I was driving down a road without much traffic, just humming along at the speed limit, when suddenly, a car zipped by and pulled in front of me, cutting me off. I avoided a crash, but there was definitely less than a car length of space between the two of us.

Immediately, a police car appeared from some ways back, somehow managed to squeeze into the space between my car and the one that cut me off, and pulled that driver over.

I was grinning for the rest of my commute.

I work at the customer service counter in a home improvement store. A customer brings in a poo-smeared toilet seat.

Customer: “It came this way!”

Funny how he didn’t discover the Hershey stains until he had guests visit a week after the transaction.

Customer: “It’s egregious that you would sell disgusting merchandise! You owe me money and an apology!”

Me: *In diplomatic customer service fashion* “We can’t return it due to the health hazards associated with it.”

He then shouts at everyone at the return desk and at the manager that walked over after seeing the commotion.

Customer: “Fine! You’ll throw the toilet seat away for me.”

Me: “We can’t do that for you since it’s a health hazard. You will need to throw it away yourself.”

He stormed out of the building, yelling obscenities.

A few minutes later, the store janitor came to customer service to inform us that there was a toilet seat on the trash can outside. Our trash cans sit outside of the main entrances/exits and have ashtrays on top of them. The disgruntled customer had laid the toilet seat so that the ashtray was in the center of the seat, exposing the poop stains to entering customers, and the lid resting against the building.

The coup de grace was that the customer had left a note on the seat which read, “If it looks like crap, they won’t take it back.”

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.

My boyfriend and I offer sailing holidays. People book a berth in a cabin and live and sail with us for one week. This, of course, means that we actually live with our customers and spend A LOT of time with them in very limited space.

I used to work as a nurse until March 2017. During training, we theoretically learned first aid in a “wild” setting, but that’s very different from emergencies in hospitals where you have a big crew and the right equipment. Still, you know the basics, and you learn how to calmly analyse the situation before making decisions. One of the guests in this story was (is, probably) a gynecologist working in a delivery room, so the situation was pretty much the same for her.

This happened during the summer of 2017, in a marina in Italy.

We arrived at the marina at noon because of an incoming gale. The crew was a bit grumpy over the short day out, but safety first. Next to us was another boat that had stayed in all day, opting for drinking and enjoying the sun in the cockpit instead. They were already pretty drunk.

Our crew got out some bottles of wine and started drinking, too. They were all adults, so there was nothing wrong with that. (Our guests aren’t allowed to drink before or during sailing. Afterward, it’s up to them.) There was a decently-sized motor yacht on the other side. The owner was lonely and invited all of us over. Our crew (minus my boyfriend and I) and some of the neighbours went.

A few hours later, all but two of our guests came back, claiming it was just too much for them. Everyone was drinking very heavily. Those who stayed were the gynecologist and her friend.

In the evening, [Friend] came back; he needed to use the loo. He was angry because the yacht owner would only let him use the one on board if he took his shoes off. (Never, ever enter someone’s boat with shoes on; that’s a huge faux pas. The yacht owner was not asking for something unreasonable with his request.) [Friend] stomped back to our boat, but instead of using the toilet, he just peed on our gangway and started an argument. It was annoying and embarrassing.

We went to bed around midnight. [Gynecologist] and [Friend] were still partying. At four in the morning, [Friend] rushed into our cabin.

Friend: *Yelling* “Someone fell in the water! We need help!”

We rushed over, just in time to see people managing to drag one of the girls from the neighbouring boat back up onto the dock. [Gynecologist] acted correctly and put her in a recovery position, and the woman started to vomit water. The others told us that the girl was leaving the yacht and fell off the gangway, went under the dock, and resurfaced on the other side. Bad, bad, bad. Port and marina waters are notoriously dirty and nothing you want to swim in, even less inhale.

We ran over and my brain was in nurse mode, analysing and planning what to do. My boyfriend and I told the yacht owner to call for an ambulance. This is where [Gynecologist] started to forget her training. She was absolutely wasted and in no condition to be practicing medicine. 

Gynecologist: *Slurring loudly* “An ambulance isn’t necessary! She just needs to sleep it off!”

The woman was in and out of consciousness. My brain was remembering something from training about secondary drowning; she definitely needed an ambulance. As the yacht owner called for one, I rushed back on board my boat to get blankets and then went to guide the ambulance to the right place. After a few minutes, I could hear yelling from the dock and went back.

When I brought the blankets, it kick-started the medical training in [Gynecologist].

Gynecologist: *Screaming at my boyfriend* “You need to get infusions! I need to put in an IV line!”

Boyfriend: “What? No.”

Gynecologist: “You’re a murderer!”

Boyfriend: “One, we don’t have that stuff on board, and two, even if we had it, I would not let you near anyone with a needle in the shape that you’re in.”

More screaming followed.

When the EMTs finally arrived, [Gynecologist] refused to move over so that they could reach the woman. She was trying to explain to them in slurred, drunken German what had happened and was hovering over the woman. The Italian EMTs, of course, couldn’t understand a word that she was saying and were trying to get her out of the way.

Boyfriend: “Would you just move over and let the professionals do their job already?!”

During that time, I was knocking on the door of the neighbour’s boat, trying to wake them up. Someone would need to accompany the woman to the hospital and bring her papers. They were really annoyed at me banging at their boat in the middle of the night. When I told them what had happened, one man let out a loooooong, annoyed sigh and called her name. It sounded like it wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.

The next day, [Friend] apologized for his behavior the previous day; he was super embarrassed. [Gynecologist], not so much. She saw my boyfriend and screamed at him again.

Gynecologist: “I AM NEVER TALKING TO YOU AGAIN!”

And she stormed off. She kept her word until two days later. Then, she got wasted again and started crying. She felt so belittled because he had called the EMTs “professionals,” and she felt that he didn’t take her seriously as a doctor. She refused to accept that she had been drunk.

The woman who fell off the boat was admitted to the hospital. She was in the ICU for two weeks. She had severe pneumonia from aspirating the dirty marina water, and according to our neighbours, she was close to dying from secondary drowning.

I know that a lot of people associate boating with drinking, but it can turn dangerous so, so fast. The woman was lucky to survive.

I used to work at a regional fast food restaurant at the intersection of a very busy road and a side street with a church that couldn’t be seen from the busy road.

The church started to put up signs on our restaurant’s lot to try to direct people to them. When they did, the manager would have someone run out and throw the sign away. A few days later, the church would put up another sign advertising themselves, and again, the manager would have it taken down.

This happened a few more times, with the church’s signs getting bigger, until one day when we got a call.

Manager: “Hello, this is [Restaurant], [Manager] speaking.”

Pause.

Manager: “Oh, those signs? I threw them away.”

Pause.

Manager: “No. that belongs to [Restaurant]; it’s not public property.”

Pause.

Manager: “No, I talked with the owner. He did not give permission for those signs to be there. He told us to get rid of them if they appear.”

Pause.

Manager: “That’s your problem. You’ll have to find another way to attract people because the owner does not want any religious advertising on the property, and he does not want anyone to put signs there without going through him first.”

After that, the place no longer had any issues with unwanted signage.

It’s a Saturday evening, and we have several new movies coming out at the cinema where I work. We’ve also had a group of pre-teens coming in weekly and causing havoc. At this point, we’ve kicked them out at least five times, but I’ve simply had it.

I’m a team lead at this cinema, owned by a popular cinema entertainment company, so it’s my job to make sure the cinema runs properly; these kids are directly my problem. They’ve been running up and down the halls, and they have been warned already. I’m venting to the other team lead in the box office, and the cop who’s been stationed at the cinema for the evening asks me about it.

Me: “I can’t get these kids to listen to me. I feel bad for kicking them out, but then again, I’ve kicked them out more times than I’d care to admit.”

Cop: “If you want, the next time you get a complaint, I can kick them out instead.”

Me: “Thanks, but I feel like that’d be too mean.”

Almost as if on cue, the cinema’s assistant general manager walks up looking very upset.

Manager: “I just got another complaint about those kids you like dealing with so much. Apparently, they’re throwing candy. I can’t deal with it, since corporate comes in soon, so can you?”

Me: “All right, I’ll go kick them out, I guess.”

I tell the cop that I’ll walkie him if I need assistance.

Thankfully, I find the group in question in the hallway, being loud, blocking the doors and, lo and behold, throwing candy. I approach them and they all greet me by name; that’s how many times they and I have done this song and dance.

Me: “I’m only going to say this once: you guys are out. I can’t deal with you guys anymore. We’ve gotten more complaints than I care to admit, so you guys have to go.”

The leader of the group steps forward.

Kid: “You can’t kick us out! We didn’t even buy these tickets; our parents did.”

Me: “I don’t care. We can refuse service to anyone we see fit. Do as I say, or we’re going to start having problems.”

Kid: “Oh, yeah? What will you do, just ask again? You can’t touch us.”

Me: “Oh, no. I won’t. The cop at the front who has way better things to do than deal with you guys will. And he will not be happy.”

Kid: “Really? Is he [City] Police or [Neighboring City] Police? It matters; I have connections.”

I can’t help but smile.

Me: “Let’s go find out, shall we?”

We head out to the lobby, and the cop is already heading our way. I assume he figured I was fighting with those kids, so he took initiative.

Kid: “Which city police department are—”

Cop: “Doesn’t matter.” *Looks to me* “You kicking them out?”

I nod.

Cop: “All of you, out. There’s the exit.”

The kids try to fight him on it, but he stays firm and seems relatively unfazed. The kid who was spouting about his “connections” looks at me with a completely surprised look and holds his arms out. I return the exact same look, considering I have no clue why he thought that would work.

The cop follows them out to make sure they actually leave. An hour passes before he comes back in; the parents of those kids took forever to pick them up.

I understand I should be enough authority to remove someone from my establishment, but having a cop there to help out is always comforting.

Cop: “If that group comes back and causes more issues, we can do the paperwork and ban them from the establishment. If you see them, you can have them removed.”

They came back, and they were banned.