I used to be a grocery employee and was almost always chained to the express lane.

I wasn’t ever one of the “popular girls” in high school, but I wasn’t a wallflower, either. Most people in my class knew me by sight if not by name.

One day, I was chugging away at my store, which was only four blocks from the school, when a guy known to be the Big Man On Campus — handsome, fawned over, popular, etc. — and his posse showed up in my lane.

Big Man On Campus: “Hey, you go to [School], right?”

Me: “Yes.”

I scanned his friends’ purchases. Knowing he was a Big Man On Campus, I suppose I was meant to be impressed he was even speaking to me. I wasn’t.

Big Man On Campus: “And your name’s [My Name]?”

Me: “Yes.”

Big Man On Campus: “Would you sell us alcohol?”

Seriously?! Let’s just suppose I was swooning over the fact that he knew my name; the managers’ station was literally three feet behind me. Any one of the four managers on duty could have looked over my shoulder and seen exactly what I was doing.

Also, all of us were underage for alcohol; I couldn’t sell it, and he couldn’t buy it.

Me: “Uh, no.”

The badgering began. I kept refusing to sell him any alcohol, and he kept trying all the VERY convincing lines like “doing him a solid” and “c’mon.” I saw the manager lift his head and squint at us, so I told Big Man On Campus that he was NOT worth the consequences.

He looked furious but shut up. Right after they left my lane, [Manager] came up to me and asked if I knew them and what they wanted.

Me: “They go to my school, and they wanted me to sell them alcohol.”

Manager: “What did you say?”

Me: “I told them ‘no’ multiple times.”

[Manager] just nodded and walked away, a suspicious scowl on his face. Not two minutes later, he was chasing them out of the store. They’d tried to steal what I wouldn’t sell them.

I never saw any of them in my store again.

A customer got rather irate at me because I wouldn’t serve him alcohol as he looked under twenty-five (a rule used by some UK supermarkets). His array of arguments consisted of:

Customer: “But I’m twenty-one, so you have to serve me!”

Me: “But you look under twenty-five, so I don’t.”

Customer: “But [Other Employee] knows I’m twenty-one!”

Me: “But she’s not in right now, and the final decision is made by me, not her.”

Customer: “What if I came in with ID? Would you serve me then?”

Me: “Well, yes, because then you could prove you are twenty-one.”

Customer: “But you were okay to sell me paracetamol?”

Me: “That only carries an age restriction of sixteen, so I didn’t need ID from you for that.”

Customer: “Well, you look like you’re f****** twelve, so I wouldn’t serve you!”

Me: “Well, I would have brought ID with me to prove that I am nineteen.”

He came back later, and the employee who “knew” his age served him.

Customer: *Smug* “See! I told you!”

Me: “I almost have the energy to try and look for a f*** to give you.”

Our store has a very strict “no ID, no sale” policy for alcohol. Rip Van Winkle himself could come in for beer and we’d still have to card him. I’m sent to relieve one of my fellow cashiers for her break on an especially hectic day and find her almost done checking out an old woman, while one of the managers hovers nearby waiting until she’s finished to do something on the register.

Coworker: “Can I see your ID?”

Customer: “Here.”

My coworker takes the ID to scan on the register, as we’re trained to do. It throws up an error: “ID EXPIRED.”

Coworker: “It looks like your ID’s expired.”

Customer: “What? You can’t get my birthdate off of that? I’m seventy-one!”

Me: “We can only take valid IDs. The only time we can get around an expired ID is if you have the renewal paperwork with you.”

I don’t tell her that this is left to the cashier’s discretion, and we look at those papers VERY carefully before approving the sale. Most people have no problem with this. This woman is not most people. Instead, she starts pulling out MORE ID cards, most of which I unfortunately don’t get a good look at. The bagger is rooting around in the bags, trying to find where she put the alcohol.

Customer: “Here! Here’s my concealed carry permit! Can you take that?“

Me: “We can only take valid, federally-issued IDs. That isn’t federally-issued.”

Customer: “I want to talk to your manager.”

My coworker and I both point wordlessly at our manager, who has been standing silently the whole time, probably still trying to process the absolute mess that his store is at the moment.

Customer: *To our manager* “All right, then, you scan your ID for me so I can get my alcohol.”

Me: “That would be identity theft.”

If this woman weren’t in one of the store scooters, I’m pretty sure she would stomp her foot like a toddler.

Customer: “I’m never coming here again! I’m going to do my shopping at [Competitor]!”

Me: *Lying through my teeth* “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Coworker: “It’s probably cheaper there.”

After she spewed a bit more vitriol, we FINALLY managed to confiscate her alcohol, get her to pay for her groceries, and send her on her not-so-merry way.

If she really needed alcohol that badly, I hope she got to an addiction recovery clinic, but I wouldn’t feel bad if she had to get through a patch of thorns first.

My roommates and I have thrown a couple of pretty big parties over the course of our college junior year. For some reason, the weekend before finals, my roommates really want to do another party.

Me: “With finals coming up next week, people aren’t going to be doing much partying. It’s finals — time to study. You guys know the drill. People will be wanting to party the next weekend once finals are over.”

They don’t care. They want to set up a party.

I don’t really want to do the party, but they’re more than welcome to put their money into it if they want to. No way am I contributing money toward any beer or alcohol. The only thing I do help with is driving them to the local liquor store that’s about three-quarters of a mile away and using my pickup truck to haul back three kegs of beer.

My two roommates spread the word about the party this coming Friday, and they talk another friend into coming over and doing the DJ stuff.

Everything is set up and ready early Friday afternoon. The evening starts and night is creeping in, and there are barely twenty people at any given time for the party. By about midnight, the first keg is empty and the second one is tapped. Usually, by 8:00 or 9:00 pm, we’re tapping the second keg, and midnight is the third keg.

A few people trickle in and out, and it’s boring. I tell my roommates this was a stupid time to do a party, and they just kind of grunt in agreement.

The kegs are kept in the basement. On the stairs leading down to the basement, you go down five steps, and on the landing is a side door leading outside. This door stays locked all the time; we never use it in the eighteen months we live at the place. Then, you turn to continue down the steps.

There are maybe a dozen people or so in the house, and it’s around 12:30 in the morning. My roommates are talking about calling it a night since the party is a bust. Right around that time, in walks a couple of guys and their girlfriends. They all pay the standard $5 for a solo cup and head downstairs.

About ten minutes later, someone we know that’s still at the party comes up to my roommates and me as we’re standing in the living room area on the main floor.

Friend: “You guys know those two couples that just came in?”

Roommate #1: “No, they were just looking for a party. Why?”

Friend: “They took the full keg out the side door.”

Roommate #2: “What?!”

The two guys and girls that just came into the party ten or fifteen minutes before were stealing the third untapped keg by using the side door on the basement stairs landing.

[Roommate #1] was the first one down the stairs and out the side door, and I was right on his heels. [Roommate #2] was slowly bringing up the rear. [Roommate #1] and I rounded the corner of the house and, sure enough, the two guys were at the street with the keg, about 100 feet away from us across the front lawn. They were about twenty feet short of their goal of putting the keg in the back of their car and driving off.

I’m faster than my roommates when running, by a long shot, and I passed my roommate easily. I was about two seconds away from reaching the guys with the keg when a beer bottle went zipping past my head and shattered against their car. My roommate knew he wasn’t fast enough to help me stop the guys, so he threw his beer bottle at them, almost hitting me in the process. The bottle missed me by about a foot and just barely missed one of the thieves. The sound and sight of the bottle shattering against their car caused them to drop the keg and try to make it to their car to get away.

I grabbed the first thief closest to me and threw him down to the ground, and I turned and grabbed the second thief before he could dive into the car and slammed him up against the car. By this time, my two roommates had caught up, and they picked the first guy I threw down and pinned him up against the car. Now the thieves’ girlfriends exited the car, and they were crying and pleading with us to not hurt their boyfriends.

I shoved the guy I had my hands on and told him to get the f*** out of there before I changed my mind. I told my roommates to let the other guy go. They protested a bit, but I told them we’d gotten the keg back and it was not worth having to deal with the cops if they got involved after we kicked the crap out of these two guys. They finally agreed and let the second guy go.

The thieves climbed into the car quickly and speed off. My roommates collected the keg and returned it to the basement.

After this incident, my roommates never wanted to hold another party at our place. I was okay with that decision.

CONTENT WARNING: Drugging, Sexual Assault

A few years ago, I was working in a hotel as the front desk manager, covering the audit (overnight) shift due to a callout. A young lady who was wearing a very short skirt and a low-cut top and looked worse for wear came into the front lobby shortly after midnight. She walked to the center of the carpeted room and proceeded to squat down and pull her panties aside to relieve herself.

Me: “Hi, how’s it going?”

Lady: *Continuing to urinate* “Fine. How’s your night going?”

Me: “Well, it just got really interesting. Um… do you need a restroom?”

Lady: “No, I’ll be all right where I am.”

Unfortunately, I had to contact the police, and they arrived pretty quickly. The lady was extremely intoxicated, and my only option apparently was to have her arrested for indecent exposure and disorderly conduct. I work in Maryland, and that arrest would mean that she would be placed on the Sex Offender Registry in our state because that’s how the law works.

Me: *To the officer* “Could I decline to press charges now, get her identification, and have her return in a day or two to pay for the carpet cleaning?

She didn’t have money at the moment. He said I could do that because none of us wanted to destroy this woman’s life because she peed on the carpet while clearly not realizing what she was doing.

So, that’s the route we took. I photocopied her ID and gave her a note to hang on to remind her what she had done and that she needed to bring money to the hotel by a certain date or, unfortunately, the charges would get filed.

A few days later, I was on my normal shift when an extremely beautiful woman walked in inquiring about how to handle the incident that occurred the other night.

Me: “The young lady needs to come back and handle it as agreed upon.”

Lady: *Very embarrassed* “I am the young lady.”

I was blown away. What a difference a shower and makeup that wasn’t running everywhere made for her! She was very embarrassed as I recounted the story for her, and she actually started to tear up as she got money from her purse. She gave me $100 for the carpet cleaning.

Lady: “Not that it matters, I know, but I brought this to prove to you that I am not that kind of person, and I am really sorry.”

She proceeded to hand me a note from the local hospital with attached lab work that showed she had tested positive for Rohypnol (roofies). Apparently, she and two of her friends were dosed at a bar in town. One friend was sexually assaulted, while the other friend wound up in the drunk tank, and we all know where this young lady ended up.

I immediately apologized for having had her come back with money and explained that I wouldn’t be taking any money from her at all. I was so upset to find out that these three young women came to our town to have a good time and it turned out so awful. I ended up giving her and her friends a discounted rate for a few days since they had to stay for the investigation into the assault. I did my best to redeem our town by giving them anything they needed going forward.

Long story short, what I thought were just drunken shenanigans turned out to be someone’s worst night. Calling the police was a godsend because they were able to identify that she had also been dosed.

She and I still communicate to this day, and I see her when she comes into town. (She has ever since and still does use the regular restroom when she visits!)

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