The lab where I work requires that you either sign in at the front desk or swipe your ID card to access one of the exterior doors. There are very strict rules, enforced by security camera, that no one is to be allowed in by “tailgating” you through the exterior doors without swiping their ID card to open the door. Even if you recognize the other person, if you are spotted letting someone in, you will get written up and pulled into security retraining. So, we don’t do it, even during the morning rush. A person comes up, swipes, walks through the door, closes it, the next person swipes, opens the door, walks through, closes it, etc.

On this particular day, I’m coming in a bit later because I’m going to be working late into the night, and I see someone I don’t recognize standing around outside holding an unlit cigarette. It is pretty common for people to come out and take a smoke break, and he is in the area where people generally do that, so I don’t think much of it as I walk up and swipe my card.

As I’m stepping in, however, I hear hurried steps, and I turn to see him running up after me. On instinct, I reach out and yank the door close, and I actually hear him impact it on the other side, rattling it a bit when it proves to be locked. Cue him audibly cursing me out.

I am pretty shocked by that, and I report the incident to my boss. He looks into it, and it turns out that the guy was a probationary new hire who disliked being “treated like a baby” and being forced to sign in while waiting for his ID card to be issued. So, he thought that sneaking his way in would be somehow better.

On the bright side for him, the company certainly won’t be treating him like a baby, as he no longer works here.

I’ve been working for a local optician since I was thirteen. I started by doing their filing on Saturday mornings and progressed to doing full Saturdays or Sundays, working with customers selecting glasses and doing the pre-screen tests.

Eventually, I’m promoted to Sunday manager when I’m sixteen. This isn’t a big role and I’m mostly given it because often I’m the only permanent staff member working with one or two external contractors. Really, all it means in practice is that I have shop keys and the alarm codes.

This takes place on a Friday when the normal manager and the owner both aren’t around. It isn’t really a problem as we all know our tasks and everything has been fine until closing procedures. The team today includes me, a few others who are in their twenties, and a man in his late fifties who isn’t a manager but took the shop keys from the owner when he left.

Importantly, we all have the same status in the business; the older man has the same training level as I do. The shop closes at 5:00 but we’re paid until 5:30 to finish closing out. It’s currently ten past 5:00 and I’m doing paperwork, not noticing that a lot of others have already left.

Older Man: “Okay, stop what you’re doing. We can finish the last bits tomorrow. A few of us have a train to catch so we need to go.”

I’m doing closing paperwork.

Me: “Oh, it’s okay, [Older Man]. I’ve got my keys so I’ll finish this bit up and I’ll lock up.”

Older Man: “No, we need to go now. I can’t miss my train.”

Me: “No, it’s fine. You can go, and so can anyone else who has a train, because I have keys to lock up.”

Older Man: “No, I need to show you out of the building.”

Me: “Why? I have my own keys and I lock up by myself on Sundays.”

Older Man: “Don’t argue with me!”

Me: “But I don’t have anywhere to be, and if I don’t finish this paperwork, [Owner] will be really angry. We are paid for another twenty minutes, anyway. I’ll finish this and do the last closing out bits, but it won’t take long, so you can go. It’s fine for me to lock up; I do it every weekend.”

Older Man: *Shouting* “I will not be spoken to like that!”

Me: “Like what? I’m saying go get your train; don’t worry about me.”

Older Man: “That’s it! Go and get your coat and bag and get out! I’m not leaving you alone in the building!”

He’s about an inch away from my face and shouting. I’m sixteen and not used to confrontations, I also suffer from social anxiety disorder, so this is a huge situation. I feel my throat starting to tighten, so I wordlessly leave what I was doing and walk upstairs to get my coat.

Older Man: “Go! Faster! You’re making us all wait for you!”

Me: *Crying* “You don’t have to wait for me!”

Older Man: “Go! F****** H***, WHY DON’T YOU LISTEN!”

I grab my bag, accidentally leaving some of my things behind in a panic, and practically run out the door, still crying.

The next day, I’m called into the owner’s office and I expect it to be because of the unfinished paperwork.

Me: “Yes, [Owner]?”

Owner: “I want to speak to you about your behaviour yesterday. [Older Man] said you were really rude to him.”

Me: “What?! No, that’s not what happened! He wanted to leave early because of his train and I told him he could go but I needed to finish things up so I would stay and lock up.”

Owner: “That’s not what I was told, and it doesn’t matter anyway; I won’t have people arguing here. You need to go and apologise.”

Me: “I’m not going to apologise for offering to cover for him while he left early and being shouted at.”

Owner: “I’m telling you to go and apologise. If you don’t, well…”

He trails off but glares at me in a meaningful way.

Me: “No, I’m not going to.”

Owner: “Then I guess you’ve made your decision. Good luck finding another job at your age.”

I walked out of his office and then out of the store without speaking to anyone, upset and very angry but too righteous to ever apologise when I hadn’t done anything wrong. I wrote my resignation letter that night, and then I updated my CV and emailed it to a few rival opticians. 

Thankfully, because I had years of experience and had been trained on everything that didn’t require a degree, from pre-testing to dispensing and fitting glasses despite having the low minimum wage and salary expectations of a teenager, I had a job offer within two days.

I’ve since been back to that optician as it was the cheapest place to get new glasses and the older man came over to say, “No hard feelings, eh?” I blanked him and walked away.

I am a bagger, so I am walking around cleaning trash and checking to see how many customers are left because the store is closing relatively soon. This lady walks in and heads over to the bakery, grabs a roll, starts eating it, smiles at me, and then heads down the medicine/healthcare aisle. Ten or fifteen minutes go by, and we have one final rush of the night so I open an extra register.

Customer: “Why the f*** is it so cold in here?!”

Me: “The store has to be kept at a certain temperature because otherwise some of the product will go bad.”

Customer: “This is bulls***! It’s f****** freezing in here! Can’t you turn the heat up?!”

Me: “No, ma’am. I don’t control the temperature, nor do I know how to adjust it.”

Customer: “Yeah, well, this is why I shop at [Another Store] instead of this f****** place because you’re all rude pieces of s***!”

Me: “…”

She proceeds to load her items onto the belt. She then opens her purse and shows me an unopened box of condoms.

Customer: “These are mine; are you gonna charge me for them?!”

Me: “No… but I am going to charge you for the roll I saw you eating.”

Customer: “What?! Why don’t you just charge me 100 f****** dollars, then, you ugly a**hole!”

Me: “Calm down, ma’am. It’s a fifty-cent roll; it’s far from 100 dollars.”

She then throws her money at me, and without hesitation, she grabs her bag and starts heading for the door. We are collecting donations right now. Her total was around $8.50 and she gave me a ten.

Me: “Do you want your change?”

Customer: “F*** you!”

Me: “Cool. Thanks for the dollar donation!”

She headed for the door, so I started waving and saying, “BYE!” really loudly. She screamed profanity at me, as well as being racist towards my manager, who was Hispanic. She then reached her hand into her bag, grabbed a container of salad dressing she had just bought, attempted to throw it at me, missed horribly, and then stormed out.

She called the next day threatening to come back with a weapon, but I never saw her again.

I work at a well-known, widespread sub shop. We are actually the busiest store in my town because of our convenient location to a hospital, a portion of our college campus, and many forms of public transportation. When the students come in for the start of school, our store can get pretty crazy sometimes.

Move-in week for freshmen was about a week ago. It’s early August and, due to a sick coworker, my manager and I are the only ones working during the morning and lunch rush.

Me: “How ya doing?! What can I get for you today?”

The customer mumbles and looks at the paper in her hands a few times.

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. What did you say?”

More mumbling and sighing from the customer. This continues on for a few moments before I get frustrated. I have a line out the door behind her. Finally, I pull down the protective glass separating us. She can easily see over the top of the line while I barely reach her neck. I hunch over and speak a little louder to combat the noises of the oven behind me, thinking she can’t hear me.

Me: “I’m so sorry, ma’am, but I can’t hear a word you’re saying. You have to speak up.”

Customer: *Heavy sigh* “I need three sandwiches!”

Me: “Fantastic! Can you tell me the breads first?”

Customer: “What?!”

Me: “Can you tell me the different breads for your subs first? So I can start cutting them to prepare properly.”

Customer: “Ugh, FINE.”

She goes on, giving me short, curt answers to all my basic questions. The line behind her is slowly growing and the oven behind me has bread that needs to be taken out of it or it will burn. The door is open to prevent that from happening, but our AC is busted and the entire store is stifling at this point. By now, I can send her food on to be finished with veggies and whatnot.

Me: “All right. Now, what kind of cheese do you want on these?”

Customer: “Swiss on all.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but [Restaurant] doesn’t carry Swiss. All my cheeses are labeled here.”

I point.

Customer: “Ugh! I don’t know! White!”

I am visibly upset and on the verge of saying something I really shouldn’t. I can’t help but look between her food and my selection.

Me: “But… they’re all white.”

Customer: “AMERICAN!”

My store is so hot by now, and my oven keeps beeping because the door is still open and we’re all sweating. The customers behind her are just as upset as I am at this point so I put the cheese on and send her food on its way as fast as I can.

I run to take out all my bread and nearly hit my manager with a hot pan. We’re both extremely sweaty and miserable and the lunch rush has only just started. I go back to my other customers who, thankfully, have easier orders and speak clearly, everyone just wanting to get their food and leave. I rush through about two dozen people’s orders before I have a small break to breathe. I run the register while my manager finishes wrapping up the difficult customer’s orders.

Me: “So, I have three six-inch [orders]. Did you want anything else with that?”

Customer: “Why is it so hot in here?! I can’t even think!”

Me: “I’m sorry about that. Our AC is broken right now, so there’s not much I can do about it.”

I try to joke.

Me: “If anything, you might be more comfortable eating on the sidewalk. I bet it’s cooler outside by now.”

Customer: “HOW DARE YOU?!”

She pays and stomps off.

Two hours later, a close friend and coworker comes in to start his shift and our line is efficiently taken care of. We have a temperature gauge sitting on top of our oven and the highest it reached all day was about 110F, taking into consideration whenever we had to open the oven to get any bread out.

All of us are ready to pass out and I’ve found myself sitting in the freezer just to cool down. Finally, we’ve reached a break three hours after my encounter with the difficult customer and I’ve all but forgotten her. As I’m doing dishes, my manager is doing paperwork in his office but starts to laugh loudly a few minutes in. He comes out to me at the sink.

Me: “Uh… [Manager], what’s so funny?”

Manager: “After over a year of working here, with a flawless track record and attendance, you have received your very first complaint. Congratulations.”

Turns out, that woman kept her receipt to take our survey and gave us all zeroes! In the comments sections, she went on to describe how “compliant and kind-worded” she had been while I had insulted her. She complained that the store was too hot and it was my fault because I was mean to her. She went on to say the employees looked terrible and acted like they didn’t want to serve anyone. She demanded I be fired because I was “conceited” and just a “rude teenager” who didn’t care about anything, and she said that she would never come to our store again.

My manager, who’s only been with the store a few months, immediately emailed his boss about how the woman REALLY acted and said to not give her any form of compensation common to poor reviews. Good riddance to her!

A few years ago, I lived in an apartment where I had to go outside to throw my trash away. On one occasion, I was on my phone so I wasn’t really paying attention. It was a hot day. I thought I heard some muffled noises but I thought it was just my imagination.

I threw my big heavy bag into the dumpster and then heard a voice cry out. It was coming from inside the dumpster, which was full.

I peeked in, thinking it might be a homeless guy or maybe a baby, but then I saw a wild-eyed teen girl and a teen guy staring at me. They were maybe fourteen or so, and they were naked. They tried to hide, giggling, but I’d already seen them. Mystified, I turned around and walked home, shaking my head.

It was a rough neighborhood, but not that rough, and I know teen hormones are rampant, but I’d never have sex in the dumpster with trash around me. Call me a prude.

I hope it was because they had nowhere else and not because they liked the smell of hot garbage, but still!

I saw them kissing and hugging the next day. They saw me, too, frowned, and then turned red and sauntered away.