*The games in the arcade where I work all run on quarters. As such, we have a change booth to give people quarters and bills. On this particular day, many people have approached the change booth and exchanged borderline obscene amounts of money for quarters, sometimes up to $60. As such, it’s not unreasonable to assume people with large bills want a large amount of quarters.*
*Customer approaches the change booth with a $50 bill*
Me: “Hello!”
Customer: *says nothing*
*I take their lack of response for wanting all of it in quarters. Then I send it through the window*
Me: “Here you go!”
*Customer looks aghast while switching between looking at $50 in quarters and me*
Customer: “No, can I have this in money?”

(I work at a batting cage. Customers are supposed to pick up their cages after they’re done/when the balls run out. A customer comes up).
Customer: The machine is stuck
Me: Is it stuck or out of balls?
Customer: It’s stuck there are still balls in there.
(I go out and check. Sure enough the softball machine is empty. I tell them that and they clean it up. Five minutes later the guy comes back up)
Customer: The machine still isn’t working.
(I go back out. They put the softballs in the baseball machine).
Me: Uh…you put them in the wrong machine…
(They looked at each other and groaned. After this, I had to go outside to laugh…I don’t think I’ve ever had to deal with two people like that).

(I work at an arcade with batting cages, and we have a play park. Everyone who goes into the play park must purchase a wristband. We send staff periodically to check and make sure no one has snuck in. I also run the Facebook page, and I receive this message, which is a screenshot of a review he made a couple of days ago.)

Customer: “Worst f****** experience ever! We went there so my son could get some practice hitting. As he finished up, he wanted to play in the arcade and in the ball pit, which was all fine and good. Well, he was playing in the ball pit, and some teenagers who were playing in there at the same time but had no business being in there were horse playing and they hit him in the eye. No one apologized about it, and they all scattered like roaches when the kitchen light comes on. Then, furthermore, while we went in there playing with our kids — eight and almost a year old — we were told we have to leave because we didn’t have wristbands and we weren’t supposed to be in there. I felt that my character was discriminated against that night, and believe me, we will not, and I repeat not be coming back!”

Me: “Hi, [Customer], I’m sorry you had a bad experience Sunday. I don’t know how the review evaded my sight, as I usually see every one that appears. So, thank you for bringing it to my attention. However, while you are right that the teenagers had no business being in there, I honestly have to say you had no right to be in there, either, since you did not purchase a wristband to be in there. It wasn’t your character that was being discriminated against; we kick everyone out who has not purchased a wristband.”

Customer: “That’s not the point. The point of the matter is that nothing was done about it until we got there, and the people there were choosing sides because you believe what people tell you. It was basically black against white, but we definitely are not coming back to that h***-hole.”

Me: “Okay, maybe I’m not understanding what the problem here is. Did you tell our staff that there were teenagers roughhousing in the Play Park and nothing was done? Or is it that you were kicked out of the Play Park because you did not purchase wristbands, or something else?”

(The customer doesn’t respond after that. But my favorite part is what other customers commented on his review.)

Customer #1: “Sounds like you should be more upset with the teenagers than the place.”

Customer #2: “Right. You’re giving this place a bad rating for other people’s actions, and for the fact that you obviously missed the sign that clearly states you need a wristband to play in the ball pit area.”

Customer #3: “Good sports are not for weak-minded cry-babies.”

Customer #4: “You should have stepped up as his father and said something to the teenagers. Whenever my autistic son is in there, if other children’s parents are not enforcing their child to play according to the rules, with my son in the ball pit, I will not hesitate to politely tell the kids to calm down, play nice, and remember that not everyone is the same age, and you have to be cautious of the little ones. I have never had an issue with other parents getting angry or at all upset with me for going out of my way to ensure my son’s safety from kids that are playing too rough in the ball pit area. And yes, it clearly states on the entrance to the soft play area the price; it was your ignorance that had your son removed, not the employees of [Company] treating you any different from any other customer. Perhaps you should pay more attention to small details clearly posted in locations you attend.”

(I am the manager at an arcade and it is currently our slow season, so we get a lot of groups of people with special needs during this time. All of the groups are awesome, with the exception of this one particular group. I’m in the office when I hear the backroom door open and shut but no one comes on camera. I hear the counselor talking with one of the people with special needs. By the time I go to the door, they are gone. A couple minutes later, my coworker calls me from the snack bar.)

Coworker: “Uh, did you tell one of them they could vacuum?”

Me: “Um, no… Why?”

Coworker: “One of them has the vacuum and is vacuuming.”

Me: “What? Why? Okay, I’m on my way down.”

(I can see the person on camera vacuuming the floor, with the counselor watching him and doing nothing about it. I go down there, and the counselor goes and “fake hides” by the counter, thinking everything is funny.)

Me: *unplugs the vacuum* “Hey, you can’t go in the back room and just take stuff and start using it. Let me have that.” *storms off to the back*

(I run into my coworker.)

Me: “That counselor needs a counselor!”

In the 1980s, I managed a small video game arcade in a mall. We were mad busy on Saturdays. On one Saturday afternoon, when I was on alone, a woman came in and started shrieking at me. She demanded to know where her child was. When I could get a word in edgewise, I told her I did not know and had never seen him. She stormed off looking for him.

When she came back to shout at me some more, I managed to sort out what had happened. The little boy — whom she had with her at that point — was about five. She’d dumped him in the arcade, given him two quarters, and gone off to do her shopping. He was too little even to see the screens. After he stuffed his quarters in coin slots and couldn’t play the games — i.e., about five minutes later — he wandered over to the toy store catty-corner from us to start tearing apart the toys, instead. Nearly an hour later she came back to find — or not find —  him. I told her to leave. Sadly, it was only afterward that I thought of what I really should have said: that if I’d found her son in the arcade without her holding his hand, I’d have called the cops to pick up an abandoned child.

I would not have left a bag of groceries on a bench in the mall, and she just went off and left a child? I kept the known perverts out, but there are always ones you don’t know, and I’m sure a sicko cruising for kids would start with either the arcade or the toy store. She just went off shopping and decided that it was somehow my responsibility to do what she was incapable of, namely taking care of her child.