(A coworker comes into the office and notices I am eating doughnuts.)

Coworker: “Oh, can I have one, please?”

Me: “Umm, I don’t think they’ll be to your liking.”

Coworker: “I love doughnuts, though!”

(She reaches for one.)

Me: “No, really. I don’t think you want one.”

Coworker: “Gosh, you’re always so rude. You greedy pig!”

(She puts half of one in her mouth and bites down hard. She then chews, looking satisfied, but after a couple of seconds she spits it out.)

Coworker: “That is disgusting! Oh, my God. Look, I’m bleeding!”

Me: “No, that’s just tomato sauce.”

Coworker: “Tomato sauce?! With doughnuts? That’s horrible. Why are you having that?”

Me: “I’m pregnant. I was craving it.”

(She scoffed at me about how ridiculous I was and how I was just milking my pregnancy for attention. Literally three people in the office work knew at that point, her being the third that I had just told. She then made it a point to criticise my pregnancy every time she saw me. It got to a point that I started having breakdowns from the constant harassment and she was reprimanded and suspended for a week. The worst part was, a year or so later she got pregnant, as well, and it was particularly difficult for her, or so she would have us believe. The second she set foot in the office everything had to be about her. I made the mistake of walking into the staff room while she was having her cravings — honey-roasted peanuts and pork scratchings in mayonnaise — and she demanded that I leave for judging her; I literally hadn’t said a word. She then spat her food at me, screeching that at least it wasn’t tomato sauce and chocolate. The entire office breathed a sigh of relief when she went on maternity leave.)

(The shoe department manager storms into the break room while we’re talking about unruly customers and tells us a story that beats us all. She was the only one in the department with two customers who needed help at the same time.)

Manager: *to the second group* “I’ll be with you in a moment!”

Customer: “I need these shoes in this size.”

Manager: “Sure, let me get them for you.”

(The manager gets her a few types and sizes for her to try on.)

Manager: “While you try those on, I’m just going to go help those other customers. When I’m done I’ll come back and see how you’re doing with these.”

(The manager goes to leave when, suddenly, the customer grabs her arm tightly and literally pulls her back, nearly slamming her into the shelf behind her.)

Customer: “No. You are serving me and you will wait on me until I am finished.”

(Had she not been the manager, there would have been some choice words!)

About ten years ago, I got my first job in a local pub right on the seafront. It was — and still is — a beautiful location, and my best friend also worked there behind the bar. I thought I had scored the perfect job, but due to the actions of a few terrible people, it became a living nightmare. There were many things that went on that you probably wouldn’t believe, but today I’m just going to tell you about one of the milder instances.

The big boss, a giant of a man almost as wide as he was tall, wanted to train me up on coffees. Along with the usual instructions, he told me to just put the jugs of hot steamed milk back into the fridge after we were done with them. They were large pitchers, so the same batch of milk would be constantly heated, cooled, and reheated throughout the day. After the boss had walked away, my best friend quietly told me that it wasn’t safe to do that, and we should throw the old milk away as soon as the coast was clear.

Concerned, I did some research that night and found that, yeah, it’s not safe to keep steaming hot liquids in the fridge, as the repeated cooling and heating keeps the milk in the “danger zone” temperature range too often, which could lead to the growth of bacteria, as well as potentially affecting the temperature of everything else in the fridge.

Being young, naive, and on the autistic spectrum, I innocently assumed that my manager was simply unaware of these facts, and that surely he would be glad to know the truth. I printed off my findings and took them to him the next morning.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t go well. 

He shooed me into the kitchen, physically backed me up into a corner, and began threatening me that — in his own words — “a little knowledge is a dangerous thing,” and that he had been thinking of giving me a promotion but now he “didn’t think he could trust me.”

I had my hours cut, and of course I never got that promotion, which honestly I don’t think ever existed. If we were ever caught throwing the milk away, it was taken out of our pay. It was a good lesson in never trusting the bosses to do the right thing, a lesson that has been backed up time and time again in every place I’ve worked since.

(I have a service dog for multiple disabilities. I don’t always work with him with any identifying gear because people are more likely to leave us alone if they can’t tell he’s a service dog. In this instance, he is wearing a vest marking him as a service dog. My father and I are running errands after my classes end for the day and I’m entering the store a few minutes after him so that [Service Dog] could relieve himself. As we approach the door, there is a man in his car in the accessible parking spot who sees my service dog and leans out the window of his car.)  

Man: “HEY, PUPPY! Come here, puppy!” *makes kissy noises* 

Me: *to my service dog* “Leave it.”

(He doesn’t need the reminder, but sometimes people get the hint and leave us alone when I say that. We start to enter the store.)

Man: “WHAT THE F***?! WHAT THE H*** IS WRONG WITH YOU, TAKING A F****** DOG IN A F****** STORE?!”

(Thanks, random man who decided I needed to be screamed at for taking my vested service dog into a store. Also, to make things worse, I was wearing my jacket from my alma mater so, for all he knew, I was a high school student. It’s always adults, too; we never have issues with kids.)

(I work in a rotisserie chicken take-out place in Ontario. One evening, a regular comes in to pick up her meal. I say “ma’am” a lot because I was raised in North Carolina and it’s just how I talk.)

Me: “Good evening, ma’am. How are you doing today?”

Customer: “Fine. I’m here to pick up my meal.”

Me: “Okay, let’s just get your bill paid and then you will be on your way.”

(I pull up her bill on the computer and hand her the credit machine so she can proceed.)

Customer: “It never asked for my PIN.”

Me: “Oh, that is odd. Would you like to try again?”

Customer: “Sure.”

(I set the transaction up again and watch the computer to ensure that nothing goes wrong. Once she has input all her information, I find out that her card has been declined.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but it appears that it didn’t go through. We could try again in case it was just a glitch if you like.”

Customer: “It’s not my problem.”

Me: “My apologies. I wasn’t trying to imply that you were at fault in any way; sometimes the machine will say that the card was declined by mistake. If we could just try again I’m sure that it won’t happen again.”

(The customer nods at me and we set about the transaction again. This time my computer informs me that the card was declined again.)

Customer: “It shouldn’t be declining my card; I know what money I have.”

Me: “I really am sorry, ma’am. Would you happen to have another means to pay for your meal?”

Customer: “I have cash but I do not want to pay with it. I want to pay with my card. It is not my problem that your machine isn’t accepting it.”

Me: “Okay. I really am sorry, ma’am. Let me go get the manager; perhaps he can figure out what is wrong.”

(I left her at the counter with a brief smile and returned not even a minute later with my manager who I had explained the situation to on the way.)

Manager: *resets the credit machine* “Let’s see if the card will work now.”

(The customer is now obviously annoyed with how long it is taking. We go through the transaction again, and when it is once again declined, she looks at both of us.)

Customer: “It isn’t my problem that your machine isn’t accepting my card.” *looks over at me* “Is my food ready?”

Me: “Yes, it is. We’re just waiting for the bill to be settled and then you will be on your way.”

Customer: “If my food is ready, then give it to me so I can leave.”

Me: “Ma’am, I am sorry, but I can’t give you the food until we have received payment.”

Customer: “Your machine isn’t accepting my card and I demand that I get my food now and am allowed to leave. If my food is ready before your machine accepts my card then I shouldn’t have to pay.”

Manager: “I am sorry. I will gladly offer you a few free drinks for your delay; however, I cannot give you your meal for free.”

Customer: *looks at my manager and then slams her card into the machine again while screaming* “I don’t want your d*** drinks; I want my food.”

Manager: “I’m sorry but the card doesn’t seem to be working. Is there any chance you have cash or another card you can pay with?”

Customer: “I have cash but I won’t pay with it. How do I even know this machine works with a card? You guys are probably just saying that it’s declined so I will keep running my card so you will get more money out of me.”

Manager: “If I can prove that the machine is working, will we be able to move forward?”

Customer: “How the h*** are you going to prove it?”

(The manager pulls out his wallet and rings up an order for a simple meal, and then he proceeds to pay for it with his card without any problem.)

Customer: “That doesn’t prove a d*** thing. Now give me my food!”

(The manager looks at me and tells me to go ahead and go back to work and that he will hand the customer her food once the issue is solved.)

Customer: “Don’t walk away from me without giving me my food, you little b****.”

(My manager shook his head when I went to grab her food and told me to go back to work so I didn’t hear how he managed to get her to pay. However, my coworkers and I could hear her swearing and screaming at my manager the entire time. Once the customer left, my manager came to talk to me and told me that I handled myself well and that the customer did pay full price for the meal. He also told me that the next time she came in to go and get him immediately so that he could deal with her.)