I have worked as a lifeguard over the summer for several years. One part of the pool is a water slide. The rules for the slide are that people have to be over 42 inches and must be able to swim on their own. One lifeguard is always at the bottom of the slide just in case, but we aren’t allowed to catch kids. They have to be able to get out on their own.

One day, there’s a dad with his three kids at the pool. I am working the slide, and I chat some with the very polite dad as his kids climb up the stairs to the slide. His youngest son is terrified, but he eventually ends up going down. He panics at the bottom, though, and starts drowning. I immediately scoop him up and help him up the stairs.

Normally, we would tell them they can’t go down anymore because of the rules, but I don’t say anything because I don’t know if he can swim and he just got scared. The kid goes back up, still scared, but not as much. I end up having to save him a second time.

I tell the dad, “Hey, your son needs to be able to swim on his own for this ride. He can go again a third time, but if I have to save him, he won’t be able to go down anymore.”

The dad blows up. He starts cussing at me and telling me I’m not doing my job correctly, and meanwhile, his kid is going down the slide for a third time. I am ignoring the dad at this point, and I scoop up the kid who is drowning for the third time in a row. The dad starts yelling at his kid, too.

He says, “You’re gonna have to handle your own s*** because she doesn’t give a f*** about you!”

I just kind of stare at him, like, yeah, I just saved your drowning six-year-old son, but I don’t care at all? The guy ends up going to my managers about it, who tell him I did exactly what I was supposed to. Good times.

(A coworker and I are hired for holiday help at a kiosk in the middle of the mall, separate from the main store. My coworker says he’s a smoker and says he may need to take occasional smoke breaks. Neither of us actually has any authority and we’re basically newbies left alone to man the till. One hour in, he is very antsy, pacing back and forth, fidgeting, and scratching at his arms like there are bugs crawling all over him:)

Coworker: “Hey, I need to take a smoke break. I’ll be back in five.”

(He comes back ten minutes later, and I don’t actually smell any tobacco on him. One hour goes by, he gets very fidgety again, and again he runs off for another “smoke break.” Again, there is no smell of tobacco about him. I take my fifteen-minute break, having worked two hours nonstop while he has taken two ten-minute breaks in the same amount of time. By the time the third hour hits, he is extremely antsy and finally flips out.)

Coworker: “I CAN’T TAKE THIS! I QUIT!”

(I got a call from the manager, who was alarmed that my former coworker came storming through the shop declaring that he quit, leaving me alone at the kiosk. I explained everything that had happened, and other coworkers from the main store covered the remainder of my breaks. No one was hired to replace him, and I ended up working alone for most of my time at the kiosk for the remainder of the season.)

(I work as a cashier at a popular retail chain and our system goes down due to a storm that has reached its climax. A woman in my line tries to swipe her credit card right as my register freezes. I call a manager over and the customer begins to yell at her.)

Customer #1: “This is just great. Every time I come in here this happens to me.”

Manager: “Ma’am, I am so sorry. I understand your frustrat—”

Customer #1: “Yeah! You’re always sorry, but you never seem to do anything about it. This is terrible customer service.”

(My manager continues to fiddle with the computer and tells me to move to another register to rescan all of her groceries. As I rescan, my manager rings up a $20 gift card for the woman. When I try to cash out the groceries, the system freezes again. The woman then begins to yell about her back.)

Customer #1: “I AM UNDER DOCTOR’S CARE! MY BACK IS KILLING ME AND I JUST WANT TO F****** GO HOME! EVERYONE IN HERE IS LOOKING AT ME!”

(By this time, the manager has notified me that all of the registers are down and that she has to call to get them to reboot it.)

Me: “All of the registers are down, so I’m pretty sure nobody is looking at you.”

Customer #1: “MY BACK IS HURTING ME SO BAD! I WANT SOME D*** COMPENSATION!”

(My manager then tells me to go get her a chair. I walk all the way to the other end of the store to get it. As I walk up, another customer approaches me angrily to tell me his card has been charged three times.)

Customer #1: “IT CHARGED YOUR ACCOUNT THREE TIMES? THAT’S IT! I’M CALLING MY BANK!”

(The customer calls her bank and then announces that her card has been charged twice. She then starts to fake cry. When she notices that nobody is looking at her tantrum, she starts to threaten to call the police.)

Customer #1: “I’m calling the police so I can leave here without getting arrested. I can prove to them that I paid for them since they wanna call me a liar!”

Me: “Ma’am, nobody called you a liar.”

(She then proceeded to call the police and cuss at my managers as everyone stared at her. When the police arrived, she gave them her whole spiel and they told her to leave the store. I don’t know what your name is, ma’am, but I would like to thank you on behalf of the employees and customers that were there at the time, because you were amusement for that whole thirty minutes that you were in there barking at everyone. You are an embarrassment to yourself and your family and I hope you read this!)

(I’m sixteen and in my junior year in high school, and I’ve been with my boyfriend for nearly two years at this time. After missing a birth control pill earlier in the month and using condoms in the meantime, my period still comes late. Panicked, embarrassed, and fearing the worst, I stop by a big chain grocery store fairly late at night for a pregnancy test. The “adult” items are all kept behind the customer service desk, so I quietly ask for assistance, hoping I can pay at this register to avoid the judgment of other guests. I’m instead directed to the only open — and surprisingly busy — cashier, with my little box that might as well say, “PREGNANT TEENAGER!” in big, bold letters. Two more shoppers line up behind me; mortified, I keep the box in my hand and place a lane divider down for the next guest. The shopper ahead of me finishes, and without saying a word, the cashier — a grumpy-looking, middle-aged woman — reaches for the next items on the belt as I’m handing her the box.)

Me: *sheepishly* “Oh, those aren’t mine…”

Cashier: *looking up for the first time and practically shouts* “Well, what are you buying, nothing?!”

(Before I can respond, she sees the box and grabs it from my hand.)

Cashier: *condescendingly, with a big sigh* “You have to put your items on the belt, or else how am I supposed to know what’s yours?!”

(Painfully aware of everyone’s stares, I mutter a quiet:)

Me: “Sorry…”

(She scans the box and tosses it to the bagger, a young man no older than me, who bags it silently. As I finish paying, he hands me the bag with an apologetic smile, and — to my absolute horror — loudly says:)

Cashier: “Good luck! I hope you get the answer you’re hoping for!”

(I practically ran to my car, wondering if giving up sex for the rest of my life would be easier than ever doing that again. In retrospect, I realize I made it harder for myself by being SO embarrassed, but who wouldn’t be at that age? Hey, at least I wasn’t pregnant!)

(It is a weekday afternoon and business has been decent. During a lull, my coworker is dipping chocolate-covered cones. A group with several children walks up, and I step up to the counter to help them. I am very tired and a little bit sick, but I attempt to be as pleasant as possible.)

Me: “Hello, how are you?”

Lady #1: “Yeah, give me a sample of that.” *points*

Me: “Okay, the chocolate?”

Lady #1: “No, that.” *points again*

(It is very difficult to tell where people are pointing in the ice cream case.)

Me: “Oh, the coffee?”

Lady #1: “Yes. And he wants a sample of the chocolate chip.”

(I get the samples, and they proceed to look at every flavor, pointing and asking for samples. Finally, they begin to order.)

Lady #1: “Okay, a scoop of that on a cone.”

(I get the scoop, and as my head is in the case, I hear the little boy say:)

Boy: “Why is the mint chip white?”

(We hear that question a lot, so as I pop my head back up, I tell him…)

Me: “Oh, the mint chip isn’t green because we don’t use any fake stuff!”

Lady #1: *suddenly and with a rude tone* “Are you going to keep being rude, or do I have to ask for the other girl?”

Me: *surprised* “I’m sorry? I wasn’t being rude…”

Lady #1: “Oh, you so were. You’re being very rude. What’s it gonna be?”

Me: *evenly* “I’m sorry, ma’am. What else can I get for you?”

Lady #1: “You have two minutes to decide! Are you going to keep being rude?”

Me: *as pleasantly as possible, as I’m fuming inside* “What else can I get for you?”

Lady #1: *growing increasingly irate* “What’s it going to be? Are you going to keep being rude? I will ask her to help me, and I will speak to your manager. Are you going to be nice?!”

Me: *sickeningly fake sweet* “I’ll be nice. What else can I get for you?”

Lady #1: “Okay. Good choice. Give me another one of these.” *holds up her dripping cone*

Lady #2: “Yeah, and I’ll take that.” *points* 

(They order over $30 of ice cream, and I struggle to remain civil. [Lady #2] never bothers to even look apologetic for her friend’s behavior. The kids are loud and messy. [Lady #1] continues to act rude and entitled. When I ring them up, they don’t tip. Finally, they leave.)

Me: *to my coworker* “Oh. My. Gosh. So rude.”

Coworker: “Really? I’m sorry.”

Me: “You didn’t hear all that?!” *tells her the story*

(Thirty minutes later, I see the group back at the counter. My eyes widen as I turn to my coworker.)

Me: “I am not dealing with that. You help them.”

(I run in the back, but I have to come to help other customers. I avoid eye contact with the rude lady. After they leave…)

Coworker: “Wow, I can see why you got frustrated with her. She had such an attitude.”

Me: “Yeah, I wanted to tell her to come and scoop her own ice cream. It’s a good thing we’re out of comment cards!”