(My husband and I go to an extremely popular haunted house attraction. We are there on a Saturday and the line is massive. We are queued in front of a group of high-school-aged girls and their boyfriends, doing the typical “pretend to be scared” act to pretty much anything that moves near them. They are obnoxiously loud the entire time, and we are annoyed, but the sights and cast as we wait to be allowed in make it worth it. About 25 minutes into the wait, my husband leans down to peck me on the cheek for a kiss. We turn back towards the line, only for me to immediately get punched hard on the back. I turn to face two of the girls:)

Blonde Brat: “Disgusting! Don’t do that s*** in public.”

Brunette Brat: “No one wants to see whales kiss. F****** disgusting.”

(I don’t say anything and turn back around, but immediately start to cry into my jacket. My husband holds my hand, but the entire time we stand there, they keep loudly complaining and telling us to stop. About ten minutes later, one of the girls walks ahead of me to a security guard and loudly begins to complain.)

Blonde Brat: *pointing to us* “Those two won’t stop f****** making out and groping each other. Can you please kick them out?

(I watch the security guard chuckle, but tell her to get back in line. She glares at us the entire time and her group starts taunting the security guard for “liking fatties.” At this point, I am about to leave, but my husband is really excited for the haunt and I stay. When we are at the front of the line, they let a number of people in, so it isn’t a constant line of people throughout the house. I realize we’ll be stuck in there with the girls, so I am about to back out when the security guard from before stops us in line.)

Security Guard: “Can I please ask you to step out?”

(We did as we were told. The group behind us began to cheer, and then walked forward. I started to cry more, hearing them insult us and act like they won. They entered the foyer to the haunt while we waited. The security guard didn’t speak much, and asked us what happened; we explained our side. He stayed silent, but let us back to the front of the line. We were confused, but happy to be allowed back since we had already paid. When we got into the actual building, we saw that same group in a corner with the security guard from before and an actual police officer. They were being asked to leave for assaulting another customer. The guard smiled and waved at us, as we were pushed through to the haunt.)

This story is part of our Haunted Houses roundup! This is the last story in the roundup, but we have plenty of others you might enjoy!

23 Times Theme Park Customers Gave Employees Emotional Roller-Coasters!

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(I work in a small bakery with usually one other coworker. The most we do for cake customization is writing on the cake. A lady comes in right when rush hour is starting up.)

Customer: “Can I reserve a cake, but with a chocolate macaroon on it, instead?”

(We don’t normally do this, and many customers are coming in. My coworker says she will call our manager — who is not present —  while I handle the other customers. Not even two minutes after, the lady comes up to me while I’m helping another customer and starts going off.)

Customer: “You people are always slow; this happens every time I come here! Even though I come in first, you never want to help me first. This is ridiculous!”

(My coworker comes out while the lady is yelling and says we can give her the chocolate macaroon.)

Customer: “Finally! It’s about time I got some service.”

(I take her name and number for the reservation and she leaves, looking smug. We handle the rush hour. My coworker then informs me about the lady:)

Coworker: “She came in here before while I was working, noticed the rush hour, and said, ‘Go ahead and help them first; I’ll wait,’ and then screamed at me after for not helping her first!”

(I am a cashier in a liquor store.)

Me: “Hello, Welcome to [Liquor Store]. Can I help you find anything?”

Customer: “Y’all have any grape wine?”

Me: *pause* “We sure do. Almost all wine is made from grapes. Do you know what type of wine?”

Customer: “Grape wine.”

Me: “Okay. Is it red or white?”

Customer: “Look. I’m not here to play twenty questions. I want that grape-flavored wine.”

Me: “Wine is made from fermented grapes. It’s technically all ‘grape’-flavored. Do you remember a brand name?”

Customer: “It’s the grape-flavored wine. Why is this so hard for you?!”

Me: *thinking furiously* “Grape-flavored like grape-flavored candy?”

Customer: *pause* “Yes.”

Me: *shows her to the Manischewitz Concord Grape Wine*

Customer: “Yes! This is what the Jews drink!”

(I work at a bank that caters to the mix of population that California has and the languages they speak, primarily English, Spanish, and Chinese. While our Chinese-speaking tellers are Asian, they’re what we call ABCs — American-Born Chinese — and therefore may miss some cultural things on occasion. A lady of uncertain ethnicity comes in to trade foreign currency at the teller next to me. Neither of us are qualified for foreign currency transactions, but when my coworker is looking at the bill confusedly for a while, I peek over, and see a lot of telling things. The first thing I notice is the Chinese, and since I know Chinese, I plan to offer input. Then I notice the rest… It is green, and looks and feels like US currency, but it is a “Hell Bank Note” of “Ten Thousand.” It features a non-chubby cheek portrait facing right, and has the blatantly fake serial number of j023456. In fact, you can find this exact one on Google Images. It’s even signed in fancy English Calligraphy, with the names associated with “Hell” in Chinese superstition. Lastly, the biggest and most obvious factor for this being not real that convinces my coworker, at least, is that it has no country written on it.)

Me: *to coworker* “I’m pretty sure that’s money you burn.”

Customer: “What? You don’t just burn ten thousand dollars! I want my ten thousand dollars’ worth!”

(Judging by the customer’s tone, she isn’t trying to scam us, but genuinely thinks it is valuable and is horrified that I want to burn her ten thousand dollars. My coworker, on the other hand, seems skeptical, but has at least heard about the tradition of burning money. Every teller begins to take a peek and see what the fuss is about. At first I am trying to explain what I see and what I know. Then we just start to wonder what should we do. Some of the options include confiscating the “fake bill” and reporting it to the Feds, returning the bill and dismissing service, or trying to explain what it is to the customer — which we try to no avail. All the while the customer is getting more and more frantic at the idea of losing ten thousand dollars, until finally I try this to satisfy the customer’s needs.)

Me: “Ma’am, if you’ll look here, it says that this is a ‘Hell Bank Note.’ Perhaps the Hell Bank will cash this for you.”

(She seems satisfied with the answer, takes back her bill, and goes out on her way to learn more about this “Hell Bank.” After all the tellers go back to their places and are relieved it is over, my coworker has this gem:)

Coworker: “Did you just tell her to go to Hell?”

(I’m on the shop floor, where we have some sockets on display.)

Customer: “Excuse me.”

Me: “Yes, sir?”

(He gestures to one of the sockets.)

Customer: “Do you have a three-pin like this for the bathroom?”

Me: “No, the shaver sockets are designed with the steam from the bath or shower in mind, whereas three-pin are not. You’d short-circuit the thing if the contacts inside didn’t corrode first.”

Customer: “I guess I’ll look somewhere else.”

(I later told a colleague, who’s a trained electrician.)

Colleague: “Short? The d*** thing would blow up!”

(Looks like I gave him the best-case scenarios, because shaver sockets are 12V while mains are 240!)