There are two small prisons on the outskirts of our little town; one sits right beside the road, and the other you have to drive a half-mile down a dead-end road to get to in the dense woods. Despite this, people will “accidentally” stumble upon the second prison and “lose” their drugs, phones, etc.

But these two guys take the cake.

In the middle of broad daylight, these two guys decide to play football in the woods and then “accidentally” throw their ball over the fence. Once the ball flies over the barbed wire, they take off running back into the woods while the guards call deputies to the scene.

The ball is intercepted by the guards who realize the ball is actually being held together by duct tape. When they open it up, it’s full to the brim with drugs, pills, and cellphones.

The guys are arrested, and to this day have been the most creative in doing a drop-off.

(When I am a kid, we have neighbors who have a son who is roughly my age, so our parents decide we should be playmates. However, partway through elementary school, we notice my toys and stuff go missing after he comes over, and we end up catching him stuffing some of our toys in his bag. We take them back and my mom sends him home. An hour later, his mom show up and starts demanding that we give her son “his” toys. Mom explains what we found and tells her that this is not okay, and then his mom drops this gem.)

Neighbor: “If he really likes something, that makes it his. Don’t be selfish.”

(Mom slammed the door in her face, and we stopped interacting with them. We ended up catching him trying to actually break into our house when we were hosting a neighborhood barbecue a year or so later, which caused more drama, but his parents kept enabling him.)

(I’m on my way home and just got off the train. I stop at a bench on the platform to take my headphones out of my backpack to listen to some music. When I turn around to leave, there’s a girl in her early twenties standing in front of me, looking a bit pale but otherwise fairly well off.)

Girl: *unintelligible due to the music*

Me: *taking off headphones* “Pardon?”

Girl: *smiling brightly, holding out her hand* “Hello, could you give me some money?”

Me: *smiling just as brightly* “Definitely not!”

(I then start walking towards the stairs. Apparently, that makes her snap.)

Girl: “Hellooooo? I’M HUNGRY!”

Me: *over the shoulder* “So am I.”

Girl: “I’m hungry and you’re not showing mercy! You owe me mercy! YOU HAVE TO GIVE ME MONEY! I’M HUNGRY SO YOU OWE ME MONEY! HEARTLESS CRUEL C***!”

(She then threw a handful of coins at me that she’d probably begged off other people. I was already about 20m away by that point, so none of them hit me, but they rained all over the platform and the tracks. Seems like she didn’t need them that urgently.)

(I work at a major video game store where we handle a lot of used products. This includes taking in products, and the law considers us a pawn shop. It is within my first three months on the job. A father and son walk up to my register.)

Me: “Hey, guys, how can I help you today?”

Father: “My son would like to trade in this game.”

(I go through the standard procedure of looking through the cases to ensure there are discs and checking the quality of them. They are older games for a less popular console, and they are in quite bad shape, but we can give him something for them.)

Me: “Okay, that will be $8.45 on a gift card. I just need to see a piece of ID.”

Father: *yelling* “What?! I didn’t need to show ID last time I traded games in! I just did it!”

Me: “I am sorry, sir, but the law states that I need a piece of ID to take the trade-in or I cannot complete the transaction.”

(Now the assistant manager, who is working beside me, steps in.)

Manager: “Sorry, but [Company] cannot take your trades without a piece of ID; it’s both our company policy and the law.”

Father: *throws the ID at me* “Here, take the f****** ID!”

(The customer is now yelling very loudly and angrily in another language.)

Manager: *grabs the ID off the table while I stand shocked* “You do not throw things at my employees, and you do not treat either me or him with this behaviour in my store. Now get out.” *puts the ID with the games and puts them on the counter*

Father: *calming down slightly* “Okay, my friend. I am sorry, my friend.”

(He hands me the games with the ID nicely. His son, meanwhile, is in tears beside him; I assume it is out of fear or shame.)

Me: “O-okay.”

(I quickly wrote down the information we required and returned the gift card with a receipt. As they were leaving the store, the father turned around and pulled his pants and underpants down, exposing himself to not only the two of us that were working, but also to the customers we had in the store, including multiple younger children and his own son. Unluckily for him, we had the entire event caught on two different cameras and had all his information from his ID. My assistant manager called the police. I don’t think they had much trouble.)

(A mother walks in with her eight- to ten-year-old son who is wearing a superhero-like mask over his eyes. The mother asks for some pizza and is looking at the pastries while her son stares at the cookies.)

Mother: *to son* “Which do you want to bring?”

Son: *jabbing finger into cookie display case* “That one, that one, that one, that.”

Mother: “Which?”

Son: *jabbing harder and bellowing at his mother now* “THAT ONE, THAT ONE, THAT ONE, AND THAT ONE!”

Mother: *fed up* “Okay, I’m not getting you anything.”

Son: *freaking out and still jabbing the glass with his finger* “NO! I WANT THAT ONE, THAT, THAT, AND THAT!”

Mother: “Which ones?”

Son: *just as loud and rude* “THAT ONE, THAT ONE, THAT ONE, AND THAT ONE!”

(As the mother is repeatedly asking her son which cookies he wants, I have been watching him through the glass behind the display case and already have his cookies. My eyes are completely bugging out of my head. This is by far one of the rudest children I’ve seen in a while. I meet the mother at the counter and her son has gone to the door where there are chimes to let us know when people come into the store. He is messing with them and making a lot of noise.)

Me: *to her son* “Honey—“

Mother: “Yeah, you tell him.”

Me: “Please, don’t do that.”

Son: “Why?”

Me: “Because it’s loud and annoying.”

Son: “Oh.” *stops and goes over to a baguette in a basket* “Hey, Mom, look!” *grabs the exposed part of the baguette*

Me: “Okay, I can’t sell that now because he touched it.”

(The mother and son are starting to leave.)

Me: “Ma’am, I can’t sell this because he touched it.”

Mother: *to son* “You touched it! Now I have to buy it!”

Son: “So, if we touch stuff, that means we get it for free?”

Mom: “No!”

Me: “I can’t sell it to anybody else because you touched it.”

Son: “Oh.”

Mother: “You’d better eat this since I had to buy it!”

(If I had done ANY of that when I was his age, my Nanna would never have taken me anywhere again. I would have been RUSHED out of the store and called by my middle name until I felt the fear of God. Parents aren’t willing to correct their own children, but of course, they’ll let a total stranger do it!)