CONTENT WARNING: Assault, violence, and mention of kidnapping

I work at Canada’s largest music instrument retailer, in the professional audio/lighting department. A large part of my job is working with sound systems and lighting rentals.

Let me tell you about the worst night of my life.

But first, some context; one of the things our store does is inventory purchases, where we buy music/production gear from people and sell it on our show floor. We don’t do consignment, or commission, and we don’t do “pawning”. We buy the item and own it outright; the customer is just another supplier to us.

We price our customer inventory purchases to sell within thirty days, so we are pretty aggressive in our pricing, but we save the customer the hassle of haggling with morons online. We also try to be fair and will show the customer the pricing and what other units are selling for, and why we will price it at this point. Also, if the customer has a legitimate rare or expensive instrument (usually a guitar), we send them to another store that specializes in those instruments, and that will give them a better deal.

However, given that this is a very easy way to get cash, we check and record ID on all transactions, as well as run all the serial numbers to check if something is stolen. 

Now with the context of this story out of the way, let’s get into it. 

It’s around 6 PM, so the managers have gone home for the day, and it’s just me in pro audio, a guitar guy, and the closer from the band department. Both of my coworkers are both older and more senior than me, but when it comes to trade-ins, we try to lean on the person in the department when it comes to assessment and pricing. I’m just finishing wrapping some cables when I get a page to come to the front for a trade-in, and I walk on up to the front desk, where I see two well-used active speakers and a customer who is wearing a big jacket who looks a little worse for wear.

Me: Hey, I’m [My Name] in pro audio. My coworkers say you have some stuff to trade in. What sort of gear do you have?”

Customer: “Just these two speakers, no rush, but I need the money tonight.”

Red flag.

Me: “Okay, I just have to do some paperwork; did you buy these guys from us?”

Customer: “Yup, around two years ago.”

Me: “Alright, can I see a piece of ID, please?”

He hands it to me, and I look up the serial numbers of the speakers in the system and confirm that they were sold by us to him around a couple of years ago. At this point, I look at the ID and then to him to confirm that it is, in fact, him, and notice that he has two fresh black eyes and a broken nose, with a small amount of blood leaking from it. He also has some very fresh bruises on his neck and what I can see of his collarbone. At this point, we have moved so that we are standing on either side of a counter, and he is leaning heavily against it, holding his ribs.

Me: “Are you okay, sir? Did you fall? You look a little worse for wear?”

Customer: “Ah, it hurts, it’s okay, I just need the money.”

Me: *Seeing my coworkers have left to help other customers, leaving me alone with this situation.* “Would you like me to call you an ambulance, or any other emergency services?”

Customer: *Not unkindly.* “No, no, I’m okay.” *As blood runs down his face from a head wound under his hat.* “I just need to pay some debts tonight, that’s all.” *He shifts, and I hear a crack.* “Ah, I think they broke a rib.”

Me: “Okay, sir, would you like to sit down for a bit while I test these out?”

Customer: “Sounds good, ahh, ouch, Thanks so much, man, you’re really doing me a favor.”

Then he leans in and says:

Customer: “Thanks again, man, I really need the money; they have my kids.”

He then walks off to the couch, and I try to process what is happening and what I need to do.

As I wheel the speakers to the back of the store, thankfully out of the sightline of my customer, I grab my coworker and fill them in as I test out the speakers. The speakers are working just fine and are in nice enough condition that I can agree to take them in. I admit I was a little nervous about this whole situation.

My coworker and I agree that since we have all his driver’s licence info, we will give him the money, as he has done nothing illegal, and then once he leaves, call the cops.

Me: *To the customer.* “Hey, man, we are able to take them in at [price]; does that work for you?”

It does, and the customer limps off on their way (yes, limps, as we are just now seeing that in addition to everything else, his legs look super sore), and we call the cops.

I’m super nervous that he will show back up at the same time the cops are here and that there will be an altercation, but fortunately, that does not happen.

The cops arrive and take one look at the customer’s information and go:

RCMP Officer: “Oh, [Customer Name]. He’s out of prison already?”

Great.

Me: “Well, I am more worried about his kids. He was obviously very beaten up, and I hope the kids are okay.”

The two officers look at each other and then back to me with a half-smile:

RCMP Officer: “I hope you didn’t do him any special favors because of that.”

Me: “No, I priced it like I would any other transaction, so no worries there.”

RCMP Officer: “Yeah, [Customer] hasn’t had contact with his kids since they were born. We know the guy quite well.”

Me: “Ah, well, I hope everything ends up okay for him.”

The police leave to handle it, and we close the store, still no sign of the customer. The next morning, I am just starting to relax and think that everything is okay, and am on my own at the rental desk when three big men walk in (looking like the cast of The Sopranos) and say:

Big Dude: “Were you the one working last night?”

Before I can say or do anything beyond get ready to fight for my life, the biggest leans in and says:

Big Dude: “Chill man, we just wanted to make sure y’all know we don’t hurt kids, never have, never will. Just wanted to clear our names around here.”

His buddies walk over and grab a 4k$ DJ board and case, pays for it in cash. Trying not to seem intimidated, I ring it through on the store account as serialized items need an account tied to them, but I am not asking them for ID, as I have two brain cells.

The big dude then stuffs around 500$ into my polo pocket, tells me it’s for the trouble, and starts to leave.

Big Dude: “Oh, and [Customer] will not be bugging you anymore; he knows that this place is off limits,

They left, and I stopped working closing shifts. It’s been two years, and I have never seen anyone from this event ever again. Retail, eh?

In the UK, the majority of police officers are not armed, and in fact don’t have much formal gun training. For those who do want to be AFOs (Authorised Firearms Officers), they have to undergo special training, part of which I am overseeing. 

The new trainees have reached the stage where they’re firing live weapons at a gun range, shooting the standard circular targets. One of the trainees is not doing as well as the others.

We’re overseeing his target, and the lack of accuracy is apparent.

Officer: “Okay, be brutally honest. How bad am I?”

Me: “Well, the good news is you have a promising career ahead of you… as a Galactic Imperial Stormtrooper.”

Officer: “…Ouch.”

My friend and I (both women) were waiting in the center lane to turn left into a shopping center parking lot when a man pulled up behind us and laid on the horn. Despite the heavy traffic and absolutely zero opportunity to turn for all of three minutes, he kept honking.

Eventually, two cars took pity on us, and we were able to turn. The man behind us followed directly, so close that if we had slowed down at all, he would have hit us. [Friend] parked in the second row in the parking lot, and the man took a handicapped spot right in front of the shipping store we wanted to enter.

Friend: “Should we wait?”

Me: “Yeah. He seems like he’s in a hurry.”

[Man] got out of his car and flipped us off. We just watched without saying anything. He went in, did whatever he had to do, and pulled out to leave. We went in, did what we had to do, and walked back out.

[Man] was parked on the passenger side of our car, clearly waiting for us. He got out of his car, slamming the door into my friend’s car, and approached us as my friend opened her door.

Man: “You f****** got something to say? Huh? You got a problem?”

Friend: *Ignores him and opens her door.*

Man: *Slams his door shut.* “Step the f*** up right now! You’re gonna lose your f****** teeth!”

[Man] advanced on my friend, but I stepped between them with my keys in one hand and my little bottle of pepper spray in the other.

Me: *Smiling.* “Hello, I think you should leave.”

Man: *Turns to me.* “I ain’t talking to you, c***.”

Me: “You are now.”

Man: “What the f*** is your problem?!”

Me: “I’ve been waiting for someone to swing on me, so let’s go.”

The man looked me over, noted both of my hands, and lost some of his attitude.

Man: *Sucks his teeth.* “I ain’t got time for your bull-s***.”

He got back in his car, banging his door against my friend’s car again, and left.

I took a video of him leaving, complete with another middle finger out the window and his license plate. According to my friend, the police were not surprised when she gave them the information, and she was able to have her door repaired and repainted at the man’s expense.

I was not the best employee. I was not the worst, either, but I was a little accident-prone. I did what I was capable of doing right. That said, it was fair enough that I got fired after enough write-ups… Even if the write-ups were actually false, for example, accusing me of billing clients when I didn’t do work because I used the incorrect form reporting what work I did for them, despite me having laid out notes in detail explaining what I had done during the session.

My boss always tried to come up with reasons to refuse to pay my hours, such as refusing to pay because I should have broken one session into two separate sessions, due to a change in venue, such as a phone call during a client’s drive, and then they met with me in person. However, if I did that, she would refuse to pay for the second session because it “looks wrong to insurance”.

It only took me about two weeks to start keeping my own detailed log of everything said verbally from my boss, of every second I spent with clients, and what we worked on, etc.  

Long story short, the boss kept skipping out hours on my pay checks and would pay me back on the next pay check, but never enough to quite pay off the balance, until I told her I was talking to the labor board…

Then she refused to issue three pay checks in a row and started writing me up for nonsense until she could “justify” firing me. In Idaho, when you’re fired, your boss has twenty-four hours to pay any lasting wages. If you quit, your boss has two weeks. So, I take it on the chin and take my office trinkets and leave, and start texting the boss.

Me: “So, when can I pick up the final pay check?”

Boss: *Text speak”* “idk yet, lol. How much do I owe you anyway?”

I run the numbers from the hour logging system that sent me emails weekly:

Me: “$6,400. If another check from you bounces again, I’m taking it to the cops. It’s a felony in Idaho to bounce a check.”

Boss: “No need to be so damn serious God wtf. Come in [two weeks from now].”

Me: “You’re supposed to have it by tomorrow.”

Boss: “Get it in two weeks or not at all.”

So, I’m dumb, and I wait two weeks. Obviously, on arrival, there’s no pay check waiting for me and the boss happens to never be in the office! And the boss is the only one who can write checks.

Via email to the boss, I explained what happened when I visited the workplace, listing the time and date I visited and demanding an immediate opportunity to get my money. 

I visited the labor board, but they basically told me they wouldn’t help because my boss claimed there were no owed wages to them, despite evidence from my pay stubs vs hour tracking software emails, so I began looking into lawyers.

Two months later:

Boss: “Are you gonna get your money yet? ;P”

Me: “Will it actually be there? And how much are the checks for?”

Boss: “I’m not sure, but they’re printed and waiting for you, so even if I’m not here, you can have them.”

Foolish me, I assume this is likely and go. Of course, no checks. I complained about this update in an email to my lawyer and sent her another email explaining that I found out she lied about the checks being available and that I am intending to take legal action, and she may be liable for three times the amount owed. This was her final chance. Suddenly, I am called by the Department of Labor!

DOL Agent: *Serious tone, like he thinks he’s the sheriff or an angry dad.* “Hi, I’m calling you because your former employer is claiming you’ve been harassing them, and they’ve asked us to represent them in a criminal case against you. Do you have anything to say to clear up this mess?”

Me: *Disgusted cough of a laugh.* “Yeah, they owe me $6,400 for months now. It’s not harassment when they owe me money, I haven’t threatened them, and I haven’t contacted them more than once per day. Will you make them pay me already?”

DOL Agent: *Cop wannabe ego audibly deflates.* “Oh… Uh… Yeah… I see this in the email you sent us months ago… Goodbye.”

A couple of weeks later, a different DOL Agent emails me and says he has my checks. So, I go in. The checks total to about $2,000; only about one-third of what they owe, leaving the total at $4,400. The DOL Agent explained that the DOL still can’t help me, but that they did send the details on to the police in case my former boss does go through with trying to press charges, this will be evidence against their claims, basically.

So… I f****** sued their a**es.

The evidence my ex-boss submitted to the judge, hilariously, indicated their own records believed they still owed me money, just not nearly as much as I claimed. My ex-boss’s husband lied under oath and screamed at me, his wife, and the judge, making a complete fool of himself.

Due to the amount of money owed, I had to move the case to a higher court, with permission of that judge, basically. And… They didn’t show up in court. I got a default judgment for $15,000 or so, including triple damages and other costs such as the lawyer.

The business shut down, and they tried to claim it was because of my lawsuit. The truth is, Idaho had just limited Peer Support hours coverage via Medicare, which was the highest value service at the business. They only had a therapist for less than four months in a year, just for show and legal requirements; my position only gave them a 2/3rd profit margin.

But hey… If they want to claim it was all my fault, I’ll take it. Since there was a default judgment in court, and the business wasn’t an LLC, that means I can go after their personal assets and garnish their personal wages at their future workplaces. It sucks when someone takes money out of your check, right? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander!

CORRECTION: A typo has been corrected.

A few years ago, we woke on a snowy March morning. I gazed out into the back garden and noticed there was no snow on the tops of the garden walls. I looked closer and realised THERE WERE NO TOPS ON MY GARDEN WALLS! Someone had snuck in during the night and stolen the York stone slabs that formed the tops of my garden walls.

Enraged, and still in my dressing gown and slippers, I went into the snowy garden and out into the alleyway that runs behind our house. Footprints in the snow, little snow dumps for the topping stones, and little droplets of blood from where the dip-s*** had cut himself lifting the rather cumbersome slabs.

First things first, I thought, phone the police and get it reported. The local station is around the corner from my house, and I was told that one of the boys in blue would be with me shortly. I figured I would walk to the end of the alleyway to meet them. In doing so, I inadvertently stumbled upon a trail of blood drips in the snow, leading from my garden, working their way down the alleyway, over the road, and up to the front door of a neighbouring house.

Sure enough, the local bobby appears, also with a mug of tea in hand, and we start discussing the trail of blood. Then a tatty transit van pulls up, slaps on the hazards, and parks up in the middle of the road. The driver gets out, turns to the copper, and says:

Driver: “Is it alright if I park up here? I’m just helping a mate move some stone.”

The policeman and I share a look and a “oh really?” and start to make our way up the blood-dripped path to the front door of his mate and my neighbour’s house. Now, it is worth mentioning that the house belongs to a good friend of mine who rents it out.

The tenant opens the door as we are walking up the path, and lo and behold, stacked up in neat rows behind him are massive piles of York slabs (far more than were taken from my wall), but amongst them were ones I knew were mine from the odd size and shape.

Policeman: “Is that your stone, sir?”

Neighbour: “Yes, mate, I have just pulled it up out of my cellar; I’m off to sell it.”

Policeman: “All of it?”

Neighbour: “Yup”

Policeman: “What about those bits. They are oddly shaped and look suspiciously like the ones taken from your neighbour’s wall last night.”

Neighbour: “Yup, definitely all mine.”

At this point, I decide to give my friend, the owner of the property, a call on speaker phone.

Me: “[Friend], it’s [My Name]. I’m standing outside your house with the police at the moment; some of my Yorkshire slabs went AWOL in the night. Have you given your tenant permission to rip up your cellar floor and sell the stone?”

Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t. So, over the next few hours, the dip-s*** stone thief was made to put back all of the stone he had pilfered from his landlord’s cellar and my wall, before being taken off to the cells whilst his landlord started eviction proceedings. 

All whilst I was in my slippers and dressing gown, drinking coffee.