(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!)

(My husband and I have just picked up our son from his dance class, which released a bit late due to rehearsals. We decide to go into a popular food chain for dinner. We have no trouble ordering at the counter, and I follow my son to the table he’s picked out while my husband gets our drinks. Other than a couple enjoying the last of their meal, the only other occupants of the lobby are two employees, probably in their early 20s, sitting around, talking quite loudly. I don’t get it, since they’re clearly understaffed in the kitchen, but I brush it off as them being off the clock and waiting on a ride. Everything’s fine until we settle down.)

Employee #1: “Man, I tell you what. I hate that manager! I hate him so f****** much. Why the h*** they gotta hire these a**holes?”

Employee #2: “Nah, he’s not as bad as [Other Manager]. That b**** signed me up for a whole extra shift this week! Like I’m not already busting my a** with two a week. I hate this stupid, worthless, f****** job. I hate this whole f****** company.”

(The cashier we ordered from joins them at this point, and hubby brings the tray over. The “chat” continues in a similar vein between the three for a bit, swearing all the while. More than once, I’m tempted to speak up, but I just bite my tongue and ignore their rants, figuring it’s not worth it. That is, until about halfway through our meals:)

Cashier: “These customers are the d*** worst! I mean, seriously, what the f*** is their problem? This guy sent his food back three times yesterday!”

Employee #2: “Why didn’t you just spit in his food?”

Cashier: “Too many cameras, man. I would if I could.”

Employee #1: “Doesn’t stop me. I know how; I’ll show you.”

(At this point, my husband is hurriedly gathering everything back onto the tray and goes to stand up, but I stop him.)

Me: “I got this.”

(I gather the tray, and head for the counter, walking straight past the oblivious trio. I am NOT a confrontational person. My husband usually handles complaints because I get tongue-tied and flustered. Not so this time.)

Me: *to another employee* “Can I see your manager, please?”

Employee #3: “He’s with an order. Can you wait just a few minutes?”

Me: “No. No, I really can’t. Manager. Now.”

(In retrospect, I AM sorry for scaring her, but at the time, I wasn’t really thinking about it. It should also be noted that, due to all the noise in the back, the employees can’t really be heard above a low rumble at the counter.)

Manager: *handing off drive-thru headset* “Can I help you, ma’am?”

Me: “Yes, you can. Your employees, there, are talking about spitting in customers’ food. Well within earshot of my family.”

(The man’s eyebrows jump up and he turns extremely pale.)

Manager: “I… completely understand, ma’am. Let me just remake that for you…”

Me: “I’m not done. They’re also griping about hating their shifts, their managers… [Other Manager] was one they mentioned… and how much they hate working here and with your company. And swearing like sailors, to boot.”

Manager: “Well, let me get this remade for you, and I will certainly be taking care of this severely.”

Me: “Thought you’d like to know. Can we get that to go? I think the other people have left already, and I’m not going to hang around with them anymore.”

(He nodded and came back with our order completely remade, as well as a card with his name and number on it, with instructions to call if any of us got sick. As we drove away, all I could see from the road was the lobby sign suddenly flipping to closed. I’m willing to bet I’m glad to have missed out on the complete a**-chewing that likely followed, and on subsequent visits, none of those employees were in sight.)

(A mother and her child come to the registers. She’s yakking on the phone the entire time, absently piling stuff on the counter for me to ring. At some point, her kid tries to get her attention over something he’s spotted. She ignores him. He scowls, huffs loudly, and crosses his arms. She doesn’t respond. He huffs even louder and recrosses his arms, starting to tap his foot.)

Son: *takes a big breath and bellows* “WHAT THE F*** DOES IT TAKE TO GET SOME SERVICE AROUND HERE?!”

Mom: *flushes a brilliant red, hangs up* “I have no idea where he learned that.”

Me: *perfectly straight-faced* “Uh-huh.”

My husband had a falling-out with his former best friend after the guy cheated on our other best friend. (She found him in bed with another woman and immediately left him.) Then, the woman he cheated with got pregnant. My husband has described this woman as “crazy,” “abusive,” and “manipulative.” He’s 99% sure she got pregnant just to keep her boyfriend from leaving. She drank alcohol during her pregnancy, and was seen in public with her baby, clearly under the influence.

At one point, she threw something heavy at her boyfriend’s head, giving him a black eye. She’s also a pathological liar, constantly telling everyone that she and her boyfriend got together after he had already broken up with his ex when everyone knows what really happened — the guy admits it.

Now this couple has decided to get married even though the guy clearly doesn’t want to be with her and had tried to get back together with his ex several times.

It’s the day before their wedding, and my husband asks him, “So, are you really going through with it?”

His reply: “Oh, yeah, she’s acting okay now.”

What a touching proclamation of love! Just what every bride wants to hear her husband say!