I work in customer service for a healthcare insurance company. Healthcare insurance is mandatory in the Netherlands, so everyone has it — except if you object because of religious reasons, but then you have to pay for every form of care yourself, which is extremely expensive.

Because it is mandatory, we get a lot of calls from people asking what actually gets covered and what doesn’t get covered by their insurance, as they haven’t really looked it up. A lot of weird things get covered at this time, including stuff like reincarnation therapy and bleaching your teeth, so nothing really surprises me.

Me: “Hi, [Healthcare Insurance Company]. What can I help you with?”

Caller: “Hi. I was wondering if installing a new cover for my chair will get covered by my insurance? I pay a lot, you know.”

I look it up in the system, and guess what, there is actually a way to get this compensated.

Me: “Do you perhaps need a chair cover that’s made of anti-allergic material? Because that would get covered as long as you can provide a doctor’s note showing you are extremely or deathly allergic to certain materials and need a special cover.”

Caller: “No, I am not. The chair is dirty and needs a new cover.”

Me: “Ah, I’m afraid that won’t be covered by healthcare insurance. I’m sorry.”

The caller suddenly starts screaming at the top of her lungs.

Caller: “You are killing my son! You are killing him!“

Me: “I’m sorry, is your son allergic? I don’t understand—”

Caller: “My son won’t eat if he’s sitting on a dirty f****** chair! If he doesn’t eat, he dies! You’re killing him!“

Me: “Um… I…”

Caller: “I cannot change the chair cover myself as I am rheumatic, so you had better make sure I will get a new cover compensated and installed!”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am, but it would only get covered if you or your son were extremely or deadly allergic to—”

Caller: “No! You will get this compensated for me!”

Me: “I’m really sorry, but that’s not possible. I don’t want to sound rude, but isn’t it possible to ask a friend or family member to change—”

Caller: “You are the reason my son will be dead soon! You are a child killer! I hope you die!” *Click*

Either teach your son that sitting on a dirty chair is no reason to stop eating or ask someone else to change the cover for you. Let him sit on the couch, instead, or buy a new chair. There are so many solutions; wishing someone dead is not one of them!

My dad was a sheriff’s deputy, and part of his job was to provide security in a courtroom. This included small claim lawsuits.

He would tell me about some of the most ridiculous lawsuits he would stand by and hear while trying to maintain a straight face, such as one idiot who sued his former boss. One day, after getting chewed out by said boss, he dreamed that he’d gotten into a fistfight with him and punched himself in the mouth in his sleep, knocking out a tooth. He thought his boss should pay his dental bill. I’ll let you guess how THAT one went.

However, the most notable lawsuit was this huge, burly oaf who seemed physically incapable of speaking without shouting. He sued (the parents of) a poor, terrified sixteen-year-old girl because she’d mistakenly shortchanged him $20 in a supermarket during a long, tiring shift. The store manager, who’d been brought in as a witness, testified that the man — who unsurprisingly made a scene in front of everyone in the store berating her — was repaid immediately after the girl’s till was balanced and it was determined to have $20 extra. He then stood next to the girl, waving the bill in the air, yelling, “DON’T GO TO [GIRL]’s REGISTER! SHE’S A THIEF AND WILL RIP YOU OFF!” They ended up having to call security to put him out.

Judge: “Okay, you got your money back. Why are we here? And how does this equate to $3,000 in damages?”

Customer: “I’m here for theft and consumer fraud and breach of trust! I deserve $3,000 in punitive damages!”

The verdict? The judge ordered him to pay the court a $2,500 fine for filing a frivolous lawsuit. Meanwhile, the parents had countersued for $1,000 for mental distress caused on their daughter. The judge awarded them the maximum statutory limit of $3,000, adding that the parents should give it all to the girl.

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I took a part-time job at a big chain pizza shop. The manager was sweet, nearly retired, and a good guy, but way too soft. It worked well most of the time; we worked together, we met targets, everyone did as asked, and in return, the manager overlooked genuine mistakes and helped us with time off even when understaffed.

That is… until [Coworker] started to do more days a week. [Coworker] didn’t care about anyone but himself and his friends. Minimum work, maximum attitude.

I caught him giving away free pizza to his friends. He acted sorry and it was a small one, so I didn’t say anything. Then, I caught him again, and this time it was a massive order.

Me: “What the h*** are you doing?”

Coworker: “What’s it to you?”

Me: “You can’t give away all this. They will notice!”

Coworker: “So?”

Me: “You and [Manager] could lose your jobs.”

Coworker: “Do I look like I care?”

Me: “I won’t let you do this.”

I go to leave, but he puts his arm across the door. A flash of panic goes through me until I realise that [Coworker] is a stick-thin eighteen-year-old and has no chance of physically doing anything. I grab his ear, twisting it enough to get him to move, and drag him to the manager. I explain everything.

Me: “You need to fire him.”

Manager: “Maybe he just made a mistake?”

Me: “There’s nearly a hundred pounds of stuff missing — drinks, pizza, snacks. He’s been doing this for a while.”

Manager: “I, err, well…”

Me: “Fine, I’ll do it. [Coworker], you’re fired!”

Coworker: “You’re not my boss.”

Me: “Do you agree, [Manager]?”

Manager: “Yes. Sorry, [Coworker], you’re fired.”

Me: “Get out.”

He left. His parents came to complain, but someone in corporate threatened to involve the police and they backed off. The manager retired early. I think [Coworker] really ruined what was a happy little family for him.

Client: “Your company is exceptionally slow compared to others in your field, but we’re willing to give you one last chance. We have a project that other companies can turn around in [number] weeks. What can you offer us in terms of timelines?”

Me: “We’re literally the only company in the world that offers the services you need on this scale, so I’m pretty sure nobody has offered you a [number]-week timeline. We can’t match it by any stretch considering the gargantuan scope of work, but hey, you’re free to go to these “other companies” you’ve mentioned. We wish you the best of luck.”

Client: “Oh, no, the companies are most certainly real. But… uh… hypothetically speaking, what kind of timeline would it be if we stuck with you?”

Me: “Hypothetically?”

Client: “Hypothetically.”

We’d be working around the clock and weekends just to make double that timeline. You better believe the expedite fees aren’t getting waived. Some part of me genuinely wants them to attempt getting quotes from other companies and getting the door slammed in their faces when they explain what they want and how soon they want it.

I work in an indoor amusement park at a little hut on the way into our mini-golf course. We sell merchandise from the hut with the park’s name on it.

The park has a three-write-up system for employees; get written up three times and you’re fired. I’m a good employee who always works hard, but my boss hates me for reasons I’ve never known, and at this point in the summer, he’s already written me up twice.

A middle-aged woman runs in, absolutely frantic.

Guest: *Yelling* “You need to give me a shirt!”

Me: “Uh, well, we have T-shirts on that wall there, and sweatshirts—”

Guest: “No, I’m not buying a shirt. Your park owes me a shirt, and you’re going to give it to me!”

Me: “What?”

Guest: “The idiots in the food court didn’t put the lid on my son’s soda tight enough, and now he’s spilled it all over his shirt, so you need to give me a new one!”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that happened, but I can’t give away merchandise. Tell you what. Let me radio for a manager, and we’ll see if there’s anything he can do.”

I pick up the walkie-talkie and call for [Boss]. No answer. I call for him again. Nothing. Meanwhile, the guest is becoming more and more irate, tapping her foot, and making huffing noises.

Guest: “My son is just standing there in the food court, dripping wet!”

Me: *Into my walkie-talkie* “[Boss], please come to mini-golf! Or if anyone sees [Boss], can you please tell him to come to mini-golf?

Again, silence.

Guest: “This is ridiculous! I’m taking this!”

She grabs a shirt from the wall and runs out of the booth.

Boss: *On the walkie-talkie* “This is [Boss]; go ahead.”

I quickly explain to [Boss] on the walkie-talkie what has happened, and I tell him that if he can meet me at the food court, I’ll point out the customer to him. [Boss] and I arrive at the food court at the same time and he’s carrying another shirt. I point the guest out and immediately see why the problem started: loose lid or not, this woman bought a thirty-two-ounce soda for a kid who could not be older than four. Of course, it spilled!

Boss: “Ma’am, I heard what happened, and I’m sorry, but I can’t let you keep that shirt. However, we happen to have another shirt leftover from a corporate event, and if you want, I can give you that shirt, instead.”

He holds out the T-shirt he’s carrying, and at first, this sounds like a pretty good solution, until he unfurls it and we see that it’s an adult extra-large. This makes her FURIOUS.

Guest: “HOW’S HE SUPPOSED TO WEAR THAT?!”

Boss: “Well, I know it’ll look a little silly, but if he tucks it into his shorts—”

Guest: “HE DOESN’T WEAR HIS SHIRTS TUCKED IN!”

With this, she pulls the park shirt off of her son, throws it at me, and replaces it with the extra-large.

Boy: “Mommy, it’s too big.”

Guest: “I know it’s too big! I know, but that’s what this man wants you to wear!” *Turns to [Boss]* “And you know what? If we were to go running in the park, and if he were to trip and, I don’t know, smack his little head—”

I swear to you, when she said, “smack his little head,” she actually smacked her son on the forehead!

Guest: “—then we would have to sue the park for giving him this shirt!”

She turns back to her son.

Guest: “Come on, let’s go! Let’s go running! You want to go climb on the jungle gym? Let’s go climb on the jungle gym!”

She runs off with [Son], leaving behind their pizza, one ginormous spilled soda, and an entire food court staring at [Boss] and me. [Boss] turns to me, seething.

Boss: “You’re getting written up for this.”

Me: “What? What did I do?”

Boss: “You gave away merchandise and that’s not allowed.”

Me: “But I didn’t! I didn’t give anything away; she came in and took the shirt!”

Boss: “DON’T ARGUE WITH ME!”

Me: “So, that’s my third write-up. Are you telling me I’m fired?”

Again, the ENTIRE FOOD COURT is watching this conversation. [Boss] thinks for a moment.

Boss: “You’re not fired. But you’re hanging by a thread.”

Me: “Why? This wasn’t my fault—”

Boss: “I said DON’T ARGUE.”

He stormed off. I returned to the mini-golf booth and spent the day cursing him out in my mind. I never saw the guest or her son again, and I doubt they sued the park.

I quit a month later when I left for college, and I never saw [Boss] again. I heard from former coworkers that [Boss] ended up being fired for having an affair with a sixteen-year-old employee.