My mum’s the bad guy in this. For my 18th birthday, my mum and step-dad took me to a restaurant for dinner. They didn’t have table service, so my mum went to the counter to order for everyone while my step-dad and I found a table.

We sat down at a table for four and were soon joined by an elderly lady we didn’t know. She just smiled and said she couldn’t wait for dinner. Instantly, we both realised she likely had Alzheimer’s and so we remained polite and friendly while waiting for someone to find her.

Unfortunately, Mum came back first. With arms crossed and a frown on her face, she started berating this poor lady. Any time step-dad or I tried to interrupt, she’d just get louder. The poor older lady was clearly confused and near tears.

Mum’s yells attracted the lady’s husband, who apologised on her behalf and explained and confirmed that she did, in fact, have Alzheimer’s and had wandered away while he’d been ordering their food. Thankfully, Mum kept quiet after that.

It was a very awkward dinner and not the last time Mum has gone off at someone who was innocent. The worst part about it was that at that time, Mum was working as a carer for the aged.

(I’m a teacher. The music teacher and I are unloading a bus in the morning when a grown woman gets off. This is not unusual; sometimes parents ride with their children when they’ve had behavioral issues on the bus. The woman goes to the edge of the parking lot and starts talking on a cell phone.)

Music Teacher: “Notice anything strange about that woman?”

Me: “No, what?”

Music Teacher: “She’s not on a cell phone.”

(I look again. She’s not on the phone. She’s just… talking. By this time, the kids are all in the building.)

Music Teacher: “I’m getting the principal.”

(The woman approached me and began talking. It became immediately obvious that she was not all there. She wandered off and the police were called. As it turns out, she was a mentally disturbed woman who had just randomly climbed on the bus that morning. The bus driver was a substitute and didn’t ask the woman her business. When the woman began ranting to the busload of children, the substitute driver didn’t radio for help or advice, but just went along on her route. When the woman got off at the end of the line, the driver didn’t inform anyone what had been going on. The driver no longer works for the district.)

(I’m working the information desk with my coworker when this happens. A middle-aged, blonde woman with a strong Eastern European accent comes up, looking very angry.)

Customer: “I need police!”

Me: “Okay, what for?”

Customer: “My purse stolen! I vas sitting at bench outside, I put my purse under, and next thing I know it gone. Person next to me, gone, too!”

Me: “And how long ago was this?”

Customer: “About ten minutes ago.”

Me: “Oh, wow. I’m so sorry that happened to you. Do you need the number for the police?”

Customer: “Yes!”

(I give her the non-emergency number for the local police.)

Me: “Here. You can call that number and file a stolen property report. The police should talk to you soon.”

(She dials the number on her cell phone and starts talking.)

Customer: “Yes, I need police officer!” *pause* “My purse stolen!” *pause* “I was sitting at bus stop, I put my purse under the bench, and when I look up it gone! Person next to me, gone too!” *pause* “Okay.” *pause* “No.” *pause* “Ten minutes ago, why?” *pause* “What?! But why can you not send someone now? I at library, [address], you always have officer here! But, but…” *pause* “Fine! But be here quick!”

(I’m definitely not liking where this conversation is going. For the record, we sometimes have an officer stationed in our library, because we tend to get a higher-than-average number of patrons who do not know how to behave well, but only on weekend evenings.)

Customer: “You idiot! Why you give me that number?!”

Me: “Wha… Ma’am?”

Customer: “I need officer right now! Why you not give me 911?!”

Me: “Well, ma’am… I’m sorry, but you described a crime that happened a while ago. Dialing non-emergency and filing a report is usually the wisest thing to do.”

Customer: “But I need right now! Why officer not here?! You alvays have one!”

Me: “Well… that’s usually only on evenings, ma’am.”

Customer: “So, now, what I do?!”

Me: “I’m sorry, madam, but the best I can tell you is to wait for the officer to come.”

(She stomps off angrily. I assume that will be the end of it. Stupid me. About four minutes later:)

Customer: “This all your fault!”

Me: “Huh?”

Customer: “All my documents gone! My social security, my passport, my medication — gone!”

Me: “Well… I’m sorry, madam, but you are expected to be responsible for your own personal property.”

Customer: “So, why not call 911?!”

Me: *patience stretching just a tad thin* “Ma’am, with all due respect, if you know the number for 911, why not just call them yourself?!”

Customer: “Because you have officer here in library!”

Coworker: “I’ll call 911 for you, ma’am.”

Customer: “Thank you! He know what he doing!”

(Even after that, she still comes back to harass me several times at my desk, telling me how stupid and incompetent I am, how she’s going to make my life miserable if she doesn’t get her purse back, etc. She also proceeds to talk over my coworker whenever he tries to mediate between us. But I’m still willing to let this go, until this happens!)

Customer: “You know vat? I bet it was black guy!”

Me: *keeps my mouth shut, as I don’t want to make an already volatile situation worse* “Mm-hmm.”

Customer: “I’m serious! That’s all black people do: steal! I remember all my pill stolen when I talk to one once!”

Me: “Ma’am, please don’t speculate like that. It’s offensive.”

Customer: “But it truth!”

(Did I mention that my coworker standing next to me, who called 911 for her, is also black? Remind me to commend him for his patience. She goes back to sit down, but — you guessed it — not even two minutes later:)

Customer: “If you just call 911 first time, I no be here, you stupid, incompetent, worthless little—“

Me: *temper finally breaking* “MA’AM, I HAVE DONE THE BEST THAT I CAN UNDER THE CIRCUMSTANCES! NOW, WILL YOU PLEASE STOP HARASSING ME AT MY OWN DESK AND STOP BLAMING ME FOR THE EFFECTS OF YOUR OWN FOOLISHNESS?!”

Customer: “I NOT HARASSING; I TELLING YOU TO DO YOUR JOB!”

Coworker: “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Okay, let’s calm down. [My Name], the police officer is here; how about I take [Customer] downstairs?

Me: *deep breath* “Yes, please.”

(A few minutes later.)

Coworker: “Okay, the officer’s taking her statement, but he also decided it’d be a good idea to ask her to leave the library.”

Me: “Good. Thank you, [Coworker].” *deep sigh* “I want to feel bad for her, since she did get stolen from, but some people really make it difficult. Especially considering this didn’t even take place on our property.”

(I somehow never got written up for this.)

This is a “smart” student story. About 30 years ago, when I was just starting out as a teacher and having to be a substitute, I was called into this high school. No big deal. One day turned into two, then three and more. Then, I was told that the teacher I was subbing for would likely be out for the rest of the year, and they asked if I’d be interested in applying for the position. I had a quick interview with the principal and two members of the department after school and I was in. Yay!

I started about the beginning of October. There were six classes, three different courses, one of which was brand new, so there were no materials yet. But I was young and full of energy. After a few weeks, my department head had a talk with me about the approaching first-term report cards. Note: at this time, teachers filled out reports on those three-copy NCR forms. The student’s info was printed on top, but we had to hand-write the grade, add any comments in the space provided, and then sign it. My department head said that, as I would be merging my marks with the ones already recorded by the teacher I was replacing, and that I hadn’t really gotten a chance to know the students, to just record the grade, leave the comments section blank, and sign them. I did just that.

Sometime the morning after the reports went home, I got a message to call the mother of one of my students. On my first break, I called and identified myself. She said she had a question about her son’s report card. I was thinking the worst, that this was a parent going to beg, plead, or bully her kid into a higher grade. Nope. She was concerned about the comment. I told her that, due to the circumstances, I had made no comments on any of the report cards. She started howling with laughter, then read me the comment on her son’s card. It was over the top: best student ever, great class participation, and so on.

The reason she’d called was that all the comments from his other teachers were pretty much what she expected — work not done, more effort required, etc. — and she was curious about the one rave review. We had a good laugh about how if her son had just toned it down a bit she wouldn’t have noticed. She said she’d talk to the boy, and I took no further action than, when I asked that kid’s class if their parents had any questions about their report cards, to focus on this boy with my best imitation of laser eyes. His response told me Mum had talked to him.

I hope he learned something. I learned to never sign a document while leaving a space blank — put a slash through it.

(I work for several years for a jewelry company. My main job is to run the repairs desk and take orders for the jewelers. One day, I am helping a sweet, elderly lady who wants to have her husband’s few pieces of jewelry melted down into a necklace. They were married for over 50 years and he recently passed away, and I am honored to help her. We are in the middle of her scheduled appointment when a well-dressed, middle-aged woman marches into the store and approaches my desk.)

Me: *to the first customer, [Lady #1]* “I think this design would work very well; it’s simple and you can use the stone from your husband’s other ring in the center.”

Lady #1: “I do like that! Do you think we could—“

Lady #2: *walks up and slaps her purse onto the counter to get my attention* “I need my rings cleaned and rhodium plated!”

Me: “Of course, ma’am. If you don’t mind waiting just a few minutes, I’ll be with you as soon as I’m done with this customer.”

Lady #2: “I said, I need my rings cleaned!” *holds up her hand, which is weighed down by a massive diamond ring and multiple diamond bands* “This is important! I need them clean for an event tonight!”

Me: “I completely understand, ma’am; however, this lady was already here for a scheduled appointment. I can also see if another employee can assist you, if you don’t have time to wait for me.”

Lady #2: “This is unacceptable! I insist you help me right now! I need these done in ten minutes!”

Lady #1: *whispers to me* “If you need to take care of her…”

Me: *to [Lady #1]* “No, it’s okay Mrs. [Lady #1].” *to [Lady #2]* “Ma’am, even if I was free to help you, which, unfortunately, I am not, the jewelers would need at least an hour to properly clean that many rings, check the prongs for diamond security, and then replate the rhodium coating.”

([Lady #2] makes a growl-like sound and stomps across the store. I see her talking to my manager and pointing at me.)

Lady #1: “Oh, my… I hope you won’t be in trouble, [My Name].”

Me: “Don’t worry; my manager will help her.”

(I’m finishing up [Lady #1]’s order request. Right around the same time, I see [Lady #2] stomp out of the store, get into the back of an expensive car, and drive away. [Lady #1] is so appreciative that we’ll be able to help her create a keepsake to remember her husband by, and I make sure we’ve got everything she needs before walking her out of the store. On my way back to my counter, the manager pulls me aside.)

Manager: “I just want you to know that you did the right thing. Mrs. [Lady #1] is a good customer and her husband bought gifts for her from us for years.”

Me: “Thank you. What was the emergency with that other woman?”

Manager: “You didn’t recognize her?”

Me: “No… Was I supposed to?”

Manager: *laughs* “That was [Large Tech Company CEO]’s wife. She refuses to make appointments to have her work done.”

Me: “So, she expected me to drop my appointment with a sweet, eighty-year-old lady and help her, instead?”

Manager: *sighs* “Yes. Usually, I try to grab her as soon as she comes in, but I missed her this time.”

Me: “Well, at least I know to look out for her now.”

(From then on, Mrs. [Lady #2] refused to work with anyone but the manager, which was fine with me. [Lady #1]’s necklace turned out perfectly; she even hugged me and cried a little when she picked it up. That, of course, made me cry, too! She still comes in every once in a while to have her necklace cleaned, and says people always ask her about her necklace.)