This was in the early 2000s when arcade games were still popular. I was touring in Japan and decided to stop into a large arcade. With this arcade, you had the option of paying money up front and having the credits added to a card as opposed to the old-fashioned method of stacking coins on the machine as you played. With each play, you simply swiped the card over a reader and it would add another credit for you to play.

I came upon the wildly popular Street Fighter game and noticed there were two of the same arcade cabinets positioned back to back, facing away from each other. A Japanese girl who looked to be between six and eight years old was kneeling on a chair and playing away at one of them. I took the game opposite from her, swiped my card, cracked my knuckles, and got ready to throw down.

I got practically MASSACRED to a point where it was nearly humiliating, considering the fact that I was usually untouchable at this game. I wondered out loud:

Me: “Do the Japanese put the difficulty level at nightmare level for their games? God Almighty!”

Ego got the better of me, and I swiped that card for game after game, determined that I wasn’t walking away until I could beat that thing. And game after game, I got absolutely demolished. My sister who was touring with me strolled past.

Sister: “Why do you look so pissed?”

Me: “The AI in this game is insane! Nothing like the version in America! It’s like it’s practically predicting my every move and has a counterattack for it. I can’t touch it!”

Finally, I ended up running out of money on my card, and I slammed my fist on the game cabinet, yelled a string of profanity, and began the loser’s walk of shame to the exit. As I was walking away, the little Japanese girl I mentioned stuck her tongue out at me. A small group of children who had since congregated around her began laughing.

That was when it occurred to me: all this time, I wasn’t playing against the arcade CPU. IT WAS HER! It was the first time in my life I’d ever had the urge to smack a kid!

I went back about two other times, and each time, when I was playing some other game, I would feel someone tap me on the waist and I would turn to see that little girl smiling sweetly at me, waggling her little fingers, and then pulling up a chair and swiping her card over the credit reader, ready to completely decimate me at whatever I was playing. And that she did without fail, while always gesturing for me to swipe my card so she could murder me again. And again. And again…

I am female and have been working as a technician at this arcade for over a year. It’s a slow evening during the week, the only technicians working are a (male) trainee and me.

As I’m walking the floor, I get stopped by a man at one of the games. It’s showing an error code.

Customer: “Can you call one of the guys over here to fix this?”

Me: “Sir, I can get this fixed for you.”

Customer: “No, you couldn’t possibly. Send a man over.”

Me: “All right, sir.” *Into my walkie-talkie* “Hey, [Trainee], could I get you to come over to [Game]?”

Trainee: “Sure!”

We wait for my coworker to come over, with the customer getting antsy.

Trainee: “What seems to be the trouble?”

Customer: “[Game] is broken and I need you to fix it.”

Trainee: *Looks over at me* “So, what do I need to do?”

The customer looked crestfallen as I proceeded to walk the trainee through how to identify the error code and fix the issue, which turned out to be one button press. Had he let me fix it, he could have been back to playing five minutes sooner.

Related:
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 18
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 17
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 16
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 15
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 14

I work at an adventure golf course in a highly-populated city. We’re based in a fairly upmarket area, and it’s common that people use their postcode as an excuse to be snooty.

For current health reasons, the building we operate from has closed the toilets to customers for their safety as we don’t have enough staff to always be monitoring and cleaning the stalls in a way that complies with health and safety requirements. It lists this fact in big, bold, red writing on our website TWICE, one of which is a notification you have to close before you can proceed to booking.

A lady with her young son comes to check in and collect their golf clubs and balls. She is dressed in clearly expensive clothing, holding an expensive brand bag and the latest iPhone. She talks like she’s full of self-entitlement and superiority, but is otherwise mostly pleasant.

Customer: “…and where are your toilets?”

Me: “Unfortunately, as mentioned on our website, they are closed due to the current health situation.”

Customer: *Suddenly angry* “What do you mean, they’re closed? This is an outrage! Why weren’t we warned?”

Me: “Like I said, it is displayed on our website twice. My apologies if you missed it.”

Customer: “Where? It doesn’t say anywhere! I demand to see this notification. I’m not stupid. I know what I saw and there was nothing about this displayed.”

I oblige and spin round my tablet-monitor displaying our site. As expected, the pop-up window is there. I close this and then show the second toilet notification on the booking page. The lady looks stunned for a second, before thinking she’s got me.

Customer: *Very snide and snooty* “I didn’t book it with an iPad; I used my phone! It doesn’t say anywhere!”

I turn to look at my coworker, who shoves his phone into my hands. He’s loaded up the site there, too. I show it to the lady.

Me: “Forgive me, miss, but the desktop, tablet, and mobile phone versions of the sites are all exactly the same. They all display the toilet notification here. You will have seen it.”

Furious, the lady smacks my coworkers phone from my hands — luckily, I catch it — and yells, so full of anger yet pride and self-importance:

Customer: “WELL, I CAN’T READ!” *Storms out*

I work at a virtual reality arcade where part of my job is teaching people how to play the games. There is a young teenager playing “Beat Saber,” a popular rhythm game, but he doesn’t seem to get it and keeps failing each level after a couple of seconds.

Me: “Hey, buddy, you’re going to want to make sure you hit the blocks in the direction the arrow is pointing.”

Teenager: *Scoffs* “Okay.”

He fails again.

Me: “You see how those arrows are pointing up? That means you have to slice up.”

Teenager: “Okay!”

He fails again.

Me: “You need to hit them on the beat, too. You can always go back and change the settings or do the tutorial—”

Teenager: *Screaming* “OKAY, WHATEVER!”

I decided to just leave him to it. I watched him fail dozens more times. I hope he thought it was worth $10 to look at a “Level Failed” screen for ten minutes.

I work at a virtual reality arcade. Part of my job is helping people take off the equipment when their session is over. This particular guest, a young man in his twenties, is next to be finished. His game times out and takes him to the start menu.

Me: “Okay, it looks like your time just ended. I’m going to help you with your headset first.”

I remove his headset and he locks eyes with me.

Guest: “I HATE YOU!”

Me: “Uh… okay.”

Guest: “I don’t think you heard me. I HATE YOU!”

He calmly walked off without another word. I was not the one who set him up, either, so I have no idea why he decided he hated me so much.