(I am working the reception desk at my vet clinic. Our policy is to not schedule appointments for clients who have large outstanding bills. I am relatively inexperienced at appointment scheduling, and I really should have asked the client’s name before telling her what we had available. This happens on a Wednesday. The phone rings.)

Me: “[Clinic]. This is [My Name]; how can I help you?”

Client: “Hi. My cat may have injured his toe; do you have any openings on Saturday?”

Me: “Unfortunately, we are closed this Saturday, but we do have an opening on Monday morning at eight o’clock.”

Client: “I’ll take it.”

Me: “Great. Can I have your name, please?”

Client: “It’s [Client].”

(I pull up her account and see that she has an outstanding balance of well over $1000. Someone even flagged her account to make sure we don’t provide any more services to her until she pays us.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we unfortunately cannot schedule an appointment for you until you pay off a significant portion of your balance.”

Client: “I’m going to make a payment on Friday.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I can’t schedule you until that payment is made.”

Client: “But I don’t get paid until Friday, and by then, that Monday opening will be taken!”

Me: “While that particular appointment may be taken by Friday, we have other openings next week. However, I cannot schedule you until you have paid off a significant portion of your balance.”

(This goes on for another two or three rounds of her saying she’ll make a payment on Friday and me reiterating that I can’t schedule her until she pays. Finally, I convince her that I’m really not going to schedule her appointment until she pays us.)

Client: “Well, I guess my cat will just have to suffer, then!”

Me: “Goodbye, ma’am.”

(I am a cashier on a busy Saturday. A woman approaches my till and begins placing numerous items on the belt. I scan them, and the total is well over $200.)

Customer: “I would like to pay with a check.”

Me: “No problem. Can I please see you ID?”

Customer: “Oh, it is stuck in my wallet and really hard to get out.”

Me: “I understand.” *though I think it’s strange* “Can you write your ID number on the top of the check?”

(The woman begins to fill out her check and write the ID number for me as I scan the last of her items. Suddenly, I feel someone staring at me intently. I look up slowly, and standing directly behind the woman is a police officer. He holds his finger to his lips to keep me silent and motions for me to continue with the transaction.)

Me: “Okay.” *trying to act normal* “Your total is [over $200].”

(As the woman hands me the check, [Police Officer #1] grabs her and immediately handcuffs her. I stand absolutely still, having no idea what on earth is happening. Then I hear yelling from the left and see [Police Officer #2] coming up with a gun drawn!)

Police Officer #2: *to a man a few customers down in my line* “Down on the ground! Now!”

Police Officer #1: *to me* “Ma’am, please finish ringing up these items, close your line, and give me the receipt.”

(I immediately did so, turned off my light, and motioned for the manager to come over. I explained the situation as best I could and everyone dissipated from my line. The police officer returned to get my information and a brief statement. He then shared with me that this woman and her boyfriend had just used a fraudulent check at the department store next door and were planning on doing the same here. She and her accomplice were arrested, and for the next hour or so, every customer stood in my line to hear all about the scary arrest. Bonus points to me: despite the activity, my till was perfect. I got a cookie!)

I work for a bulk store. I had just clocked out and was about to go home when I saw a woman look around — I assume to make sure no one was around — and pour a little bit of water out of a water bottle.

She proceeded to put her heel in the water and swing it to spread the water, and then laid down on her back right beside the water she’d poured out. She started yelling, “Ow! Oh, my God, I slipped!” and lay there, completely still.

A coworker of mine heard her and came running over to ask what happened. The woman told her she’d slipped on water and fallen, that she wanted a manager to fill out an accident report, and that she needed an ambulance. When the manager came over and started talking to her, I approached them all and told the three of them what I’d seen. The woman started screaming at the top of her lungs until I pointed at the multiple security cameras pointed in the direction the woman had been laying, and told the manager I’d be more than willing to testify in court to what I’d seen.

The woman got up and practically sprinted away, tripped over her own feet, and slid across the concrete floor face-down. We ended up calling an ambulance because she was bleeding pretty badly, and she attempted to sue, but her lawyer dropped the case when the store’s lawyer gave them all the security footage, and the written statement from me as an eyewitness, saying she was already trying to launch a fraudulent lawsuit. This was several years ago, and none of us have seen her back.

(From preschool to third grade, I attend a small private school. It has about 15 students per grade. It is an interesting place. The library is actually the back room of a mobile home — not as creepy as it sounds. One day in third grade, our teacher brings our class to the library to check out books. The books are sorted by grade level, with more than enough to go around for 15 students for each class — especially ours, since we dwindle down to five halfway through the year. I am having a tough time picking out something to read, specifically thinking that all these books are too boring, and wanting something that is more of a challenge, so I march my nine-year-old self over to the area for fifth and sixth graders. The librarian — or at least the woman who was put in charge of organizing this back bedroom — notices me.)

Librarian: “No, those aren’t for your class. They’re too hard.”

Me: *points to the third-grade books* “Those are too easy.”

Librarian: *takes hold of my arm and steers me back to my classmates* “You have to pick one of these.”

(Being so little, I didn’t argue, but even then I thought it was stupid, especially when I had tested into a sixth-grade reading level. The kicker: the school didn’t use computers to check out books at the time this happened. Everything was done by hand. The book I chose that day was missed in their paperwork. I still have it over twenty years later.)

(I’m a sales agent for one of the priciest cell phone providers in the country. I’m speaking with a woman who is currently with one of the cheaper carriers and is looking to switch.)

Customer: “My daughter and my husband both need new phones, and they want iPhone 7s. I’ll need a iPhone 7 plus, but I’ll need two — one for work.”

Me: “Okay, four phones will be [amount]. You’ll be financing them across the course of 24 months. Along with the 40 gigabytes you said you needed, your total monthly bill would be [pretty hefty amount].”

Customer: “Oh, no, sell me on the value.”

(I start to tell her about our network versus her current one, statistics, and approval ratings, when she stops me.)

Customer: “No, I know you’re better. Sell me on the value.”

Me: “That is the value; you get the best service.”

(This is apparently the wrong answer, because I have never had a customer yell at me like this one, and I have received plenty of death threats so that’s really saying something. Amongst her screaming, I realize that she is unhappy about the cost and her way of saying “sell me on the value” means get her a lower quote.)

Me: “Ma’am, this is our pricing. This price will remain constant. If you do not accept it, please leave the store, as there is nothing further for us to discuss. You said it yourself; we are better than your current provider. And you have to pay us to be better.”

(She left soon after, demanding I quit because I have “no customer service.” And that’s true; I don’t give customer service to bad customers.)