I work at a clubhouse front desk. It is for homeowners in the district who pay a monthly subscription to use our amenities such as the pool, gym, lounge, etc. We closed briefly for health reasons. We opened during the summer but now require face masks indoors. This does not go over well with members who seem to tell themselves this is a country club or private resort that they personally own.

A particularly difficult member comes in who is known to be combative. It’s during the full swing of the summer rush when we have multiple families coming in and out. This woman comes walking toward the front doors and I can already see she is not wearing a mask.

She pushes open the doors and walks past several families attempting to sign in.

Rude Member: “Listen, this is what is going to happen! My friends and I are coming into the club without masks, and we are going to walk right through to the pool!”

Me: “I am sorry, ma’am, but you cannot sign in members, let alone be inside, without masks. It’s our policy.”

She tries to grab the guest sign-in clipboard by reaching through the protective window.

Rude Member: “I am signing in my guests, and we are coming in! Don’t be a mask Nazi!“

Me: “Ma’am, that language is absolutely unacceptable and inappropriate. I will not tolerate being called names by anyone. I am here to make sure you are following the guidelines for your safety. I want to see each of my fellow neighbors happy and healthy, and I would hate for anyone here to catch [contagious illness] because I let people in without the proper safety precautions.”

By this time, multiple families have come and gone, staring at this woman who has wasted her own time by refusing to wear a mask. Her friends finally arrive and, surprisingly, they are already wearing masks, probably because they actually read the seven signs outside and on the doors saying we require masks. She seems surprised by this. After more arguing, she reluctantly puts a mask on and awkwardly signs in her guests.

About an hour later, a teen boy comes in with his friend. He is not old enough to sign a guest in, and he wants to use the gym, which costs five dollars for guests since we have a low-capacity limit. He calls his mother to come and pay for the guest and sign him in since, apparently, she is there swimming. I decide to allow this bending of the rules since I find most of our rules to be a bit stringent anyway.

Lo and behold, the woman from before comes sulking in, looking embarrassed, and sweetly tries asking me to waive the fee for the guest. I just stand there, puzzled, as she has already insulted me and made a scene, and now she wants me to reward her.

Me: “No. You have to pay the guest fee.”

The rude member rolled her eyes, handed me a five, and walked away without saying another word.

A couple of days later, this same member came into the gym when I was not on shift, and she was not wearing a mask. One of our older employees, a sweetheart of a woman, asked if she was medically exempt from wearing a mask. Of course, the member jumped all over this and immediately claimed she was exempt from wearing a mask. Due to our policy at the time, we were not allowed to ask for proof or for medical letters. So, she walked in without a mask for months with a smug look on her face and a condescending little wave at me. She would make sure to say, “Hi, [My Name], how are you doing?” and give me a big fake smile to show her uncovered face.

As of December, our policy was changed by the board that runs this district’s community rules and regulations. Now, we require medical proof via documents from a doctor stating that a person is exempt from wearing a mask. The documents have to be submitted to member services, and they are kept private. We all have anxiously waited for our rude member’s return so we could see her reaction to the policy change. Since the e-blast we sent out about the change, she has not returned.

Related:
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 21
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 20
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 19
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 18
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 17

People: “Oh, my God, you’ve really slimmed down. Like, a lot. Can you please tell me your secret?”

When people say that to me, I have to resist the urge to slap them, which is rather problematic, given that I hear that line on average thrice a day.

I was on the pudgy side for most of my life. I was rather sedentary. And a liking for booze, dairy, and snacking meant that I wasn’t the slimmest person in the world.

Then, I got pregnant when I was eighteen, and my father disowned me for that. Oh, and my boyfriend literally fled the country to avoid paying child support. When I tried to approach his family, they told me to f*** off.

Still, I found myself a room to rent and a part-time job and tried my best to raise my newborn little girl.

When I first started out, I had a full bank account and summer sunlight behind me. I was confident that I could do this. Then, the costs started mounting and my bank account began growing depleted. Winter was encroaching, and babies were expensive, even with welfare.

I had a choice between coats or good food. I chose the coats and started eating takeout. The price of baby products went up. I halved my sleep and got a second part-time job. Babysitters began charging more because of the health crisis. I dropped ice cream and chocolate to afford them.

Then, my daughter fell sick. I dropped alcohol to afford the medicine.

The heating bill was more than expected. I used my food money to pay for it and spent a month eating my coworkers’ leftovers.

I had to buy new school supplies — textbooks and the like. I cut down from three square meals a day (plus snacks) to just one, convincing myself that it was about time I started dieting.

Final exams arrived. I took time off from my two part-time jobs to study for it, depleting what was left of my bank account in order to feed and clothe my daughter and myself.

My bank account was completely empty after finals. I took three part-time jobs during the school holidays to partially replenish it. Sleep was basically nonexistent by this point, and I was surviving off one meal a day.

But even so, no matter what I did, bills and costs were slowly but surely strangling me. I’d gotten to the point where I was seriously considering some… less wholesome methods of earning cash, when my grandmother passed away.

She willed me quite a bit, and although she was barely coherent toward the end, her last words were apparently for my father to reconcile with her favourite granddaughter, so that’s what he did. He rescinded my disownment and invited me to come in from the cold.

The first conversation we had went something like this.

Father: *Stunned look* “You’ve slimmed down so much! Can you please tell me your secret? I’ve got a couple of inches I’d like to lose from my waistline.”

That’s an understatement. I lost almost an entire stone and was pretty thin and haggard by that point. On more than one occasion, I couldn’t afford to feed both my daughter and myself, and every single time, I chose to starve so that my daughter had food.

And hearing my father ask about something as frivolous as weight loss really made me come THAT close to committing murder.

Me: “It’s called being a single mother with no family for over a year. Guaranteed results.”

Most hotels (mine included) require payment or at least an authorization for payment via credit card BEFORE you stay. If you extend your stay, the credit card needs to be reauthorized for the additional days.

I’m sure all of you are following so far, nodding your heads, and thinking, “Yes, of course, that’s how it works.”

We’ve had this guy stay with us over the last six months or so, and we’ve had almost a dozen issues with him paying on time, and then issues with him disputing charges, as well. He also thinks that checkout time doesn’t apply to him and that we will simply keep his room until he tells us he’s checking out, but then if he checks out after checkout time — say, 4:00 pm — he thinks that he doesn’t deserve to get charged. Basically, he thinks he runs the place because his employer is paying for his stays and he’s a Shiny Member because of it.

Yesterday, this guest just TOLD us that he wouldn’t know “until after 1:00” if he was staying or not. Checkout time is at 12:00. I don’t work during the day, so I don’t know how that panned out. I DID hear from a coworker that our general called the guest on his cell about payment or something, and he told her, “This phone is only for friends after [time],” and hung up on her. Which, in my book, means that person is evicted right there. I guess she called his room and they talked, but I don’t know all that was said.

I get here at 11:00, and his card is declined for tonight’s stay. I lock out the room. He arrives at about 12:00 looking for a new key to his room.

Me: *Politely* “I need payment before you get the room. You only paid for one night; we need payment for the second night.”

I show him the receipt for the one night, and I even turn my monitor to him so that he can see that his card is declined, because he keeps insisting “the room is paid for”.

He goes back and forth between being angry, trying to tell me to “do him a solid” and just give him the room without payment, saying what a great relationship he and I have had over the last six months, saying, “We ain’t friends,” and swearing, going out to the parking lot, coming back in, and starting over again. Finally, he says he just wants to grab his stuff and go.

Me: “Okay, fine. I will go with you to the room so you can get your stuff and leave. Do you need a cart?”

Guest: “Yes.”

Then, he just starts taking off to the room with his girl trailing behind him. By the way, the girlfriend totally understands what I was saying to the guy and knows I am right, and she clearly also knows he has no money, despite his bragging about how much money he has, how “this is beneath me,” and what a big shot he apparently is.

Since he didn’t listen when I said that we need to go up together, I’ve had it, and I’m not going to risk letting him into the room and him just closing the door on me because he’s acting shady. I call dispatch, have them send a unit to help with an eviction, and wait.

He comes back down.

Me: “Have a seat. Police will be here soon to help you get your stuff out of the room.”

Guest: “Wait, no! I have money on this other card!”

Me: “Nope. We are past that. I’m done arguing and dealing with you. I gave you every opportunity to pay, and you kept arguing. You are not staying tonight, and you will not be renting from us in the future.”

After a few more choice words from him, he decided to wait outside.

The police unit rolled up. I told them the situation and then hung back so I wouldn’t say something to escalate the situation. They went up with him, and he complained the whole way. It took a long time for them to get him out — and he only had, like, a backpack and a grocery bag full of stuff. So, who knows what was said, but I’m guessing he was trying to figure out some way to stay, or maybe he wanted to retrieve something he was not supposed to have that he’d hidden in the room but couldn’t just grab because the police were over his shoulder.

So, now he’s been trespassed and hopefully won’t be back again.

My daughter has autism and PANS, which is a condition that has psychiatric and neurological symptoms. Recently, she has been complaining of pain in her right hand and foot. We go see a pediatric neurologist to see whether this is a real thing, or if she is using it as an excuse when she doesn’t want to do something. (It’s a possibility at her age.)

I know that pediatric neurologists mostly deal with epilepsy and less with muscle problems/neuropathy, which this resembles, but I can’t find out which one is more focused on that, so we go to the “top” guy.

I enter beforehand by myself to explain everything — that we need him to find out if it’s real and that it could be her fibbing. My daughter comes in and the doctor positively booms at her:

Doctor: “Look, I want to show you this song online!”

Very urgently, I ask him to turn off the video on his phone, because her ONLY big fear is unknown music videos. My daughter’s eyes have gone wide and her hands are pressing her headphones into her ears.

Doctor: *To me* “Shut up!”

My daughter finds her words and tells him to turn it off, and in a big show of bravery, she doesn’t run out of the examination room.

He gives her paperwork a very thorough look and tells us rambling stories about his work. My daughter is shuffling around and ends up sitting in his lap while he is talking to us; she is friendly like that. At one point, the doctor grabs her by surprise in a tight hold.

Doctor: “We will give you a big injection now!”

I am happy to say that my daughter has great experience with doctors and me and knows that I am the one calling the shots and that no surprises ever happen, so she looked at me and I quickly let her know that there wouldn’t be any shots today. I was not opposing the doctor. There was no shot; this was his amazing idea of a joke!

The whole time, he never once examined her physically. In the end, he gave us the recommendation for a multivitamin — at which I rolled my eyes — and a comment on the fact that I am “pretty feisty” and that he “respects that”.

Sadly, the doctor didn’t know that my husband is the lawyer for this group of hospitals, but he will find out pretty soon. We did find a specialist for neuromuscular problems and she is having a big, proper exam at another hospital in a few weeks.

I used to work in a restaurant. We had a deal with the local [Supermarket Chain] where they’d ship in ingredients for us in bulk with a slight discount, and we’d order every two weeks and pay 50% in advance and 50% on pickup. Since they worked on a quota system, they loved us for it.

On this particular day, I was going to make our fortnightly pickup. The uniforms at [Supermarket Chain] are bright blue shirts with charcoal bottoms. At the restaurant I worked at, there wasn’t a uniform for back-of-house kitchen staff, only some guidelines, so I was wearing a bright blue T-shirt with some patterns on it. It wasn’t collared like the uniform, but still blue.

So, there I was, chatting to the cashier who, by this point, I was quite familiar with. She was pretty cute and I was working up the courage to ask her out, so we had a long chat while she put through our massive order — stacks of boxes of buttermilk, bags of flour, drinks, oil, etc. While we were chatting, I didn’t notice the fifty-year-old guy at the next checkout queue grabbing some of the boxes of Coke cans. I only noticed when the cashier pointed it out to me.

I walked over and confronted him. I’d already worked eight hours with another six ahead of me, so I wasn’t about to take any of this bull.

Me: “Excuse me, f***wit, what do you think you’re doing with those? They’re paid for.”

Man: “F*** off, kid. Paid for by who? Quit flirting with your b**** girlfriend and get back to work!”

I was raised to respect my elders and all that, but this dude was the epitome of everything wrong with that generation, so I started going off on him that I didn’t work here, and if I did, I wouldn’t let him in the store. I don’t even remember what I said from then on since we were both yelling; I do know it was pretty colourful, though.

Eventually, the manager of the branch who comes to help me load up so he can sort out the invoice was called, and he had to drag us away from each other so we wouldn’t end up in a fistfight. Thanks to the cashiers, it all got resolved while I went and cooled off. By the time I got back, a few minutes later, it was sorted, and I could finish paying and load up. I’m pretty sure the restaurant still orders there to this day.

I never did get that cute cashier’s number because of the health crisis.