My partner and I are shopping in the January sales in the city centre, so the shops are very busy. We join the queue to pay for our items. It’s a little long but moving quickly. We hear yelling from one of the cash desks. It’s so loud that half of the busy shop is turning round. We don’t catch the beginning of the conversation, but it seems the cashier has asked a customer something like, “Do you want a bag?” a second time, after not hearing the answer the first time. 

Angry Customer: “How dare you?! Do you know how long I’ve been waiting? This is why the queue is so long; you can’t do your d***ed jobs!”

Cashier: “I’m sorry, I—”

Angry Customer: “Don’t be sorry! Just do your job! Stop repeating things. Scan these.”

Cashier: “Of course.”

She picks up a shoebox to scan it.

Angry Customer: “Seriously, don’t they train you here? What are you doing? I want these and these!”

He literally points to the box the cashier is scanning.

Angry Customer: “Scan them. Put them in a bag. Charge me. It’s not f****** difficult. Do your job. You’re the reason I have to wait so long here.”

By this point, the entire queue is looking at him and wondering what got up his a*** this morning. The cashier says nothing and tries to pick up the other item to scan it.

Angry Customer: “Okay. I want a manager. Now!”

Luckily, a manager has heard the yelling and appears at this point. He says something too quiet to hear to the cashier and takes over the till. The angry customer starts ranting, still within earshot of the first cashier.

Angry Customer: “Seriously, I’m not being funny, but you should be careful about who you put up here. Can’t do his f****** job. This is why the queue is so long.”

The cashier started walking away, looking upset and angry. The manager completed the angry guy’s transaction, full of fake smiles and false sympathy.

Much to my partner’s relief, the angry guy had paid and left — bragging about how “that’s how you get them to listen to you” to a woman nearby — by the time we were near that register and I didn’t get to tell him off.

The cashier got a lot of sympathy from the rest of the queue as they walked back over once the guy left. The mystery of what got up that customer’s butt was never solved.

Related:
Some People Just Want To Watch The World Burn, Part 2
Some People Just Want To Watch The World Burn

I used to work at a craft store but left to work at another company. I’m still friends with a lot of the employees and still do sewing projects, so I’m in often. I also have several piercings and two full-sleeve tattoos.

I’m talking with a friend while they’re cutting my fabric and a customer storms over.

Customer: “Oh, just move her s*** and serve me! She’s just gonna steal all of this, anyway!”

Friend: “Ma’am, you need to wait.”

Customer: “No, I don’t! She’s just some punk b****!”

I just look at this woman making a scene in public.

Friend: “Ma’am, I’m gonna call my manager.”

Customer: “JUST CUT MY D*** FABRIC!”

She suddenly yanks what I’ve had cut already off the counter and throws it on the floor. She slams her bolts down, barely missing my hand.

Friend: “Yeah, no.”

She calls the manager. When the manager arrives, the customer glares at me.

Customer: “This b**** is just trying to get me banned! I want her out!”

The manager laughs.

Manager: “Her? I doubt it. She’s never caused trouble here before. You, on the other hand, have. Every single time you’re in.”

Customer: “But… she’s gonna steal! That’s all these punk kids do!”

Me: “Ma’am, if you’re gonna judge on appearance, then expect to be wrong.”

Customer: “SEE?! SHE’S HARASSING ME!”

Manager: “All right, I’ve had enough. I’m asking you to leave.”

Customer: “YOU CAN’T KICK ME OUT! I’M A PAYING CUSTOMER!”

Manager: “You’re harassing a customer, you’ve made it a habit, and you’re causing a scene in the store. Leave.”

After yelling about how I am a thief, she finally leaves. The manager looks back at me.

Manager: “[My Name], I’m giving you half off of your total… as long as you don’t steal.”

I work at a small fast food restaurant in an area that is unsafe to be in after 8:00 pm. There is no play area for kids and the dining room is closed at 8:00 pm.

A lady in an oversized coat with fur linings comes in at 7:00 pm with four kids. The oldest looks about seven while the youngest looks about five. The lady orders a large order totalling about $50, and then takes the order to a back table that has charging ports. Then, she leaves; the kids don’t seem to care as they are watching a movie on a laptop.

At 7:30 pm, the mum hasn’t come back. I tell my shift supervisor, who asks the kids if they have their mum’s number. They don’t have her number, so my supervisor calls the police to take care of the kids and then asks me to keep an eye on them.

While we’re waiting for the police, an older man that seems out of it approaches the kids and starts asking them questions.

Older Man: “Where are Mummy and Daddy?”

Older Man: “Do your Mummy and Daddy hate you so much that they left you here?”

Older Man: “Would you like to get a ride with me? Or you can stay at my place?”

Luckily, the police arrive before things get out of control and take the kids with them. I think that will be the end of it.

At 10:00 pm, someone starts screaming and trying to break down the door. My supervisor sees that it is the lady from before. He lets her in and she goes straight for the table where she left her kids. When she realises that her kids aren’t there, she storms up to the front counter.

Lady: “WHERE ARE THE F****** KIDS?! WHAT DID YOU DO TO THEM?!”

Supervisor: *Very calmly* “With all due respect, you left your kids here with no adults and no way to contact you. I called the police as it’s not my job to make sure that your kids are safe. Here is the number for the officer that is watching your kids; she is waiting for you so you can have a lesson on how to look after your kids.”

The lady turned a deep shade of purple. She stormed out, and that was the last we saw of her.

I’m a gas station clerk. A young man comes to the counter and puts down his things, including a high school library book clearly stamped with “[Local High School] Library.” In other words, this kid is probably underage.

He has a non-alcoholic beverage and, after I ring him up, he decides to try to sneak one past me.

Young Man: “Can I also get [tobacco product]?”

Me: “Can I see your ID?”

He pretends to search his wallet for his identification and, after a moment, mutters:

Young Man: “I must have left it in my other wallet.”

I nod.

Me: “It happens to me all the time.”

I have worked in an Indiana college town in a 147-room hotel for about six months. Most of the time things go swimmingly, but the last couple of nights have been doozies thanks to our boilers going AWOL, leaving the hotel without hot water. This left two wedding suites unable to shower comfortably. But that wasn’t the most interesting thing to happen this week. No, that would be tonight.

Around 9:15, someone walks into the hotel and asks for public restrooms. I eye the person, whose appearance and demeanor fit that of the local drug addict population.

Me: “I’m sorry, we don’t have public restrooms.”

Guy: *Barely above a whisper* “I’ll take a room, then.”

This is red flag number one. Normally, people just grumble and walk out. They don’t suddenly switch to wanting to pay $150 for a room. But I click a few buttons on my system and fake looking for rooms.

Me: “I’ll need a credit card and a photo ID.”

The guy pulls out a green BMV-issued ID card — not a license, just an ID card — and a debit card. While we can take debit cards, I’m still suspicious. It is at this point that I notice that the guy’s left hand is covered in fresh blood.

Guy: “I’ll pay for anything, even a suite.”

This is red flag number two. To go from wanting bathrooms to wanting to pay for anything we had just screams, “I’m a junkie and I’m looking for a place to shoot up.” I decide to refuse service for a few reasons: one, there’s no sense in risking him overdosing on whatever his poison of choice is and having a dead-in-room situation; two, there are two weddings in house tonight; and three, there are a lot of kids in house.

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re completely sold out.”

This was a blatant lie; we were only at 54% for the night, but I was certain he was looking for a place to shoot up and was going to do whatever it took to do so.

The guy turned around and walked out. My manager, after hearing this, told me I’d done a good job and the night went on as usual. This was a first for me. Feels like I got through a rite of passage for hospitality or something.