It’s a quiet Saturday. Most of my coworkers don’t come in on Saturdays, but I do so that I can take a day off during the week. There are only a few cars in our massive parking lot.

I’m working at my desk, going over investment information, when I hear strange noises coming from outside. I head to our beautiful lobby to investigate. Some woman has pulled up into the parking lots closest to our lobby’s giant windows. She’s pulled up right next to another car.

She’s opening and slamming the various doors of her car and ejecting trash from her car — mostly Cheetos and Cheeto bags, but also several clothing hangers and some face masks. Her driver’s side doors heavily impact the car next to it several times.

At no point does she actually physically leave the car. She’s crawling around inside it, throwing open doors, throwing stuff out, and closing the doors.

Then, I notice that there’s a police car in our lot, too, at the end of one of the rows, just sitting there.

The woman sees me through the lobby windows and makes eye contact. Then, she abruptly shifts her car into reverse — rear driver side door still open — and pulls backward out of the spot, but it doesn’t stop there. She keeps pulling backward, maneuvering through narrow gaps in cars behind her, and still making eye contact with me.

There is, by the way, no need to shoot the gaps like this. The parking is very sparse, and she could have easily not threaded her car into single-car-width gaps, and in fact, had she pulled straight back, she would not have needed to do any threading. However, she seems to be aiming her car to deliberately go through these narrow gaps.

Finally, five rows away from the lobby and in line with the driveway, she abruptly throws her car into a bootlegger turn, complete with squealing tires, and shoots off down the driveway. The force of the turn closes the rear door that had been hanging open.

The cop car starts moving again at this point, driving in another direction.

The worst part — that car she kept hitting with the doors? It was mine.

As a vegetarian, I’m used to having to check my pizza for meat before accepting it. One time, my friends and I got pizza delivered. I ordered a Hawaiian pizza without meat. When it arrived, my friend accepted it. When I checked mine, it was just a regular Hawaiian pizza with meat on it. Everyone else’s orders were perfect.

I had to ask for my pizza to be remade and redelivered.

When the pizza guy came back, he actually brought me a meat lover’s pizza and just left.

I called the store and asked for a manager.

Manager: *Quickly* “Don’t let anyone eat that! I discovered that our delivery driver took it from a pile of old pizzas which had been sitting out for too long and were destined for the trash bin.”

The manager himself remade my pizza and drove it out to me.

I can only assume the original delivery driver brought me an old meat lover’s pizza on purpose. I’m just glad that the store’s manager actually cared about their customers.

I am from Germany. I have only a few rules concerning my home, my stuff, and my car when other people come around. In my home, the rule is that I am not a servant. If you want to eat or drink, take it from the fridge or pantry. With my tools, the rule is to ask before using. And in my car, the rule is DO NOT SMOKE IN MY CAR! For all of the above, if you make a mess, you clean it up.

Seems reasonable? Well, not for the guy in this story.

This happened in summer 2015. I got my car in December 2014: a 2008 Volkswagen Golf 1.9 Diesel. I still drive it. I was on my way to a convention and decided to take a passenger with me. It’s really nice to have some company on a six-hour drive. I picked him up and told him about the no-smoking rule. Everything seemed fine until we hit the Autobahn. This guy pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up.

This conversation ensued.

Me: “Hey, what the h***?! I told you no smoking!”

Passenger: “So what? Whatcha gonna do about it?”

Me: “Kick you out!”

Passenger: “You know, it is illegal to stop on the Autobahn.”

This is true. German law states that you cannot stop on the Autobahn unless it is an emergency or your car broke down. You even get fined for running out of gas on the Autobahn, as it is preventable. Anyway, I knew something [Passenger] didn’t know. There was a truck stop just three kilometers ahead.

I got off the Autobahn and stopped at said truck stop.

Me: “All right, out of my car. Now.”

Passenger: “You can’t do that!”

Me: “Sure as heck, I can. This is my car and I have every right to kick you out.”

The next part is a bit blurry as it was mainly screaming at each other. I remember getting out of my car and tossing his suitcase and bag out of my car. Then, I remember dragging him out of my car and shoving him to the ground. I drove off and listened to music the rest of the drive, singing along to Rammstein.

Later that evening, I was in the hotel room relaxing after the drive. I had been there for about three hours when I heard a knock on the door. Hotel management, hotel security, convention security, the convention organizer, and the police were all standing there with a smug-looking [Passenger]. Police told me they had picked him up about two kilometers away from the truck stop on the Autobahn. He claimed I had kicked him out at the spot where they found him.

Police Officer: “You do know this is illegal. You broke Highway Code [number] and willingly endangered [Passenger]’s life.”

Me: “Sir, with all respect, he has been lying to you. I kicked him out at the truck stop. You can ring them up; I am sure they have it on tape. Did he even tell you why I kicked him out?”

Police Officer: “No, he didn’t.”

I then told them the story and explained that I didn’t want him in my car anymore because he broke my personal rules in my personal car. I kicked him out at the truck stop, as, from there, he could have easily called someone to come and pick him up. [Passenger] had turned very pale by that point. The police officer looked at him, furious.

Police Officer: “Is this true?”

Passenger: “Well…”

Police Officer: “You need to come with me.”

[Passenger] was charged with falsely accusing me. It was a money-related penalty in the four-figure range. It wasn’t the first time, as I later found out. The convention canceled his membership. Hotel management canceled his reservation. And I got free drinks at the hotel bar for my entire stay as well as a free sponsor upgrade for the convention.

Since the health crisis began, we’ve dealt with people saying they can’t wear masks and they obviously can. Today, this woman comes in.

Me: “Can you please put on a mask, ma’am?”

Customer: “I can’t; I have a medical exemption.”

Where I work, we can only say to stay six feet away from people, so I do. I guess two of my coworkers asked her, as well, so she starts claiming she is being harassed. She comes through my line.

Me: “How’s your day going, ma’am?”

Customer: “I was harassed into wearing a mask!”

Me: *Politely* “We didn’t mean anything by it, ma’am. It’s part of our job.”

Customer: “No! I was singled out!”

She starts swearing.

Me: “Ma’am, there’s no need for that.”

Customer: “So, it’s okay to get harassed but not okay to say f***? I’m going to call the head office about your store!”

I give her a card with the number to head office. She continues to raise her voice and yell. I am just at the end of my rope, and I just think, “F*** it; I don’t care if I get in trouble.”

Me: “Your lungs are working pretty well now, aren’t they?”

I don’t know if she heard me or not, but it was very satisfying.

I’m a cis straight man who enjoys sewing, knitting, and cross-stitching. I have a small online shop where I sell several items I’ve made and take requests for custom orders, but I generally refuse to sell in person unless I have a lot of extra stuff to get rid of. Usually, this just means renting a booth at a local flea market.

One summer weekend, I decide to rent a booth at the flea market, with my girlfriend helping me for the weekend. A man in his late twenties or early thirties approaches my booth and speaks to my girlfriend.

Customer: “Hi, do you have any scarves here? I’m looking for a birthday present for my girlfriend, and she loves these kinds of homemade things.”

Girlfriend: “Aww, that’s sweet! I’m sorry, but what you see here is all that we have left. I don’t see any scarves, so we must be sold out. You could always talk to [My Name] over there and see about getting a custom-made scarf!”

Customer: *Still talking to my girlfriend* “That could work. When could you have it shipped to me?”

Girlfriend: “You would need to talk to [My Name]. He makes everything. I’m just here helping him out!”

Customer: *Turning to me with a sneer* “Oh, you made this stuff?”

Me: “Yep, I did!”

Customer: “Were you raised by two [homophobic slurs for gay men] or something? Seriously, bro? Sewing?”

Me: “You need to leave my booth now.”

Customer: *Realizing I’m not going to react to his taunts* “Wait, I still need a gift for my girlfriend. Do you have an online store or something?”

I see my girlfriend quietly hiding the business cards that advertise my online store, because she knows I refuse to do business with people like him whenever possible, including online.

Me: “Nope. Please leave now.”

Customer: “What the f***, dude? I just need a gift for my girl. Are you a f****** [homophobic slur] or something, who only sells to other [homophobic slurs]? Give me a f****** scarf or something!”

Several nearby police officers — always a common presence at this flea market, because they are allowed to browse themselves as long as they are still ready to perform their duty — arrived before he could turn physically violent, and they escorted him not only away from my booth, but out of the flea market entirely. My girlfriend and I closed the booth for a while to wander around the market and cool down, but we still managed to sell out of everything we brought with us. I also took several orders for custom work from people who were happy to support me after I stood my ground against a bigoted bully.