(This little girl around seven years of age comes into our store with her mother. I spot them and joke with my fellow coworker, telling her she should take this order.)

Me: “Hey, [Coworker], this one’s all you.”

Coworker: “Nah, dude. It’s your turn.”

(I reluctantly agree and step up to the register to take their order. The little girl speaks in an extremely condescending tone. It seems she heard what I said to my coworker.)

Girl: “I agree; you should let her do it.”

(I do a double-take, a little shocked.)

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Girl: “You told her she should take my order. I agree. Let her do it.”

(The little brat’s mother doesn’t care at all about how her daughter is speaking to me. As my coworker is taking their order, the little girl continues to make rude, snide remarks.)

Coworker: *after taking the mother’s order, now speaking to the daughter* “All right, and what can I get for you?”

Girl: “Nothing. Your food sucks. I think I’ll stick to [Other Fast Food Chain], thanks.”

(I just walked away, shaking my head. This girl couldn’t have been more than seven years old, and she was treating both my coworker and me like she was our superior.)

When our family took vacations, we asked the neighbor to feed our cat. She was supposed to open the garage, walk inside the laundry room — which was inside the house — refill the food and water, and clean the litter box. Our cat was fine every time. Our house was exactly how we left it.

One day, we were looking for my dad’s old military uniform. The garage door was open, so the neighbor could hear us.

She walked up to us and said, “I know where it is!” She led us into the house, upstairs, and to the office closet. The uniform was on the top shelf.

We never let her have a key again.

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(I work in a tool and parts store as a cashier, and 90% of the clientele is male. I’m a shy, socially-awkward female but I’m usually very good at faking it and being friendly. This is a Thursday afternoon, and while it’s not overly busy, it’s been steady. I’m about to go on my lunch break when an older man comes up to my till, ignoring the fact that my light is off and I’m gathering my things. I’m not the type to turn a customer away or make them wait for another cashier, so I smile at him as he starts tossing his merchandise on the counter. This is a store where we collect phone numbers to save copies of receipts. Every customer is asked for their phone number when they check out. They can refuse and we don’t push, but most see the benefit to it since we sell some expensive pieces of equipment, and they can return or exchange an item if we have an electronic copy of their receipt.)

Me: *in a friendly voice* “Hello, sir, how are—”

Customer: *cuts me off in a very rude tone* “—I’m good, since you didn’t bother to ask. How are you?”

Me: *startled, as I was just starting to ask* “Um, I’m good, sir. How—”

Customer: *cuts me off again* “Don’t bother with that! Just check me out already!”

Me: *getting nervous* “O-Okay. Can I have your phone number, please?”

Customer: *mutters last four digits*

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but you only gave me the last four digits. The system needs the full phone number in order to bring up your profile.”

Customer: “That’s all I’m giving you!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t bring up your profile without your whole phone number. If you’d like, you can just hang onto the receipt in case you need to return or exchange—”

Customer: “No, I always lose those! Put it in! I gave you my number!”

(I try to explain again how the system works, but he keeps arguing that he doesn’t want to give me more info. At the same time, he won’t let me skip the phone number and proceed with the sale, because he insists he always loses receipts and he wants an electronic copy. A part of me wants to just say I pulled up his information and skip it, but he would know because the receipt prints the customers name on it if a profile is attached to the sale, as well as my name and cashier number. We go around in circles for ten minutes until he spits the number at me, so fast that I can barely catch it. I input the number and finally start ringing his items through. The whole transaction is tense and awkward, and he grumbles at me the entire time about invading his privacy. When I finish bagging his items, I put them up on the counter and tell him the total. Note: We have a customer screen that shows items and prices while they’re scanned, and he’s been watching it the entire time.)

Customer: “There’s no way it’s that high! You’re overcharging me! Look, the total is [amount], not [higher amount I quoted him].”

(I am starting to feel shaky, because I don’t handle confrontations well. I look at the screen, and he’s pointing to the subtotal before taxes are added.)

Me: “That’s the subtotal, sir, and if you look underneath that, it tells you the tax is [amount], so that makes the total [original quoted amount].”

Customer: “No! That has to be wrong! Void the transaction and start again!”

(The managers are in a meeting right now and I can’t call them for help. We’re also not allowed to refuse a customer, and even if we were, I’d be too afraid to try. I void the transaction and go through the hassle of getting his phone number again because I’ve forgotten it at this point. I then start ringing his items through with the hopes that he’ll give up and leave if I do what he wants. He complains the whole time about how incompetent I am, and stops me after I scan each item and double-checks the price. I have to call for several price checks because he thinks I’m overcharging him, and every time the price on the register turns out to be correct. In the end, his total is the same as before. I’m already an hour late for lunch and I’m thoroughly upset for how I’ve been treated when I’ve done nothing wrong.)

Customer: *snottily* “I still think you’re overcharging me somehow. I’m going to look at the receipt when I get home, and if there’s anything off I’m coming straight back here and talking to a manager about you!”

(I don’t trust myself to say anything at this point. I get the transaction set up and he pays with his credit card.)

Me: *trying to smile and thankful it’s finally over* “Here’s your receipt, sir. Have a nice day.”

Customer: *scowling and storming out* “It would have been nicer if I didn’t have to deal with you!”

(After he left, I practically ran to the break room to compose myself. Thankfully, the customers throughout the second half of my shift were pleasant to deal with.)

I work in the security industry, as a concierge in a condominium.

A few years back, a coworker was told to train a new guy who was rather dimwitted, slow to learn, and annoying. I know because I had him for training for one shift.

[Coworker] told me later that he got tired of training the new guy and went to the condo party room to watch television, leaving the very inept trainee to manage the lobby desk by himself. I warned [Coworker] that the party room looked out onto the back patio where the BBQ grill was, and that the curtains were very see-through. If a resident went out on the back patio and peered through the windows, they’d see it was a security officer sitting there watching television, which we were obviously not paid to do, and would complain, getting us all in trouble. He laughed and waved it off.

He told me the next day that he was forced to continue training the same inept guy, so he ran off to watch television again. I warned him, again, not to do that.

The next time he bragged to me about watching television on duty, I just contacted my Client Service Manager — the security company manager responsible for our team — and told him what [Coworker] was doing. I’d reported other security officers for risking the team with their own personal antics. I don’t like being a snitch; I like having a stable work place where fellow officers aren’t screwing it up for us by being selfish d**ks.

Apparently, [Coworker] was called into the office and when told to explain himself, said that yes, he had been watching television, and then went on to say that I was spreading crazy gossip about him to anyone who would listen, and that I was mean, so wasn’t that worse than his television-watching offense? For the record, I had never gossiped about him, nor was I ever mean to him. I just asked him to stop risking our jobs with his unprofessional behavior, and he blew me off.

I got called into HQ the next day. That manager had a form for me to sign. “[My Name]? Why does it seem you like to backstab other officers? [Coworker] told me about you gossiping about him, and I see you’ve reported other officers who needed disciplining. That’s why I’m having you sign this form where you acknowledge that you’re a gossip, and you swear to never be caught for gossiping ever again, or more serious consequences will happen. This will go into your permanent file. Do you understand?”

I argued that I had never gossiped about [Coworker], and those other security officers had been problems, and my manager said, “Oh, really? Because [Coworker] said you have. Why would he come in here and lie to my face? He sounded very sincere every time I’ve had to speak with him, and you have been involved with the disciplining of several officers. No… I think you are the one lying because you enjoy getting other guards in trouble. Sign this or face disciplinary action.”

I was so floored and cowed that I stupidly signed the d***ed thing just so I could get the hell out of there.

Thankfully, not long after, this manager was fired for being caught on camera cheating on his wife with residents in buildings when he was there for manager meetings. No one cared he was cheating. They cared that he was there for a meeting with the building’s property manager but instead was seen feeling up a resident of the building. Other officers said he would sometimes touch female officers, too. My company finally got fed up and fired him, but not before he did a ton of damage to many innocent officers.Thankfully, I got out of that company, and I am now working for a much better local security company. I will never forget what that a**hole manager did.

(It is the nineties and I am ten. It’s morning before school in winter. I’ve just gotten dressed and got all my things together. I walk to school by myself.)

Mom: “Come here, [My Name]. I bought you a new winter hat and want to try how it fits on you.”

Me: “Not now, Mom; I need to use the bathroom.”

Mom: “Never mind that. Just come here for a minute; I really want to see how it looks on you!”

Me: “But Mom!” *it is way too awkward, as well as hot inside, to go to the bathroom with a winter hat on*

Mom: “Oh, come on. It’s just one minute! You can go to the bathroom after we try it on. You can take the hat off right afterwards, I promise!”

(I give up and let her put it on my head. She fusses with it for several minutes, adjusting the hat and my hair this way and that way, before finally declaring she’s satisfied.)

Mom: “There! That looks so nice! I knew it was a good purchase! You’ll wear it to school today.”

(I then take the hat off to go to the bathroom.)

Mom: *immediately starts screeching like a banshee* “What the hell are you doing?? You ungrateful brat! How dare you take it off?!” *and on and on in this vein, with some cursing*

(I’m shocked and take a step back.)

Mom: *threateningly* “Don’t you dare go anywhere! Get back here right now! Why you! I’ll… I’ll…” *followed by all sorts of threats that really shouldn’t be aimed at a child*

(I can’t deal with this, so I just automatically head to the bathroom like I’d planned and like she’d previously told me I was allowed to. I do my business and come out, hoping the craziness will magically stop. No such luck.)

Mom: *very threateningly* “How dare you?! You b****! I’m telling you right now; if you dare take a step out of this apartment without that hat on your head, you had better plan on never coming back home again!”

(I think, “Wow! What a great suggestion, actually.” I collect my coat and backpack without a single word, without even making any sign I’ve heard anything she’s said.)

Mom: *shouting at my back as I turn away from her* “Better learn to feed yourself from now on! I’ll never want anything more to do with you again! You’ll be living on the street! You’d better never set foot in my house again, you hear me?! You ungrateful waste of…”

(She was clearly still expecting me to run back to her, snivelling and crying for forgiveness for my “transgression.” I calmly walked to the door, opened it, left, and slammed it shut behind me as hard as I could while she was still shouting. I went to school like normal, and came home after like usual. I was kind of wondering what would happen. The threats to kick me out on the street had been made before, numerous times, ever since they’d fetched me back from living with my grandparents when I was five. It would be done at the drop of a hat, for the most minor “misbehavior,” and always before this I caved in terror and begged for forgiveness. I guess I’d just finally had enough. When Mom came home, not a single word was said about anything that went on that morning. It was just never referred to in any way. I may be mistaken, but she might have been just the slightest bit relieved that I had, in fact, returned home. Threats or no threats, I was their only child. The hat was never mentioned again, and no similar scenes with any winter clothing were ever repeated.)