taking advantage of him.

Me: “Well, you got your money back. I’m happy that you are happy. If you need anything else, please let me know, and stay safe out there.”

The man didn’t have much else to say and just left. It was kind of a small and silly thing for me to feel good about, but 2020 hit us so hard that any unexpected profit was cause for celebration, so we celebrated that good sale with some (instant) ramen, Naruto style.

My grandfather worked in Human Resources for forty years and freely shared his stories about his work. As a result, by the time I’m about ten, I have a visceral loathing of all Human Resources workers and am fully convinced their sole job is to f*** over good, hard-working employees. 

I make it very clear to my manager when I am hired that I will never, ever speak to Human Resources about anything unless TWO other witnesses — preferably managers — are present. If HR wants to contact me about something that isn’t life-threatening, they can send me an email. 

Most of HR is cool with that, but one HR person views it as the worst insult possible. They demand an in-person meeting. I tell them it will be held in my manager’s office. 

My manager, another manager, and I are waiting for the crazy HR person. 

HR Person: “Why do you insist on us sending you emails? It’s so much easier to talk!”

Me: “Emails leave a written record. You can’t mishear an email.”

HR Person: “But it’s so much work to type out an email!”

My Manager: “For the length of a typical work email, it takes one minute to type.”

HR Person: “But I’m used to just talking!”

Manager #2: “You’ll get used to typing really soon.”

[HR Person] stood up and kicked a hole in the wall. [Manager #2] typed a quick email and snapped a photo of the damage. [HR Person] was escorted out of the building ten minutes later. My opinion about HR being psychotic, evil scumbags was confirmed.

I am fixing some disorganized shelves in the bookstore when I overhear my female coworker talking to a male customer.

Customer: “Actually, you should have these programming books in the science section, not electronics. It’s a very complicated profession and involves good math and science skills. You have to be very intelligent.”

Coworker: “Yes, I’m studying programming at college.”

Customer: “Oh… really? Well, maybe you haven’t got to the hard stuff yet. Y’see, in programming, when—”

The customer then goes on a long-winded explanation of what it “takes” to be a programmer.

Customer: “And that’s what a programming language is.”

Coworker: “That’s amazing!”

Customer: “And I had to learn all of that in a year.”

Coworker: “Wow! You’re so smart! Good job.”

The poor customer has no idea she’s being sarcastic. She finally gets him to finish and buy the d*** book. I walk over to the counter after the customer is gone.

Me: “What an obnoxious mansplainer!” 

Coworker: “Oh, I like it when men try to explain the most simple components of the subject I’m about to get my degree in. I kind of treat them like toddlers. ‘Good job, little guy! You’re so smart!’ Only one of us is being condescending, and it’s not him.”

This happened about twenty-five years ago. I’m on a busier road, coming up to an intersection. There’s an expensive sports car in the middle lane with no one in it, and there’s a police car behind it with the lights on. The police officer is sitting in his car talking on the radio. This is really messing up the flow of traffic.

I end up stopped right next to the situation when a guy in his fifties walks up to the car with a gas can in his hand and starts to put the gas into the car while talking on his phone.

The police officer gets out of his car and walks up to him.

Officer: “Is this your car?”

Guy: “IT RAN OUT OF GAS AS I WAS ABOUT TO GET TO THE STATION! YOU CAN’T DO ANYTHING ABOUT THAT, SO GET LOST!”

Officer: “I can see that. I asked you if this was your car, not why it is here. Is this your car?”

Guy: “Yeah, it is. No one else is allowed to drive my car! Now, get out of my way so I can leave.”

Officer: “Are you [Guy], who lives at [address]?”

Guy: “Yeah. Wish you could afford to live there? I’m leaving now, so go find someone else to harass.”

He then starts to talk to whoever he is on the phone with.

Guy: “Can you believe this a**hole cop, harassing me for running out of gas? Thinking I’d let anyone drive my car?!”

The officer moves in front of him to stop him from getting into the car.

Officer: “Well, you’re going to need to have someone else drive it. You’re under arrest.”

The guy loses it now, and a stream of obscenities flows forth, insulting the intelligence of the police officer, his family, you name it. The officer just stands there looking at him. And then, when the guy takes a breath, the officer very calmly says:

Officer: “You’re [Guy] at [address].”

Guy: “YEAH! AND YOU’RE GOING TO—”

Officer: “[Guy] who is driving on a suspended license and didn’t show up in court last week — or the previous time, either? The same [Guy] who had a bench warrant issued for failure to appear in court… That [Guy]?”

Almost on cue, two more squad cars pull up on the other side of the road, lights go on, and the officers get out of their cars. The guy goes pale and starts to stammer about how his lawyer must have messed up and not told him and more excuses that the police aren’t buying at all.

Officer: “One of us will be driving your car into that parking lot. From there, we’ll have it towed to the impound lot. Rest assured, you won’t be driving it yourself for a very long time.”

After that, I moved in traffic past being able to hear what was going on, but in the rearview mirror, I did see the guy hand the keys over right before he was placed into the back of a squad car.

I have my mom’s small, deep veins. I still try to donate blood and plasma if I can, and I’ve had some ongoing health concerns for years. I’ve gotten very used to being turned into a pincushion whenever I need blood drawn. Usually, the techs get the vein after a few attempts, but it’s not uncommon for me to be in pain and/or bruised following bloodwork. Remarkably, I have yet to faint or develop a phobia.

I have some lab work scheduled and need a blood draw. I offer the arm I’ve been told is better, look away, and start taking deep breaths. I’m focused on breathing, but eventually, I realize I don’t feel anything, so I look over at the nurse. She’s wrapping my arm and has the filled vial next to her!

Me: *Incredulously* “How’d you do that?! I’m used to people sticking me a bunch of times!”

Nurse: *Without missing a beat* “That’s ‘cause they suck.”