(Two ladies are trying to bring a tricycle and a bicycle onto the bus. The tricycle is small enough to go on the bus, but the bicycle has to be put on the bike rack attached to the front of the bus. For some reason, [Lady #2] is just not having that, so [Lady #1] decides to take matters into her hands.)

Bus Driver: “I’m sorry, but we need the space for strollers and people in wheelchairs.”

Lady #1: “So what? I just have to leave it here?”

(The bus driver ponders for a moment, but before she can respond, [Lady #1] becomes belligerent.)

Lady #1: “Unbe-f******-lievable! [Transit Organization] said I could do this! You want me to take these bikes back to [Store], huh?! Is that it?!”

Bus Driver: “Ma’am, you need to get off the bus.”

Lady #1: “Fine!” *walks off the bus* “You know what?! Tell me your bus num—”

(The bus doors shut and the bus began to leave. As we left, [Lady #1] pounded on the bus door, then banged her tricycle against the side of the bus. The best part? The bus driver told us all that she was actually going to let the ladies bring the bike on and ride the bus until they got in the way of other passengers, but [Lady #1] went belligerent before the bus driver could say yes!)

(I work at a well-known pretzel shop in an outlet mall near where I live. Customers are often rude to my coworkers or me, but I just grin and bear it, for the most part, to try and earn a living. Today is just another one of those days for me and the rest of my coworkers in the miserable life of retail/fast food work. A mother and her child walk into the store to order some pretzels and drinks. My manager and I are the only people running the store at the moment, so it’s not too hard to deal with only two customers. I’m rolling the pretzels while my manager is at the register dealing with said customers when this incident happens once they start to leave with their items. The child unwraps her straw wrapper for her drink and proceeds to chuck it OVER OUR REGISTER COUNTER and onto our kitchen floor. This exchange happens between my manager and the customer.)

Customer: “My daughter just threw her straw wrapper over the counter.”

Manager: “Okay…?”

(I thought to myself at that moment, “Well, no s***, Sherlock. And it looks like you didn’t teach yourself or your child to apologize when they do something wrong, either.” They left without apologizing or saying another word. After getting over our initial anger about it, my manager and I had a good laugh about it later and dreaded the next set of customers that we had to deal with. It’s sad because this was one of the lesser incidents that we’ve had to deal with all day, or all week, for that matter.)

(I’m helping collect offering plates at my church. I notice that the plate at one of my assigned sections has stopped midway down an aisle, while the rest are moving normally through the church. I walk over to see what the issue is. I spot a woman digging through the cash already in the plate and pulling bills out. Everyone else in her aisle is staring at her.)

Me: “Ma’am, can I help you with something?”

(She drops the cash back into the plate.)

Woman #1: “I was just, um… yeah. Here you go.”

(She passes it down quickly. I collect it and head towards the counting room. As I pass the back row…)

Woman #2: “Hey! HEY! You!” *snaps her fingers and gestures me over*

Me: “Yes?”

Woman #2: “Give me that. I need to break a $10.”

(She reaches for the plate. I step out of her reach.)

Me: “No.”

Woman #2: “Why not?”

Me: “The offering plate is not for making change.”

Woman #2: “But I need smaller bills!”

(She makes another grab for the plate. Before I can stop myself, the following flies out of my mouth…)

Me: “No! This is a church, not a bank!”

(She stares at me, mouth open.)

Woman #2: “FINE! I thought church people were supposed to be polite!”

(I booked it out of the sanctuary and to the counting area before she had a chance to reply further. Seriously, people. Have some respect and don’t go picking out of the offering plate!)

(My brother-in-law is obsessed with a certain online game — the one with the ridiculous dance moves. He is so obsessed that when he isn’t playing, he acts like an addict in detox. My husband doesn’t see it this way, but offers no alternative for why his 26-year-old brother would be moody and withdrawn when he isn’t playing. One night, he is over for dinner and, of course, plays this game on our console, something I specifically said he could not do. When dinner is ready, I call him to the table.)

Me: “Hey, [Brother-In-Law], come eat!”

Brother-In-Law: *distracted* “Um… hang on. I’m… busy.”

Me: “Pause it; it’s time to eat.”

Brother-In-Law: *no response*

Me: “[Husband], go get him.”

Husband: “He’ll be here in a minute.”

(Ten minutes pass, and all I hear from the other room is [Brother-In-Law] screaming at the TV and the game restarting. I go to the living room to fetch him myself.)

Me: “[Brother-In-Law]! Come on!”

Brother-In-Law: *distracted* “Okay. Hold… Just a… second.”

Me: *stepping in front of the TV* “Dinner is getting cold. Let’s go!”

Brother-In-Law: *furious* “F***! Move! Oh, my f******… You made me lose! F***!”

Me: *cheerfully* “Now you can come to eat with us. Let’s go!”

Brother-In-Law: “Fine.”

([Brother-In-Law] follows me to the kitchen, grabs a plate of food, and skirts around me back to the living room.)

Me: “Excuse me. What are you doing?”

Brother-In-Law: *firing up the game again* “You wanted me to eat.”

Me: “I wanted you to eat with us. Come in here.”

Brother-In-Law: “But the game!”

Me: “It’s just a game!” *moves to unplug the console*

Brother-In-Law: “Don’t touch that!”

Me: *astounded* “Did you just tell me to not touch my [game console]?”

Brother-In-Law: *condescendingly* “That’s what I said.”

Me: *shrug* “Okay.”

(I go down to the basement where our wireless router is set up and pull the plug. In no time, I hear a feral screech and pounding. I come back upstairs to see [Brother-In-Law] holding his controller so tightly his knuckles are turning white.)

Brother-In-Law: “WHAT THE F***?!”

Husband: “What?!”

Brother-In-Law: “YOUR B**** RUINED MY GAME!”

Husband: *sternly* “My wife invited you over for dinner, not to play video games. If you want to play your game, you can go home.”

Brother-In-Law: “But–”

Husband: “No.”

Brother-In-Law: “She–”

Husband: “No.”

Brother-In-Law: *pointing at me* “F*** YOU!”

Husband: *grabs his brother by the arm* “Well, that’s enough. You can come back when you can act like a decent human being. *takes the controller from him and pushes him out the door* “Goodbye.”

([Brother-In-Law] has come back since then, but he never stays long. It’s strange how our Wi-Fi always goes down when he comes over.)

(For the record, I have a bit of a temper and those who know me know to tread carefully. I am at the store chatting with someone on the phone, and something tweaks me, so I drop an “F-bomb” or two. Just after that, I feel a poke on the back of my leg, and I look down to see a kid staring up at me.)

Kid: “Mommy says that’s a bad word.”

Me: *bending down* “Well, go tell your mom…”

(I then let loose a nice long string of profanity. The kid ran off, and I went back to my conversation. Maybe their kid’s new vocabulary will teach their momma to keep them on a shorter leash.)