(One of our regular customers is a girl in her late teens who often babysits for the parents in her apartment complex. Thus, she tends to come in with a different number of kids and different ages when she visits. On this day, she has five children with her, all of whom are clearly under the age of four.)

Child #1: “[Teen], can I get soda with the ice cream? I want soda!”

Teen: “I know it’s hot, but no soda, sweetie. How about lemonade, instead? You and [Child #2] can have lemonade.”

Child #1 & #2: “Okay!”

(As the kids get their drinks, the customer I’m currently helping starts whispering to me.)

Customer: “Ugh! Can you believe that? She’s what, 16? And she doesn’t even seem ashamed. Kids today. No morals. They’re all just little sluts and punks.”

(Before I can say anything, the girl speaks up, having overheard her.)

Teen: “Excuse me, ma’am. It’s not your concern, but since you’re so curious, I’ll tell you. I happen to be celibate. I have never had a boyfriend, let alone been sexually active. Second, I babysit a lot for the parents who live in my building. That’s why I have these children with me. I’ve been babysitting since I was 11.”

(The customer just stammers, trying to figure out what to say.)

Teen: “Also, my own mother was a teen parent, but she is a wonderful mother. I certainly hope she doesn’t consider herself a slut for having had me when she was a teen because I wouldn’t want to be anyone else’s daughter.”

I worked for an apartment complex with 72 units. 

One resident was a couple of months behind in rent when the assistant manager called her. She said she had moved out three months prior and she wasn’t paying — she still had six months on her lease. The manager was being nice and told her she needed to give her 30 days’ notice and turn in the keys. If she didn’t at least turn in keys by the end of the month we’d add another month to her bill.

Well, a few weeks came and went and we still had no keys. We got a call from one of her neighbors about water on their kitchen floor. There were inches of water on their floor… and the dining room and living room, and out into the common hall. Four units were flooded.

We found the leak in the unit of the woman who’d moved out. We had to shut the water down to half the complex for two days and it took two more weeks to fix the water damages.

When our lawyers finally met the woman in court, she said she wasn’t going to pay for all the water damage. The lawyer argued that if she still occupied the unit she would have reported the water leak when it was just a trickle before the pipe ruptured. The judge agreed.

There’s a guy at my gym who sometimes tries to chat me up. I’m polite but nothing more, as I’m not interested.

One night, I’m leaving the gym just as he’s arriving. We exchange greetings for a few seconds and I set off on my walk home without a second thought.

Halfway there, I stop to wait for a traffic light and just happen to look over my shoulder.

He’s right behind me.

I scream, “Why are you following me?!”

He has the nerve to stand there smiling and ask, “Oh, did I scare you?” as if it’s perfectly normal to follow a woman late at night — or any time, for that matter.

I raise my fists into a fighting stance and scream again, “BACK OFF, MOTHERF*****!”

He takes off running. I’m so petrified that I can’t move until he’s out of sight.

I’ve never seen him again, but I’m always uneasy he’ll show up at the gym again.

(I work in the copy area of a well-known retail chain. This takes place at the mailing drop-off section of the store, which I am also responsible for.)

Me: “Hello, sir! What can I help you with?”

Customer: *stares*

Me: “Um… sir? Can I help you?”

Customer: *stares*

(It is at this point I get a strong waft of cannabis smoke from the direction of the customer.)

Me: “Hello?”

Customer: “So… I had this package come to my house.” *pause*

Me: “Yes?”

Customer: *stares*

(After a lot of this, I manage to get enough responses from him to glean that he’s looking to pick up a package that was meant to be delivered to his house.)

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry, but we don’t have that service here. If your package is being held by [Packaging Service], then it would be at one of their stores, not at a drop-off. You can call them if you want to see if they have it.”

Customer: *stares*

Me: “Um… here.”

(We keep the locations of the two nearest stores on printed scraps of paper, as customers often come in for packaging services we don’t offer.)

Me: *offers him one of the slips* “Here are the two nearest stores and their phone numbers.”

Customer: *stares at the slip* “Where are those?”

Me: “Um… we keep them under the counter but you can just have this one.”

Customer: *stares, and then proceeds to reach under the counter to the stack of scraps*

Me: “Sir!” *shakes slip* “You can just have this one!”

Customer: “No…” *incomprehensible mumbling*

(After much fumbling, he pulls a slip out from the middle of the stack, spilling the ones on top of it onto the floor.)

Customer: “This one…” *stares at it*

Me: “Um… okay… Well, they should be able to help you.”

Customer: “You sure?”

Me: “Well, it’s your best bet.”

Customer: *stares*

Me: “Have a good day, sir.”

(I walked away. He stared at the spot where I had been standing for a solid three minutes before unsteadily wandering off.)

(My local grocery store will often allow local charities to set up a booth outside to ask for donations. One day, I’m heading out and I see the charity is for the local children’s hospital, so I start to head over. Ahead of me, there is a woman with a full cart and three kids she is herding along. The guy at the booth steps forward towards her.)

Man: “Ma’am, do you have a minute to talk about donating?”

Woman: *trying to keep two of her kids from fighting* “Sorry, not now.”

Man: *scoffs* “Well, good evening, b****.”

(The woman was obviously shocked and ended up quickly hurrying away. As for me, I turned right around and headed into the store to find a manager to let them know what kind of attitude the charity they were helping was throwing around.)