(I work in an enclosed collision center where the customer can drive in for an estimate. We therefore ask all customers to turn off their vehicle while it’s inside to prevent the fumes from building up.)

Me: “Hello, ma’am! Can you please turn your vehicle off and we can start the estimate?”

Customer: “No, I will not! My children are in the car. It is far too hot for them!”

Me: “We have to have the vehicle turned off. The fumes can build up in here very quickly making everyone—including your children—very sick.”

Customer: “I care that my children are too HOT. I don’t care if they get SICK!”

(A customer comes into our sandwich shop. Instead of ordering at the counter, he sits down and spends 15 minutes staring at us from the table. However, he ignores all of our attempts to talk to him. Finally, he storms up to the register where I am and starts yelling.)

Customer: “When the f*** is one of your waiters going to take my f***ing order? I’ve been waiting here for half an hour!”

Me: “Sir, we don’t have waiters. You have to come up to the register to take your order. I’ll be happy to take your order for you, and we’ll probably have it ready before you finish paying.”

Customer: “No, my friend told me this is a classy joint! Classy joints have waiters! Now get a f***ing waiter out here or I’m leaving!”

Me: “Sir, we don’t have waiters, and if you insist on swearing at me I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Customer: “Make me f***er! Come at me, bro! You’re just a f***** with girl hair!”

(Note: I am a man with shaggy hair.)

Me: “Sir, please leave.”

Customer: “Suck my ****!”

(Fed up, my manager intervenes.)

Manager: “I’m calling the cops, so you can tell them to suck your **** all you like if you’re still here when they get here.”

Customer: *points at me* “Send this little f***** outside! I’ll be in the alley!”

(The customer storms out through the back door, which is for employees only. As my manager starts to dial the cops, he turns to me.)

Manager: *conspiratorially* “Hey, if you wanna take a break out in the alley, that’s cool.”

Me: “Excellent!”

(I go out the back door and find the belligerent customer still there.)

Customer: *sees me and freezes in place*

Me: *jumps over the rail separating us*

Customer: *takes off running*

(Instead of giving chase, I returned to the store. The police called a few minutes later telling us they had him in custody.)

(I work at a popular cellphone retailer. On this day, a customer comes in with her 8-year-old son; he is severely misbehaving.)

Me: “Welcome to [retailer]. What may I help you with?”

Customer: “I want to upgrade my phone.”

(Meanwhile, her son is running around, touching every phone and even throwing things on floor.)

Me: “Not a problem. Let’s see what we can do today.”

(Her son continues to cause chaos, but I’m trying my best to ignore him.)

Me: “Well, we have great sales going on—”

(Suddenly, her son trips the security alarm on the phone. Knowing he’s done something wrong, he turns to me in fear.)

Me: *to her son* “Now, you have to go to jail. The police are on their way, and your mom will have to pay three weeks of your allowance to bail you out.”

Customer: *whispers to me* “Thank you…”

(The customer’s son never left his mom’s side after that. She even gave me a customer satisfaction of all 10s!)

(When I was in 7th grade, I volunteered at a local library. My main job was to gather books for pull lists. One day when I’m checking in some books and filling out sending forms, a man and his daughter walk up to my computer. Note: the scanner I am using beeps every time I scan a book.)

Daughter: “Why is it making that beeping sound, Daddy?”

Father: “I don’t know. Maybe she’s checking them in.”

Daughter: “Really?”

Father: “No. I think she’s going to steal them.”

(I look up, confused, and I’m about to interject when the father walks over to the head librarian’s door.)

Me: “Um, sir?”

Father: “Quiet, thief!” *knocks on the librarian’s door*

Head Librarian: “What seems to be the problem, sir?”

Father: “That girl over there, who is clearly not authorized to run those machines, was stealing your books!”

Me: “I was checking them out to put them into the send boxes.”

Father: “No! I clearly saw you stuff books into your pockets!”

Coworker: “Sir, she doesn’t have any pockets.”

Father: “I meant down her shirt!”

(Note: I am wearing a tight fitting shirt. If so much as a piece of paper had been under my shirt, it would have been very visible. Needless to say, there are clearly no books under my shirt.)

Father: “Fine! If you don’t believe me, I’m calling the cops!”

Head Librarian: “Sir, she was not stealing books! Please do not call the police!”

(The father ignores the head librarian and proceeds to dial the police anyway. The operator on the other end of the phone is speaking loud enough for us to hear.)

Father: “Excuse me, I’d like to report a girl stealing books at the [Library].”

Operator: “Sir, are you a member of the library staff?”

Father: “No, but I saw it happen!”

Operator: “Well, I’m sorry, sir, but—”

Father: “…and she planted a bomb!”

Me: “What?!”

Operator: *sighs audibly* “Right. We’ll send a bomb squad…”

(Five minutes later, there is indeed a bomb squad outside the library doors. They end up having to clear out the library, search me, and go through the entire library with bomb-dogs.)

Daughter: *to her father* “How come you said she planted a bomb? She didn’t!”

(When the police heard that, they arrested the father. I got a week off.)

(My friend and I are sitting outside a store when we see a teenage girl chasing a little boy.)

Teenage Girl: “Get back here, kid! I’m not your freakin’ mother!”

Little Boy: “Can’t catch me!”

(The teenage girl catches the little boy a few feet away by the back of the shirt and picks him up. She then proceeds to walk back towards the store, smiling at us while carrying the boy upside down.)

Teenage Girl: “Nothing to see here. Cute shoes!”