(I am in a supermarket with my mother. She swipes an empty, non-shoplifted cola can from my hand and stuffs it on a shelf.)

Me: “Mother!”

Mother: *hushed tone* “It’s their job to pick it up.”

Me: “That’s because there are people like you who can’t be bothered to put trash in the trash can!”

Mother: “There’s no trash can!”

Me: *points to trash can* “There’s one, like, ten feet away, just over there!”

(This isn’t the only thing about shopping we disagree on; I used to put back things other customers had decided they didn’t need and left in some random section of the store, to make the employee’s jobs easier, and she was annoyed to no end by this. I don’t do it anymore. The way I see it, if you leave baby formula in the booze section, you deserve judgement by strangers, but she’s not a fun person to shop with when she has plenty of time to do it.)

(I’m a huge fan of rock and metal music, so I have brought my kids up with it, although I like pretty much anything. My four-year-old and I are in the dentist waiting room waiting to be seen, and my son is listening to some metal, not very loud as not to disturb anyone else.)

Woman: “You should be ashamed of yourself! Making your kid listen to that heathen spawn!”

Me: “I’m sorry? What’s wrong with it? More to the point, what’s it to you what music my kids listen to?”

Woman: “It’s not Christian! They worship the devil!”

Me: “Not Christian? Your religion doesn’t restrict you in what music style you can or cannot listen to. I have many friends who are both Christian and metal fans.”

Woman: “They are not Christian! They are heathens sent by the devil!”

Me: “Does the bible not say Jesus forgives our sins and loves us no matter what?”

Woman: “Well, yes, but…”

Me: “And does it not say judge lest thee be judged?”

Woman: “But…”

Me: “I’m not religious, and with your judging me, I’m more of a Christian then you are. So, if any of us are going to Hell, it certainly won’t be me. Now, [Son], what do we do to people who judge us purely by our choice of music?”

Son: *whilst doing some devil horns with his free hand* “ROCK ON, LADY!”

(After that, she just sat there giving me the evil eye until we got called in.)

(I work in a pharmacy in a large box store. On Sundays, when only one pharmacist is on duty, the pharmacy shuts down for them to take a lunch break. This story is related to me by one of the pharmacists. The gate is down, but can sort of be seen through, and the pharmacist can be glimpsed through the holes.)

Lady: *at the top of her voice* “HEY! HEY, YOU! ARE YOU OPEN?!”

Pharmacist: “Uh, no, ma’am, we reopen in ten minutes. Please come back then.”

Lady: “IT’LL ONLY TAKE A MINUTE! I NEED SOME BUTT CREAM!”

Pharmacist: “Ma’am, we’re closed! Please come back in ten minutes.”

Lady: “BUTT! CREAM! JUST GIVE ME SOME G**D*** BUTT CREAM!”

Pharmacist: “Ma’am, we’re closed! We’ll reopen in ten minutes!”

Lady: “THIS IS RIDICULOUS! I JUST NEED SOME BUTT CREAM!”

(She finally stormed off… two minutes before we reopened for business.)

(A customer has just asked to mix two sundae flavors together. She picks the two flavors that have the most toppings in them. They’re hell to top on their own; together is going to be miserable. My manager clarifies with her in case she doesn’t realize exactly what comes with each.)

Manager: “Ma’am, that is a lot of toppings to put in. That’s going to be two different kinds of cookie pieces, chocolate chips, peanut butter, strawberries, and cheesecake pieces; are you sure that’s what you want?”

Customer: “Jesus f****** Christ! Can you do it or not?”

Manager: *gritting his teeth* “I’ll have that right out.”

Customer: “Hey, wait, can I have an application? Are you hiring?”

(Later, after she’s finished her application, she waves me over impatiently from where I’m busy taking an order so she can ask me to get my manager back to her.)

Manager: “I really won’t be hiring for another month, just so you know.”

Customer: “Well, can’t you just hire sooner?”

(I asked my manager if he would consider her, because she seemed like a bundle of sunshine to work with, but he said no.)

(Growing up, my father had real temper issues. Often when faced with a simple problem he would become unstuck. When this happened, rather than just solving the problem, he would inevitably throw a temper tantrum and start blaming people. One Christmas, we get a PlayStation and we are absolutely thrilled. Our dad, on the other hand, seems to object to it and is constantly moaning about it’s “wasting electricity” and how playing it will “make us stupid!” Over the holidays, we decide to have a party, and we invite most of the neighbours. To keep the kids entertained, we set up the PlayStation in the living room and we all take turns playing on it. Afterwards, we are clearing up, and suddenly I hear my dad making angry noises from the living room.)

Dad: “[MY NAME], GET IN HERE NOW!”

(Nervously, I make my to the living room. I’m not sure how I could be in trouble since we cleaned up and tidied away the console and all the games, and hoovered the room. When I get there, my dad looks really frustrated and is holding the TV remote in his hand.)

Dad: “YOUR BLOODY PLAYSTATION HAS BROKEN THE REMOTE!”

Me: “Sorry… What?”

Dad: “YOU HEARD ME! NOW FIX IT!”

Me: “Dad, that’s not even possible; the remote is not connected to it!”

Dad: “No, you left that stupid thing on for too long, and it’s obviously broken it. Look!”

(My dad tries to turn on the TV, but nothing happens. I’ve had this issue before and I know how to solve it.)

Me: “Dad, there must be a problem with the batteries. Have you tried moving them around or replacing them?”

Dad: “Stop making excuses. Now, turn this thing on and fix it!”

Me: “The PlayStation won’t fix it, Dad! It’s not linked to the remote.”

(Then my dad starts raising his voice again and demanding I repair the remote. I turn the TV on at the base and fire up the console. Reluctantly. I go through the menu options, which are few at the time. All the while my dad is just yelling at me for not immediately making the remote work. Again, I recommend that he just try playing with the batteries as the remote may just be idle. As before, he refuses to listen to any logic and instead tries the same tack again.)

Dad: “I KNEW THIS STUPID THING WAS A WASTE OF MONEY! I’M SICK OF THE BLOODY TOYS BREAKING THINGS.”

(My sister walks into the room looking very annoyed.)

Sister: “Dad, why the hell are you screaming?”

Dad: “Because this thing broke the remote!”

Sister: “Dad, that is literally impossible. Here, let me try!”

Dad: “DON’T MAKE EXCUSE FOR HIM! THIS IS HIS FAULT AND HE NEEDS TO FIX IT!”

Sister: “Oh, for goodness’ sake!”

(She snatched the remote out of my dad’s hand, moved the batteries around, and hey presto… the channel changed! My dad went bright red and sat down without a word. After that day, he learned to be a little more objective about solving issues, and he never bugged about the PlayStation ever again!)