I work at an amusement park known for tiny buildable bricks and having everything be awesome. I’m a shift lead in the retail department. One of my employees comes to the back and asks me for help.

Employee: “There is a guy who wants to do a return, and it’s a lot.”

The customer has a bag that is FULL of build-sets of all different kinds, ones we don’t even carry in our small store. The customer hands me his “receipt”, which is a printout of an order form from the company’s retail site. As we are a theme park, that site has nothing to do with us.

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, I’m not going to be able to process this return for you today. You’ll have to go to a [Brick Store] location or return them by mail. The closest brick and mortar store would be down in Fashion Valley, but there is one downtown if you’re continuing your vacation up there.”

Customer: “What do you mean? You’re a [Brick Store]; return these.”

Me: “While you’re technically right, we’re just licensed to sell these brick products. We’re not owned by the company, so these items you’ve brought to return wouldn’t even be in our system.”

Customer: “You’re kidding me, right? No. You’re going to return these. I called and they said that I could.”

Me: “Sir, I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t return these.”

The customer becomes irate, grabbing products out of the bag and throwing them at me and at my employee, who has been silently observing this whole time.

Customer: *Screaming* “Call your supervisor!”

While I’m ducked behind the counter, I happily oblige while simultaneously radioing for security.

My supervisor and security arrive at the same time, and the customer gets red in the face and spits everywhere as he’s yelling that I am refusing him service.

My supervisor starts to get mad at me until I tell her to look at his receipt. She then starts giggling to herself once she sees it and neatly folds it and hands it back to the customer.

Supervisor: “Sir, this receipt is not from the same company that owns this park. Since you’ve chosen to harass our park employees and ruin other guests’ experiences, I’d like you to follow me so we can get your paperwork filled out.”

Customer: “Paperwork?”

Supervisor: “Yes, I’m banning you from this park.”

As the customer is being escorted out by park security and my supervisor, I turn to my employee.

Me: “Sorry for that fiasco, but well done for doing the right thing and getting me. I would have hated for you to deal with that on your own.”

Employee: *Shrugs* “I’m just trying to figure out why he lugged that big bag to the top of the park instead of trying to return it at the giant retail store at the entrance.”

This happened to my grandfather when he was seventeen. He had worked at a job in an amusement park for a while, and eventually, he got promoted to the ticket booth. While he was being trained, his trainer took him to the side and pointed out a man. He told him that if the man, who was extremely muscular and absolutely huge, were to come up to the booth and demand all the money, he should give it to him.

Fast forward to later in the summer. My grandfather was working on closing the booth at night when four fairly large teens came up and asked for tickets. My grandfather said no and they promised to beat him up.

Sure enough, when my grandfather was leaving, the four guys were waiting for him in the parking lot. My grandfather, who weighed in at under 100 pounds and was a skinny, scared teen at the time, prepared to fight when the four guys ran away. My grandpa, feeling pretty good about himself, turned to see the huge man standing there, protecting him!

Fast forward once more to many years later. My grandfather was sitting and reading the paper when he saw a familiar face on the front page. The man who protected him was actually a hitman for the mafia and had pistol-whipped an old woman because her husband had owed the mafia money! And that’s the story of how my grandfather was unwittingly protected by the mafia.

My job is making change so people can play amusement park games. It’s a slow night, and a big, tall man comes in.

Me: “Hello, sir. Do you have any questions about the game?”

The customer says nothing and moves into my personal space. I back up.

Me: “You use your quarters to push quarters off the end of the board, and it gives you one ticket for each quarter.”

The customer moves into my personal space again, looming over me. I put my hands in my change apron.

Me: “The tickets can be traded for prizes—”

The customer shoves his hand into my right apron pocket. I grab his wrist and squeeze.

Customer: “Let go of my hand!”

Me: “Your hand is in my pocket. Now open it up, and we’ll move it out of my pocket slowly.”

I squeeze more tightly for emphasis. His hand comes out, and he’s not holding anything.

Me: “Good. Now either you can leave, or I can call my boss and you can try explaining why your hand was in my pocket.”

He chose to leave. I was left to wonder why somebody so big went for trying to pick my pocket, and why he didn’t at least take the time to figure out that I kept bills in the LEFT pocket.

I work at an indoor go-karting facility. We have a special deal on our two-race packages on Easter Sunday where they are discounted lower than the already-discounted package price. Our packages cannot be split between racers, which is why most of our packages are sold with an odd number of races, with a few exceptions, including the two-race package.

A couple walks in, and I tell them to create a profile so we can assign them their races and have them pay from there. The woman picks up the pricing sheet and gets a confused look on her face.

Woman: “Aren’t you guys running a special promo deal on your two-race packages today?”

Me: “Yes, we are, two races today for [discounted price] rather than [original price].”

Woman: “Then why doesn’t it say the discount?”

Me: “Because it says it on the computer where you log in.”

The computer the customers log into says our promo for the day in big bold letters.

Woman: “But… I still don’t understand.”

She’s still staring at the pricing sheet. I print out some receipt paper with a piece of tape, write down the promo for the day and slowly tape it over the original two-race deal on the pricing sheet she’s holding.

A look of realization comes over her face and, thankfully, she now understands. But this isn’t the end. The man comes over.

Man: “So, the two-race packages can be split for each person, right?” 

Me: “Unfortunately, no, as they are packages they can only be sold per person, and races cannot be split or transferred between people.”

Man: “But… hmm… I don’t know why you guys wouldn’t split the packages.”

Me: “I really don’t know, either, but I don’t question it.”

Man: “Can you pleeeeease make an exception for us?”

He’s talking in the most childish voice I can imagine a mid-thirty-year-old adult male can make.

Me: “I’m sorry, it’s corporate rules. Even if I wanted to, there’s no way in the system it will allow me to do it.”

Man: “Well, that’s just plain stupid.” 

They both left without buying any races.

I work as a janitor in a medium-sized amusement park. During the winter season, we have a nighttime light show that projects on the outside of the nearby trees and buildings and attracts hundreds of guests that sit on benches or stand in the street during the show.

One night, after the show is over, I start cleaning up while answering guest questions. As I’m helping a guest locate the ADA shuttle to the entrance, I’m quickly interrupted by a man in his late sixties.

Old Man: “Excuse me. Is there a supervisor I can speak to?”

Sensing the urgency in his voice, I ask my guest to hold on a moment while pulling out my radio.

Me: “Absolutely. Do you know what department you’d like to contact?”

Old Man: “Security. Calling them isn’t necessary. I just wanted to say that I am appalled that there was no announcement before the show where any emergency exits were.”

It needs to be mentioned that we are outside, there are three very wide streets that all lead away from this location, AND there are dozens of staff members at every exit point all trained in emergency procedures, so even in a panic, there would be little issue escaping in an emergency.

Me: “I understand your concern, but every path here is actually a safe exit route. I can have a security officer come speak—”

Old Man: *Interrupting* “There has to be an announcement before any and every show that warns people what to do if a disaster happens!”

I try to think of ONE amusement park I’ve been to that made an announcement like this before a show. None come to mind.

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. If you’d like to contact security or the guest services department to leave a comment, maybe they will include an announcement in the future.”

The man is becoming increasingly agitated.

Old Man: “No, no, no, you don’t understand. This is my line of business—”

He pulls out his wallet to flash his security badge for some other company.

Old Man: “—and I was never told where to go in case of an emergency! You saw all these people standing here. Don’t you remember Las Vegas?!”

He then gestures to all the high places around us and looks at me expectantly. Frustrated, not sure exactly what he expects me to do about this, I drop my cheery tone but maintain a smile.

Me: “Sir. I am a janitor. There is absolutely nothing I can do for you. If you want to give your concerns to guest services, they are located at the main entrance.”

He realized I wouldn’t give in to his alarmism, so he huffed and shuffled away. After finally helping my waiting guest, I radioed the attendants in the office to give them notice in case he wanted to complain. 

While I understand the general concern that is now omnipresent in the United States, scaring people won’t prevent tragedies. And even if you agree that guests should be warned of obvious escape routes before congregating anywhere, expecting a janitor to have any power over the situation is asinine.