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Category: Bad Behavior

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What Price Loyalty?

| Pittsburgh, PA, USA | At The Checkout, Bad Behavior

(I am working at a big box hardware store. At the time, our pets policy is very lax but we stress that mainly dogs to help vision-impaired shoppers are the only animals allowed in. However, this did not stop a lot of people, especially the older customer in my line with a dog in his cart.)

Me: “Sir, just to let you know, we can only have service animals in here.”

Customer: “You know what? FINE! I hate this place! You tell your manager I’m never shopping here again and he can shove the policy up his ***!”

(The customer pays but he uses a gift card which now only has about a $5 balance remaining on it.)

Me: *about to hand the card back* “Wait, did you want me to throw this away?”

Customer: “Of course not! Why?”

Me: “You said you hated it here. You said you were never gonna shop here again…”

Customer: “Well, uh… umm.”

Me: “So, for five dollars, you’ll be back.”

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A Dent In Your Dentures

| Greece | Bad Behavior, Health & Body, Liars & Scammers

(I am a student in dentistry, and I have patients of my own during university hours. I am fully responsible for their treatment, as well as their financial transactions with the university. I am not capable of giving any kind of discount. Students are expected to pay any debt of their patients in order to graduate. Faculty members make sure that we know this is the case. This is a particularly unpleasant patient, who gradually starts complaining about any work I do, despite my best efforts and faculty members fully approving of the quality of my work. Dealing with her, even over the phone, makes my stomach turn from anxiety.)

Patient: “[My Name], the dentures you made me are no good. When I press on the side like that, they come off!” *the patient proceeds to press with her finger in a way that can by no means occurs while chewing*

Me: “The dentures have to come off one way or another, like a shoe. If they didn’t come off at all they wouldn’t be dentures, after all.”

(The patient frowns and obviously does not believe me, despite faculty members backing me up.)

Patient: “[My Name], the dentures you made me are clicking. That’s unacceptable!”

(After I examine her, it turns out it was a natural sound from her TMJ. After I explain this, and show her that her clicking continued with no dentures on, she still looks really upset.)

Patient: “Well, my mouth still tastes terrible when I wake up! It’s because of these bridges! You made them so I can’t clean between my teeth!”

(The patient’s main concern when she first came was the bitter taste in her mouth. The patient has insisted for two years that her blood sugar, a prime cause of bad taste, is on regular levels. A faculty member has me order some blood tests, including blood sugar levels. Despite her adamantly denying it, they turned out to be high enough to explain the symptoms. I book a last appointment for her, to get the remaining amount of money to pay the school and our dental technician. I explain over the phone I need [Amount #1] for school, and [Amount #2] for the technician. Because of a wrong addition, I had underestimated the amount of money when I had to inform her about the total cost of the treatment. I have made clear I volunteered to pay this amount myself, knowing she had financial difficulties. I also gave her the dentures before she paid the full amount, just to get her to stop bugging me, which was a mistake. When she comes for the appointment:)

Me: “Your blood sugar levels are probably the reason for the bad taste you have, not the bridges or dentures.”

(The patient looks at a loss, as she has no grounds to blame me further for anything.)

Me: “So, now I would like to discuss the financial part—”

Patient: “I have no money for you.”

Me: “But, I told you how we need to pay off the university [Amount #1] euros, and the technician [Amount #2] euros! It’s the end of the year, so I can’t postpone it any longer for you.”

Patient: “What? You only said [Amount #3] euros over the phone! This is unacceptable! I am not paying anything. The work you gave me is unacceptable.”

Me: “Please leave now.”

Patient: “What? And what am I to do if I have any problems?”

Me: “I do not care. Please leave now. I don’t care about the money. I’ll pay myself if it means I get to graduate and never see you again. So, leave, because I have to tend to other patients.”

(Her look of disbelief and the sight of her leaving was worth every euro… and it was a few hundred of them, too. The technician was understanding and was already partially paid, so he let it slide and assured me I could do nothing more, as he had met her and saw how rude and suspicious she was.)

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In Receipt Of Dumbness

| TX, USA | Bad Behavior, Money, Transportation

(I am working late night at the fuel center. One customer pulls up to the pump and a girl — the customer’s daughter, I assume, who looks to be anywhere from 9 to 11 years old — comes to the window and hands me a ten dollar bill. I set the pump for ten dollars. The customer only pumps $9.54 and the same girl returns to the window.)

Me: *hands her 46 cents* “And that’s 46 cents back. Thank you. Have a good night!”

Girl: *slowly takes the change and stares at me*

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry did you need the receipt?”

Girl: “I gave you ten dollars?”

(Just to make sure I pull up the previous transactions and double check.)

Me: “Yes, dear. And she only pumped $9.54, so you get .46 back.”

(She fixes me with a skeptical look and rushes back to the car. I see the mother, the girl, and a younger girl outside the car and all three of them march up to the window.)

Woman: “I paid ten dollars!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, but you only pumped $9.54, so you get back 46 cents as change.”

Woman: *getting irritated* “I paid ten dollars!”

Me: *sigh* “YES, and you pumped 9.54 and hung up the pump so you get change!”

Woman: “Why would I not get all ten?! I PAID ten!”

Me: “You HUNG up the PUMP after ONLY PUMPING $9.54. Would you like me to set it for .46 cents?”

(They turn to leave; I take a deep breath and turn the speaker volume all the way down.)

Woman: *to her daughters* “Come on, this b**** is dumb.”

(I finally lose my cool and crank the volume.)

Me: “EXCUSE ME, ma’am, but I do not appreciate being called that, or hearing that kind of language used in front of CHILDREN, no less.”

Woman: “What is your name!?”

Me: “[Full Name]! At least I can count!”

(I saved the receipt for that transaction and told both my supervisor, the service desk clerk, and the manager on duty what happened. I didn’t hear another word about it.)

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The Strongest Generation

| The Netherlands | Bad Behavior, Criminal & Illegal, Family & Kids

(I am 16 years old and helping my grandpa shop in the supermarket near closing time. My grandpa survived the Second World War. He survived being captured by Germans, at 16 years old, and lived through forced labor, starvation, and the eventual fighting to liberate the Netherlands, at 21 years old. As an older man, 82 at the time, he is still quite fit, tall, and strong.)

Grandpa: “[My Name], can you go and get some ham and cheese for me? I’ll get the bread so we can make some grilled cheese and ham sandwiches for lunch tomorrow.”

Me: “Awesome! I’m on it, gramps!”

(I make my way to the aisle that contains the ham and cheese and find only one package each of ham and the cheese left. I luck out, as it’s near closing time. I pick them both up and turn around only to find myself surrounded by three guys. )

Me: “Can I help you?”

Customer #1: “Yeah, you can actually. You can start by giving us your ham and cheese.” *makes a grabbing motion*

Me: “What? No! Why would I give this to you? I obviously intend to buy this.”

Customer #2: “Shut up! Just give us the d*** ham and cheese.”

Customer #3: “We could always just kick your a** and take it from you?”

(At this point I’m absolutely astounded. Not only am I being “robbed” in the middle of a supermarket, but they don’t want my money; they want the darn ham and cheese. Before I could even say another thing, a soft but deep voice speaks to them.)

Grandpa: “I ask you kindly to leave my grandson alone.”

(All three “customers” turn around in sync and see my grandpa standing there, smiling at them.)

Customer #2: “Or what? You’ll give us an ear full and scold us?”

Customer #1: “F*** off, old man.”

(At this point the first guy grabs my arm and is trying to take away the groceries. When this happens, my grandpa leaves his cart and walks straight past the first two guys. He grabs the guy by his shoulder, then his wrist, and pulls it back in one fluent motion. The guy screeches in pain as he gets slammed into the nearby doors.)

Grandpa: “I’ll ask again. Leave my grandson alone.” *turns to the other two* “I suggest you move away or I’ll break this guys arm.” *pulls it a little*

Customer #1: “Ow, ow, ow! Stop it! You’re bending my arm too far!”

Worker: “What’s going on here?!”

Customer #2: “F*** this. Let’s get the h*** out of here.”

Customer #3: “Let’s go, man.”

Worker: *through a wall phone* “Hello, boss? Yeah, I’ve got some hooligans here who seem to be attacking some of our customers. Can you call the cops?”

Customer #2: “I’m out!”

(Grandpa lets go of Customer #1 and they all make a run for it.)

Customer #1: “F*** you guys!”

(All three then bolt towards the main exit.)

Worker: *obviously concerned* “Are you guys okay?!”

Me: “I’m good, just a little surprised by my grandpa’s quick moves.”

Grandpa: “Hey! I might be old, but that doesn’t mean I’m slow! Besides, they were bullying my grandson.”

Me: “More like robbing me… for ham and cheese of all things!”

Worker: “Are you serious? They weren’t after your money… they were after your groceries?”

(I nod.)

Worker: “That’s insane! They are in a supermarket, for god’s sake!”

Grandpa: “The stupidity of people will never cease to amaze me.”

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Tour Cried

| Bucharest, Romania | Bad Behavior, Family & Kids, Non-Dialogue, Tourists/Travel

In order to visit the Presidential Palace (former Royal Palace), you need to make a reservation at least two days earlier. My mother and I arrive on time and wait for the tour to start when an American family of three women and four children, all related, arrive. The first sign that this is going to be fun is that, despite the receptionist telling them about the rule, they make a scene about having traveled from far, wanting to visit, etc. The tour guide decides to bend the rules for the kids and agrees to take them on. Meanwhile, the children practically pick the Reception Hall apart. Since the museum is inside a functioning Government building, you are not permitted to leave the tour without announcing to the guide and waiting for an escort.

Kid #1, around 14 years old, the first chance she gets, takes her shoes off, lies down on the floor, and reads her book. Throughout the whole tour, not once did she look at the building or listen to the guide. But, hey. At least she was quiet, I guess. Still, would she have been allowed to do the same in the White House?

Kids #2 and #3, aged between eight and ten, make a point of touching every single item labeled with a “do not touch” sign.

And my personal favourite, Kid #4. The sweet little darling is about three, obviously way too young for a 100 minute-long tour. She is running around like crazy, getting behind the cordons, climbing up on the delicate historical furniture, while not a single adult from her family, including her own mother, pays ANY attention to her. After the tour guide pleads with the accompanying adults for the hundredth time, the little hellspawn’s mother drops this pearl, saying that Kid #4 doesn’t listen to her and that the kid will just scream if she tells the kid anything, so YOU do something about the kid. She then questioned why should she leave the tour when she paid for it?!

The poor guide, and every other visitor in our group — also paying customers — had to put up with an increasingly hysterical toddler and her entire entitled entourage for the rest of the visit, except the Royal Church. By that time, our guide had finally had enough and forbade them from entering. We asked her if we’d be allowed to buy her a drink on us after all the ordeal.

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