A few years ago, I was working in a video game shop. A guy in his mid- to late twenties came in already angry as he had dropped his phone in the parking lot and cracked the screen. He was arguing on the phone with his father, getting increasingly irate as his dad wouldn’t buy him a new one.

Then, the card reader failed because his chip was broken, he knew it was broken, and he had no other way to pay. He screamed like a feral warthog, football-spiked his phone onto the floor, snatched it back up, and stomped out, leaving me to sweep up shards of glass.

When I was fifteen, I was working in the drive-thru at a fast food chain. I was handing this man his change when he grabbed my wrist and tried to yank me out of the window.

I pulled back really hard and slammed the window on his hand. He sped off without his food.

My panic attack was so bad that my manager begrudgingly sent me home. I quit two days later.

I moved out soon after turning eighteen and went from the country to a big city. At first, it was a culture shock, but I adapted to it. A friend of mine was working as a security guard/bouncer at a club in town. It wasn’t a total high society thing, but it wasn’t crappy, either. One night, my then-roommate dragged me out partying.

I went out to have a smoke and to call someone as smoking wasn’t allowed inside. My bouncer buddy saw me and I chilled with him, smoking a cigarette, and having a chat. He then went away to use the toilet, so I lit my second cigarette and tried to make my call.

I was approached by what seemed to be a mother-daughter duo or maybe aunt and niece. But the girl was maybe eighteen or nineteen, and the woman was in her early to mid-forties.

Woman: “Hey, excuse me!”

She waved to get my attention.

Me: “Huh?”

Woman: “So, we’ve waited at least half an hour.”

My friends and I waited forty-five minutes to get inside.

Me: “So?”

Woman: “So, maybe you could bring us in?”

Now I got it. She mistook me for a bouncer. Okay. The bouncers were in black jackets with “SECURITY” written in big, white, reflecting letters on the back and in little print on the right side of the chest, and they had earplugs for radios in their ears so they could be called if they were needed inside. I was in a black bomber jacket, an AC/DC shirt, black pants, and a pair of combat boots.

Me: “Uh, I think there is a misunderstanding.”

Woman: “Oh, no, there isn’t. Sure, you can’t let us skip the line, but what if you just look the other way…”

She started touching my jacket and I guess she was trying to be flirty?

Woman: “…and we slip in. We just want to do clubbing, and I bet you need some ladies in there.”

She then slipped a banknote into my pocket.

Girl: “Look, clubs need some girls so guys buy drinks, right?”

Me: “Sorry, I’m not working here.”

Woman: “Oh, come on. I know a bouncer when I see one. I’m long enough in the clubbing scene. I know you’re afraid of what your boss maybe will say, kid, but I know him. It’s Frank, right? He’s a friend of mine. Tell him [Woman] slipped in.”

My buddy came back from the toilet and raised an eyebrow when he saw me. The girl looked at my buddy and her eyes widened. My buddy was wearing the security jacket, black leather gloves, the radio plug in his ear, and an ID card around his neck. The girl then whispered in the woman’s ear. She looked at my buddy and went red in the face. Both then retreated to the back of the line.

He asked me what happened, I told him, and we laughed. I pulled the banknote out of my pocket; this woman had given me 100 euros. I went back into the club and bought beers for myself and my friends. Thanks for the beers and my groceries the next day, lady!

I was doing undergraduate research in a lab, working toward my thesis. The other people were a hard-working, tightly-knit, mutually supportive group, with a few notable exceptions. One of these exceptions was a girl who did not absolutely care one jot beyond her own immediate needs, and a few things she did still stick out in my memory, years later.

One of the postgrads, who was supposed to mentor this girl, vanished during the weekend; he left on Friday afternoon with a curt “bye” and did not show up on Monday… or Tuesday… or Wednesday. We did ask around whether he was ill or inconvenienced, but she did not volunteer any information. Then, the head of the lab, who was not in any way involved with the post-grad, asked [Girl] if she was going to be able to cope doing the project without assistance.

Girl: “Yes, I can manage. [Postgrad] left me all the instructions and notes.”

Head Of Lab: “Oh, so he knew in advance that he was going to be away?”

Girl: “Yes, he’s quit. He told me a week ago that he had found a proper job.”

And we were wondering whether he was in hospital!

We also had to move because the prefab building where the lab was located was literally losing bits of roof. The movers took care of the large stuff but we had to pack the smaller equipment ourselves. [Girl] and I were in charge of wrapping glassware and putting it into boxes. At one point, I saw the corner of a familiar-looking aluminium plate poking out of a black bag. Because it was just the two of us, and I would never throw that away, there could be only one culprit.

Me: “[Girl], that would not be the aluminium plate from [piece of machinery that I used and she did not], would it?”

Girl: “How would I know?! It’s just some garbage.”

Me: “It’s not garbage! It’s important for spreading the heat evenly across the electrophoresis gel. [Girl], just ask before throwing away techware that you don’t know about. We are already on a tight budget without having to replace lost equipment.”

She just shrugged. I took out the aluminium plate, checked whether anything else of value had been chucked out — it had: clamps, gaskets, stirring magnets, and several other bits and bobs of a chemistry lab — and resumed packing.

During the lunch break, [Girl] told everyone who would listen the story of how I was salvaging garbage from the black bags, a thing she found hilarious.

A few years ago, the former lab group had a reunion. I was invited; she wasn’t.

A guest attempted to check-in around 3:00 pm into a prepaid reservation. Despite it being prepaid, we have a $300 security deposit that is mandatory. Her card was declining for the deposit, so we could not check her in. The guest left the hotel around 4:00 pm and ended up coming back with her friend around 11:00 pm. Her friend spent $100 on an Uber to come to our hotel and put his card down for the deposit so she could check in, and then he had to Uber back for another $100. That’s a good friend right there.

The next morning, the guest brought me down a piece of paper filled top to bottom with her demands. First, she wanted her entire stay comped. Second, she wanted additional comped nights in the future. Lastly, she wanted comped room service and breakfast. Her reasoning? We didn’t let her check in due to her card declining.

Guest: “So, what do you think?”

Me: “We can’t comp things for you because your card declined. That is not an error on our part.”

Guest: “Oh, so you’re basically just blaming me, then.”

Me: “I’m not blaming you for anything. I’m simply stating that it is not the hotel’s fault that your card declined.”

Guest: “I had to wait hours since I couldn’t check in.”

Me: “You couldn’t check in because your card declined.”

Guest: “My friend had to spend $200 on Uber to come here. He lives very far away, but he came all the way here to put his card down for me. All this trouble for a deposit.”

Me: “He had to do that because your card was declining.”

Guest: “Yeah, okay, everything is my fault.”

Me: “What would you expect the hotel to do in a situation where your card is declining? If we don’t have your card on file, then we can’t check you in. It is not our fault that your card was declining.”

Guest: “I am a movie producer from London. My card declined because I’m traveling.”

Me: “I don’t doubt that, but again, we can’t give you comped things because your card declined.”

Guest: “Oh, and I guess that I’m such a horrible person and everything is my fault because my card declined.”

Me: “I didn’t say that.”

She then left the front desk. Luckily, that day was her checkout date so we wouldn’t have to deal with her much longer. Or so I thought.

She called down to the desk.

Guest: “I’d like a late checkout.”

Me: “Unfortunately, I cannot offer you a late checkout.”

Guest: “Why?”

Me: “Because we are booked tonight.”

Guest: “Every single room?”

Me: “Yep.”

She hung up.

At 11:00 am, security informed me that the guest was outs by the pool speaking to different guests. I walked out there, and other guests told me that the crazy lady was bothering them. As I walked up to her, she was sitting with two random guests.

Me: “Excuse me, gentlemen, is everything okay? Anybody bothering you?”

Gentlemen: “Ehhh, it’s fine. We’re okay.”

Guest: “The only person bothering them is you.”

Me: “So, you guys are sure everything’s good?”

Gentlemen: “Yeah, it’s fine.”

Guest: “Bye. You can go now.”

Me: “Remember, checkout time is 12:00.”

I started walking away and then turned around.

Me: “Oh, and if another guest complains about you bothering them, you will be kicked out of the pool.”

Eventually, the 12:00 pm checkout time hit. I made sure that security went to her room first as part of due outs. They informed me that her bags were all over the room; however, she was not there. We did smell cigarette smoke coming from the room, and an inspection revealed that she had been smoking extensively in the room. That is a $500 fee. I authorized $500 on her friend’s card since that was the only one we had on file.

1:00 hit and then 2:00 pm. The guest did not come back to the hotel until 6:00 pm. I posted a $300 late checkout fee to her room, as well. With the smoking fee, late checkout fee, and resort fee, the total we placed on her friend’s card was $850. When she came back to the hotel, we told her that we could not release her items to her until we got a signature by the cardholder accepting these charges. The guest threw a fit, screamed that she was bringing the media and the press to the hotel, and then left.

The next day, I got a call from her friend asking why he was charged $850. I informed him of everything, and he was shocked.

Guest’s Friend: “[Guest] is having a midlife crisis right now and she’s not in a normal mental space. This $850 charge is outrageous! I didn’t know that I was signing up for all this when I put my card down.”

Me: “Putting your card down for [Guest] was essentially you taking responsibility for her reservation. I feel for you, but charging your card is not my decision. Also, since we can’t release her items to her, her items are still on the room. The card on file will continue to be charged for each day the bags remain in the room, and we will only move the bags out of the room once we get an authorization form signed for the charges.”

Guest’s Friend: “I will gladly pay the $350 for the late checkout and resort fee, but the $500 smoking fee is too much. If I’m charged $850, I’ll open a dispute.”

I asked the general manager, and the most we could do was offer 50% off on the smoking fee. Instead of $850 charged, it was now $600. I emailed the friend back letting him know, and per the manager, mentioned that even if he got it disputed with his credit card company, the hotel would still pursue payment in court. He ended up accepting and signed an authorization form accepting the charges to his card.

We then went to the guest’s room and put all her items in a bag. She ended up coming to pick them up at 3:00 am. We told her to wait outside, and we would send someone out to give it to her as she was not allowed on the property.

Overall, I felt very bad for the friend. He Ubered a great distance to come put his card down for his friend. She ended up getting him on the hook for $850, and his first instinct was to compliment her character and explain to me that she was just dealing with a mental illness. But it is what it is, and the hotel had to do what it had to do.