My longtime stylist has started teaching at a cosmetology school. She asks if I would be willing to be a “hair model” for students to observe her technique in exchange for a free cut and style. I agree and come by the school at the specified time.

I have curly hair that I normally keep very long, but I have decided that I want to go shoulder-length. [Stylist] introduces me to her class and has me take a seat.

Stylist: “What are we doing today, [My Name]?”

Me: “I’d like to go shoulder-length with some layers, please.”

Stylist: “Are you sure? It may not work with your curly hair.”

Me: “I’m sure. I want to try something different.”

Stylist: “Okay, if you say so.”

She starts cutting while talking to her students about technique, customer preferences, and the like.

Stylist: “And sometimes customers ask for something that may not work for their type of hair or face shape. But we do it anyway, even if we think it won’t look good!”

Me: “It’s my hair. If I don’t like it, it’ll grow.”

Stylist: “See what I mean, guys?”

Her students chuckle. I roll my eyes. She finishes up and turns me around.

Stylist: “And you’re done! See, class, not as hard as you think it is.”

She has barely taken any length off and there are no layers. My hair is still several inches below my shoulders.

Me: “This isn’t what I asked for.”

Stylist: “Sure it is.”

Me: “I asked for shoulder-length with layers, and this is not it.”

Stylist: “If you don’t like it, then go somewhere else.”

A couple of students let out an “Ooooh”.

Me: “Wow.”

I walk out. I go to another salon a couple of weeks later. A different stylist does exactly what I ask for, and it looks fabulous! I decide to start going to her, instead.

About a year later, I get a text from my former stylist.

Stylist: “Hey, it’s been a while. Can I set up an appointment for you?”

Me: “Remember when you told me to go somewhere else if I didn’t like my hair?”

Stylist: “Oh, I have to be like that with students. I didn’t mean it.”

Me: “I have shoulder-length hair and a new stylist. Don’t contact me again.”

I went to my new stylist for several years until she moved out of the area.

It’s my last day working as a cashier and the universe has been testing me. I finally snap on one customer at the end of the day.

Customer: “You’re scanning too fast and getting it all wrong! I’ve been patient, but I demand your manager. I’m going to get you fired for your incompetence!”

I nonchalantly call for the manager and remain deadpan. Apparently, this was not the reaction of panic and fear this customer was after.

Customer: “What?! You’re not even going to defend yourself?”

Me: “Ma’am. I have had a customer threaten to call the police on me because I wouldn’t take their cookie to the staff breakroom and microwave it for him. I had a customer call me a c*** because I wouldn’t let her remove her baby’s dirty diaper on my conveyer belt. I had a customer who also tried to get me fired just like you, because only having crunchy peanut butter in stock and not the smooth kind is now a fireable offense.”

Customer: “Well, I—”

Me: “And all of those were just today! Ma’am, word of advice, if you get your kicks from trying to make people miserable or scared, don’t try it on a retail worker. We’re already miserable, and nothing you can do can scare us. Have fun with my manager.”

My manager arrived, and I served the rest of the customers. She did still try to get me fired, but she was even more annoyed when she was told it was my last day anyway. I occasionally see her in the store now, as a fellow shopper. I just smile, wave, and ask if she’s gotten anyone fired lately. She doesn’t respond.

Our Homeowners Association built a fence around the neighborhood — a lowest bidder type situation. It looks okay. It’s reddish colored and tall enough, but the boards are flimsy. It’s been a few years and it’s starting to fall apart — nails missing, boards fell off, etc. I let the HOA know about it a few months ago. I’ve hammered a few boards in to keep my dogs safe when I let them out, but mostly I’ve been waiting for them to fix it.

They haven’t touched it in months.

I notice one of the panels has come loose — no nails in the upper and middle part, just one in the bottom. Anyone could pull on the fence and walk right into my backyard. I say enough is enough and I go out to fix it all. I replace boards that have fallen from the outside, put the panels back together, and get a solid fence line.

My house backs up to a busy street, and when the red light is on, cars back up all the way past my house area.

I’m on the outside of my fence, trying to get nail holes to line up and screwing things into place, when I become aware of honking noises. Before I can take off my headphones, a large cup of melted ice and watered-down soda slams into the fence next to me and splashes its contents on my right side, soaking my shirt and some of my pants.

Needless to say, I’m startled.

I pull out my headphones and turn to look at the street. The light is green but a husband and lady are holding up traffic. Apparently, they’ve been trying to yell at me and get my attention. When yelling failed, the lady in the passenger seat thought throwing a half-full cup at me was a good way of getting my attention. It worked.

I’m looking at her with a “WTF” look and cars are driving around them honking. I don’t even get to say anything before she starts screeching at me.

Woman: “You need to get off your a** and move down to my fence! I’m tired of my fence being s*** and no one fixing it. How dare you ignore my fence and start down here?!”

No apologies. No civility. Just screeching and throwing her s*** at people and blocking traffic for everyone else.

I’m usually a really nice person, but I’m done with being yelled at for things and putting up with ignorance, so I don’t try to hold back on my anger. I might feel badly later, but for now, I’m more than done.

I put my drill down, grab my water, and take a few steps toward them.

Me: “I don’t work here. I live here.”

Or at least, I attempted. She and her husband aren’t listening. They are both still going off about their fence and lazy, fat, useless employees and the HOA.

I unscrew the large cap off my water bottle. The water splashes on my fingers. It’s ice cold.

Me: “I DO NOT WORK HERE! F*** OFF!

Both of their faces go full pucker. As the lady draws breath and starts to shriek again, I toss the contents of my water bottle toward their open window. She gets a decent bit to the face, which shuts her up. I doubt I got the hubby, but enough went in the SUV that I know he’s annoyed.

Me: “And if you ever throw something at me again, I’ll beat your g**d*** a**.”

Then, while her screaming in rage was going on, I gathered my drill and went back to work.

The husband jumped out of the SUV, but he was 5’6’ and 150 pounds tops and I’m 6’1” and 300 pounds, so he yelled at me but didn’t try to make contact. I responded with a finger and he got back in his vehicle and flew off with tires screeching. They went thirty feet and had to stop at the light, well within my sight and hearing.

The F-bombs were glorious. Plus, knowing my fence is better than theirs helps.

I shouldn’t be surprised at the way people treat people on the job. But did they think going off and yelling at people would actually succeed? Let alone throwing a cup of old soda at me?

A very old man comes through my checkout with a bottle of wine, which I scan through without comment.

Me: “That’ll be [price].”

The customer looks disappointed.

Customer: “You didn’t ask to see my ID for the wine.”

I’m a bit taken aback since this customer looks old enough to have gone to school with Methuselah.

Me: “Sorry about that. May I see your ID?”

He cheers up immediately and pulls out his passport. I check the date and then do a double-take and check the current date. Yep, he was born exactly a hundred years ago today!

Me: *Handing the passport back* “Happy birthday, sir!”

Customer: “Thank you!”

He happily paid and went on his way. I later found out that he also purchased wine from three other checkouts, proudly showing them his passport each time. You go, old guy!

A woman pulls up to the pump and rushes into the store. She grabs some basic lipstick from a small selection on our counter.

Customer: “How much is this?”

Me: “$2.69, ma’am.”

Customer: “Crap. I need gas to get home but I only have $5.”

Me: “So, just the gas?”

Customer: “No, I’ll take the lipstick.”

Me: “Are you sure you’ll have enough gas to get home?”

Customer: *Already applying the lipstick* “If I look pretty, I can ask a guy to—” *smacks lips* “—buy some gas for me.”

I finish the transaction with my mouth agape.

Customer: “Usually works.”

Sadly, within minutes… it worked.