I get in my car and my tire pressure light comes on. I have a 12v air compressor in my backseat, but it’s loud and fills sort of slowly, so I opt to drive to the local station where the air pumps are free to use, which usually means there are at least a few cars lined up. When I pull in, there is only one other car. Score! I pull behind the guy filling his tires and an older gentleman in a BMW pulls in behind me.

After about three minutes, a woman in a brand-new Lexus pulls up directly next to me and pulls her window down.

Woman: “I only have to fill one tire. Do you mind if I go in front of you?”

Me: “Actually, I do. We’ve been waiting here for a little bit, sorry.”

She mutters something while rolling her window up and I roll up mine.

About a minute later, the guy at the pump is done. He backs up, and before I can even put my car in gear, Lexus woman pulls her car in front of mine diagonally, blocking me from pulling into the spot, and then pulls straight in after the first guy has moved. She climbs out of her car and gives me the MOST INFURIATING little wave.

At this point, my anger gives way to a ninja-like calm, and I know exactly what must be done. I pull my car forward and stop six inches from her rear bumper. The air pump is in the corner of the lot, so Lexus woman has a curb in front of her, a curb to her right (where the pump is), an open spot to her left, and now my dirty car right behind her brand-new one. She is busy filling her tire and doesn’t notice that I’ve pulled right up to her car.

I step out of my car, grab my air compressor from the back seat and start setting it up to fill my tire. Mr. BMW, who has remained completely still and silent, sees what I’m doing and asks if I can fill his tires, too. I say, “Of course,” and motion for him to park in the empty spot to Lexus lady’s left.

As soon as he pulls in, she notices what’s happening and starts yelling. I flip on my air compressor and begin filling my tire, her cries drowned out by the sound of 250 psi of justice. She comes and stands in front of me, face beet red and little flecks of spittle popping out from between her teeth as she calls me all sorts of names.

Me: *Calmly* “Ma’am, I only have one tire to fill. You don’t mind, do you?”

Mr. BMW is absolutely loving this, and as I finish my tire and move to fill his, she starts up again.

Woman: “You stupid freaking piece of trash.”

I finished Mr. BMW’s tire and he thanked me for my help, climbed in his car, and pulled away, grinning. I wrapped my compressor up nicely, picked a good song, and set my climate control to a balmy 82 degrees, all while Lexus lady was trapped in front of me. I calmly backed up, gave her a little wave, and drove off into the night.

We are on a work outing; everyone has ordered and the food eventually comes out.

Waiter: “Who had the steak?”

I go to speak up but get interrupted.

Coworker #1: “I did, I think. Oh, I can’t remember. Yes, that must be it.”

I let her have it, assuming mine will be out soon. Everyone gets their dinner, and the waiter brings one more.

Waiter: “Who had the chicken?”

Nothing.

Waiter: “Someone ordered the chicken?”

Me: “I ordered steak.”

Waiter: “Are you sure you didn’t order the chicken? I have only one dish left.”

Me: “That has celery; I can’t eat it. [Coworker #1], what did you order?”

Coworker #1: “The steak.”

Coworker #2: “I think you ordered the chicken, [Coworker #1].”

Coworker #1: “Oh, did I? Sorry.” *Laughs*

Me: “Well, I can’t eat that. How long for the steak?”

Waiter: “There will be a bit of a wait.”

Me: “That’s fine. If I could get what I ordered, that would be great.”

It was a wait. Everyone had finished their meal before I got mine. [Coworker #1] then tried to refuse to pay for the chicken meal she ordered. Then, she only wanted to pay for the chicken. She threatened to leave the restaurant but quickly sat down when reminded that she still represented the company and would be disciplined.

My mom used to run restaurants. My stepfather used to be a chef in high-end restaurants, and he is the kind of guy who expects to be treated better than he is currently being treated, regardless of whatever that treatment is. They are not fun to go out to eat with. My wife and I pride ourselves on being a “relief” table when we go out to eat. Both of us have been servers, and there’s always the counterpoint to the difficult table, which is us. Barring horrible service or bad food, we are super easy customers, tip well, and try to have a good time with our server. Furthermore, we just treat people nicely. So, you can imagine our disdain when my parents act like they’re royalty at a dinner service.

My wife and I went out to dinner with them. They were being particularly tough. My mom was acting like she was Gordon Ramsey, analyzing the business, critiquing everything down to the number of bubbles in her seltzer.

Mom: “It looks like it’s time to change the CO2!”

My stepdad was getting more and more heated over stupid things, like the amount of ice in his drink and how the waitress didn’t top off his water fast enough. He was barely sipping on it.

It came to a head when my stepfather ordered a steak medium-well, and it came back medium-well. For some reason, he changed his mind that he wanted it medium rare while it was cooking, and they didn’t read his mind, so he gave attitude, as did my mom. They jumped really quickly to demanding free stuff. I’m an adult, and this may be the first time they realized this. I interrupted them in front of the server and said something like:

Me: “Really? This is what you’re doing. That’s what you ordered!” *To the server* “We do not need anything comped.”

I then pulled out my wallet and handed her my card.

Me: “This is for the bill. We’ll happily wrap up with what we have here. I’m very sorry for their behavior; you’re doing great.”

Then, I uttered the line that stung them so deep they still bring it up years later.

Me: “I was taught to treat people nicely — a lesson that seems to be forgotten. Thank you.”

My parents turned red and the server walked away. I looked down and cut my steak, and I didn’t say a word. They were so flabbergasted that the meal was virtually silent, except for me asking my stepfather how his steak was a few minutes later. I signed the check and gave a big tip, and we walked out and said goodbyes. They’ve been nicer to servers each time that we’ve gone out since.

As the new guy, I am given the task of opening up the restaurant. This meant arranging tables and setting them up, stocking the bar and waiters’ station, counting the register, and confirming reservations for the day.

Before anyone else on staff shows up to work, a loud knock comes from our locked front door. I go to see who’s there, and two elderly women want to come in and be seated for service.

Me: “We open for service at 11:30.”

They aren’t having it.

Ladies: “We wanted to be seated now. We have a Groupon which is set to expire, and we demand service. Your website says you open at 10:30!”

Me: “We can’t have people in the restaurant while we are setting up, but I’ll be happy to take care of you when we open.”

Ladies: “Are you a manager?”

Me: “No.”

Ladies: “You look too stupid to be a manager.”

They then sit themselves in our outdoor patio area. Fine. They are out of my way, so I can proceed with my tasks, except they decide to start calling the restaurant. The phone rings, I go over to pick it up, they swear at me, I hang up, and they do it again. After the third or fourth time, I just let the phone ring. The other old lady gets up and just starts pounding on the door to be let in while the other is on the phone, letting it ring.

At this point, the other waiter on schedule shows up and asks what’s going on. I explain, and he goes out to tell them the same things I did, and they gave him the same treatment.

11:30 rolls around and the kitchen is up and ready for service. The two old ladies barge in and shove their Groupon coupon in my coworker’s face.

Coworker: “Ma’am, our establishment does not accept Groupons. If you had read the name and address of the restaurant the Groupon is attached to and compared it to the name of our restaurant on the front door you’ve been pounding on for the past hour, you would have discovered that you are at the wrong restaurant.”

They slunk off, but it doesn’t end there. They went online and posted a review about what a horrible restaurant experience they had, how we were infested with rats, and how we should all be fired.

I take a tour of an apartment complex, and everything looks above-board to me. Several staff are in the office, and the tour itself is very professional. [Manager] tells me the rate for a one-bedroom, and I say I’ll need to think about it. I tour a few other complexes. Two days later, I give the first complex a call in the morning.

Me: “I’d like to come in and sign a lease. Would that be possible today?”

Staff Member: “Oh, yes! You can come in at any time.”

Me: “Great! And it’s $575 for a one-bedroom, right?”

Staff Member: “Oh, it’s actually $605 for a one-bedroom.”

This is the first red flag. I decide to go in, anyway. When I get there, it’s mid-afternoon, and [Staff Member] is the only one in the office. She is running between phones and trying to help tenants who come in with issues while I’m there. I end up being there for about half an hour, during which time no other staff makes an appearance.

She gives me a blank application to fill out, and I ask about the price hike. She has to hunt around for a price list and explains that the rate increases with each day that passes, which is the first time I’ve heard this. She also mentions that the rate is now $625. While she helps a tenant, I look over the application. It is generic, with no details about the specific unit I’d be renting.

Staff Member: “If you just sign that at the bottom, I’ll make sure my manager gets that and gives you a call.”

Me: “I’d prefer not to sign a blank form. The monthly rate isn’t even on here yet.”

Staff Member: “Oh, it’ll be $625. It should be fine.”

Me: “Yeah, I’d still prefer for that to be written on the form before I sign it.” *Stands up* “I’m going to have to get some info from my co-signer, too, before I finish this.”

I did not go back.