I have been an assistant manager for quite a few years now and I used to ask customers, “Delivery? Okay, is it going to [Address]?”

Then, this woman called.

Me: “Is this going to [Address] [Motel]?”

This woman flipped her lid!

Woman: “Why would it be going there? The last delivery went to [Motel]? [HUSBAND]! What the f*** were you doing at a motel?!”

She hung up on me.

Now I say, “And what’s the address you would like that delivered to?”

I work in a library. For several years, our “Sunshine Committee” organized a Secret Valentine’s program. February was usually grim and gray; we were all getting some cabin fever and getting on each other’s nerves, so we actually looked forward to a little bit of fun in the miserable midwinter.

Those participating drew names. The idea was that you could, for the seven days preceding Valentine’s Day, gift your Valentine with little remembrances, like a chocolate bar here, a note pad with funny sayings there… or maybe you just found a book on the shelf that your coworker might like, and you left it on the desk with a note.

Or you could wait until the last day and do one big fun presentation. There was also a small social tea so that gifters could identify themselves. It was fun, and people got super creative to stay within the (very generous for the time) ten-dollar budget.

People got very clever with gifts. One person walked in to find a display made up entirely of books whose titles featured his first name. Another had a special day announced during which people were encouraged to give her a smile. It was fun and it boosted spirits.

So, naturally, someone had to ruin it all.

Things began to go downhill in the fourth year of the event.

First, a young page who was participating for the first time got stiffed by her Valentine who had been leaving notes hinting at a big surprise at the end. And the big surprise was that… there was no surprise. Nothing. The kid was crushed, so the staff in her department quickly put together a “surprise” out of whatever they had received and whatever a few could find at the pharmacy across the street.

A female department head received a silk nightie, along with a collection of massage oils and, um, lubricants. And it was clear that the nightie had been worn at least once, as it gave off the unmistakable aroma of perfume and Eau de body sweat. She was too embarrassed to complain, but one of her employees went to the Sunshine Committee and suggested they put some kind of rules about the genre of gift to be given.

The next year, someone still refused to listen to the “no gifts that might be perceived as harassment” regulation. Another female employee received a type of panty usually gifted to a bride at a shower, body oils, and a hotel room key. Given that the key came from a hotel in a city where a certain oddball staff member had been staying for a week, everyone was pretty sure who was responsible, but the committee didn’t pursue it.

The next year, there was another more explicit description of what not to give. They thought they had covered all the bases, but they were wrong.

Another department head received a huge hanging plant, which was nice. But the item that came with it gave everyone pause: a framed picture of a bleeding human heart with the caption, “I’d kill for you.”

And thus ended a practice that had previously been nothing more than a fun way to bond with each other during a cold winter month. There is always someone out there looking to spoil what was meant to be a way to spread a little sunshine in dark places.

I am an assistant manager at our store. I’ve just started for the day when I hear a disturbing noise and take off toward it. I come around the corner to see a typical surfer dude in board shorts and a tie-dye T-shirt next to a middle-aged woman. The surfer dude is laughing maniacally and yelling at the top of his lungs.

Surfer: “Honk! Dee daa dee daa! Hooooooooooooonk!“

Woman: *Equally loud* “You will respect me! Get me your manager! I will have you fired!“

Me: “Both of you, please, stop. You’re disturbing other customers and scaring people!”

Surfer: “Sorry, man, I told her, like, um, a dozen times I don’t work here, and she just won’t stop bothering me.”

Woman: “Stop lying, you worthless piece of s***! You will respect me! You will do your job! I will have you fired!”

Surfer: “Honk! Sorry… I tried communicating with her, but she’s just too crazy!”

Me: “Ma’am, he does not work here. Please leave him alone. And, sir, please, stop honking and just walk away! I am so sorry you’ve had to put up with this.”

Woman: *Turning on me* “No! He will not leave! He will do his d*** job! You’re in it with him! I will have you both fired! You won’t get away with this!”

Me: “Ma’am, if you don’t stop screaming immediately, I will have to have you removed from the building and will call the police. Whatever the issue, nothing justifies your behavior. Please stop shouting!”

At that time, the surfer dude turns and starts walking away. The woman immediately shrieks and rams her trolley into him. He’s a big guy, but she sends him flying and he cuts himself as he falls.

Woman: “You will not leave! You don’t turn your back on me! You will respect me!”

The surfer stands up dripping blood and starts walking toward her with murder in his eyes. Where moments before he’d been calm and laughing, he is suddenly very menacing. Fortunately, security arrives and various other people step between him and her.

Surfer: “That’s assault. She assaulted me and I am pressing charges. Call the police now.”

With security there, she was prevented from leaving, and when the police arrived and saw the video, she was arrested and charged with common assault and public nuisance. My manager gave the surfer dude a voucher for his troubles and he told us (backed up by video) that he had repeatedly told her that he did not work for us but she had followed him around the store for fifteen minutes yelling at him until he started honking back. Some people are just crazy.

I was witness to the worst table ever. A neighbor invited me to go out to a restaurant with her and her toddler. I said sure, although I didn’t know her well, as we’d just moved to the area.

She let her toddler dunk paper napkins in water and paste them on the walls and smear mashed potatoes everywhere. Then, she let him out of his high chair with wet potatoey hands to roam about touching everything.

Neighbor: *Laughing* “The staff here just love [Kid]!”

She kept going on about it. The kid came back to the table and grabbed my plate, which was half full, and smashed it on the floor under the table.

My neighbor saw nothing wrong with any of this, nor did she help clean up. I tipped heavily and never went out with them again, nor did I go back to that place!

I’m an autistic fifteen-year-old boy. I’m 5’9” and rapidly growing. I am very fluent in English, so others think I’m an employee when I go shopping with my mom. I explain that I don’t work there and that I’m a minor just getting stuff for my mom to pay for. Most understand… MOST.

I am picking out stuff in the supermarket in the mall, wearing basketball shoes and pants, a T-shirt, and a black jacket. Employees here wear black shoes, black pants, green shirts, white aprons, and green caps. I’m wearing headphones, listening to music on my phone, picking out stuff to bring to my mom. The supermarket where I’m picking stuff is quite popular for people from out of town, but it’s located in a small town, so most of us know each other.

I’m picking out some stuff from the shelf and I feel a tap on my shoulder. Thinking it’s my mom, I turn around and take out my headphones, but oh, no, it’s not my mom.

Customer: “Hey, do you know where the coffee aisle is?”

Me: “Yes, it’s about two aisles to your right.”

Customer: “No, it isn’t. I looked there earlier and there was no coffee.”

Me: “Oh? Well, okay. I’ll just call one of the employees to bring down some coffee from the boxes.”

Customer: “No, I won’t wait for that long. You do it.”

Me: *Confused* “Pardon?”

Customer: “You bring down the coffee.”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m not an employee here. I’m not even eighteen.”

Customer: “Don’t make excuses. I know you work here. I don’t pay for these products to give a paycheck to employees like you.”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m not an employee here. As I said, I’m only fifteen, and I’d like to finish getting stuff for my mom to pay for.”

Customer: “No, you are going to help me, or I’ll get your manager.”

I’ve had enough, so I put on my headphones and start walking away. The woman decides to yank the headphones off my head, damaging the left lobe to the point that it’s attached to the headphone via the wires.

Me: “What the heck, lady?!”

Customer: “Where’s your manager?! I want to speak with him!”

Me: *Pissed off* “How many times do I have to say this?! I’M NOT AN EMPLOYEE HERE! I DON’T EVEN HAVE THE NAMEPLATE NOR THE UNIFORM!”

Customer: “Get me your manager so I can get you fired!”

Me: “I told you many times, I DON’T WORK HERE! ARE YOU BLIND? DEAF? OR BOTH?”

The woman then proceeds to slap me. She starts pulling me by my jacket sleeve. I do get free, and I start screaming, berating her to the point that she leaves. I say to myself, “Finally, it’s over.” Or so I thought.

A while later, the same lady shows up again, this time with someone who I presume is the manager.

Customer: “There! That’s him! That’s the employee that assaulted me! I want him fired right this instant!”

Manager: “Ma’am, what? He isn’t an employee; he’s just a regular here.”

The woman then proceeds to start shouting at the manager and screaming racism at me at every opportunity. A crowd starts to form, and my mom, who has been looking for me, finally sees the commotion.

Mom: *Confused* “What’s happening, and what happened to you?”

I told her everything that had happened.

The woman was finally seeing that she wasn’t getting anything out of the manager, so she walked over to me, grabbed me by my shirt collar, and started pulling me toward the manager.

I had truly had enough of her touching me, so I pulled her hand off me and started to physically retaliate. After I landed a gut punch, my mom pulled me away and the woman started screaming, saying to get the police, her lawyer, and the local judge.

Some people in the crowd attempted to defend the woman’s actions, but the manager defended me.

After ten or fifteen minutes, the police arrived and take statements from me, the manager, the woman, my mom, and the bystanders. They checked the security footage, which showed I was dragged against my own will and that the woman did in fact assault me first. My mom showed my ID, proving I was fifteen years of age.

The police then arrested the woman. One of the officers asked if I want to press charges and I happily agreed.

She was hit with a variety of charges, including assault and resisting arrest; she kicked an officer in the leg. We went to court. The woman and her lawyer denied everything she had done. After the evidence was presented, the trial was done in three hours. She was sentenced to pay a fine of up to php15,000 — about 300USD — and a prison sentence of about five years.