In the area of the city where I live, there are some row houses and a couple of big house blocks. Some of the row houses have their own private parking spots directly in front of their house entrances but obviously separated from the street/public area.

For all the rest of the people living in the big apartment complexes, there are some parking lanes as well as some turnouts. They’re all directly connected to the street and pedestrian walk, so they are public.

I have this particular neighbor who lives in the building next to mine, I think on the sixth floor. I know him from some owner’s meetings as these two buildings belong together and he owns an apartment in that building. He is somewhere in his fifties, and I don’t know what work he does, but he is at home most of the time. His car is a dark blue metallic Audi A6 which he rarely drives. Most of the time, his car is standing in the turnout parking spot directly connected to the pedestrian walk closest to the entrances of our buildings.

Last Saturday, an old friend of mine came by to help me move out our old living room furniture and bring up the new ones. Some of the old stuff was still in great shape, so my friend wanted to keep some of that. No problem, take what you want.

When he came, the parking spot closest to the entrance was free. Great, no need to carry the stuff far. We were happy. We took the stuff [Friend] wanted to keep to his car and went back inside and started to work on the new furniture.

After like four hours, we were done, and we wanted to quickly grab something to eat before [Friend] drove home; the installation had taken longer than we’d expected.

We went outside to find a “friendly” note behind the windscreen of [Friend]’s car and a blue metallic Audi A6 parked behind [Friend]’s car, about two inches away and half on the street as this was a turnout parking spot directly connected to the street.

Note: “TO THE IDIOT WHO BLOCKS MY SPOT: RING MY BELL AT HOUSE 25, SIXTH FLOOR. NEXT TIME, I WILL HAVE YOUR CAR TOWED! YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO USE MY SPOT!”

Friend: “Is this guy serious? This is public parking.”

So, we went and rang the guy’s bell. It took some time for him to answer.

Friend: “You parked behind my car. Please move yours; I want to drive home.”

Neighbor: “About time! Wait; I will come!”

He came down already shaking his arms at us, and he immediately started yelling.

Neighbor: “YOU CAN’T PARK IN MY SPOT! NEVER PARK HERE AGAIN OR YOUR CAR IS GONE!”

Friend: “That is actually a public parking spot; anyone can park there.”

Neighbor: “No! This is my spot. I always use that spot. Everyone knows that is my spot!”

Friend: “That does not make it yours.”

Neighbor: “Yes, it does! I always use it, so by customary right, it belongs to me!“

Me: “Man, this is city property. Using it often does not make it yours.”

Neighbor: “This is my spot! Everyone knows that. Only I park here. Park here again and I will have your car towed.”

Friend: “Good luck with that. In a public parking spot, parked perfectly within the lines… while your car is actually parked half on the street and blocking traffic, so actually, your car is going to be towed.”

Ooooh, he did not like that. He made a move like he wanted to throw a punch but decided otherwise; due to his screaming, there were a couple of people watching the scene.

He got into his car and moved it to the side, making some rude gestures toward us.

After that, he started to place a box in the parking spot when he left.

Now, as the weather is getting better, I enjoy sitting on my balcony having a beer, reading my comics, and looking down on that exact street and parking area. The best part of my day now is watching [Neighbor], who screamed at me in public for ten minutes because he does not want others to park in a public spot, drive out, stop on the road without warning lights, and get out of his car to illegally block a public parking spot with a box.

I smile and wait and finish my beer. Then, I go down and remove his box and leave a note on the parking spot reading, “Welcome! Have a nice day. Please stay as long as you like.”

I can’t wait until my bell rings and he screams at me again.

I order pizza for my partner and me, plus a small side salad for me. When the order arrives, the salad is missing. No big deal; stuff happens. As I set it up as no-contact delivery, so I call the restaurant to let them know.

Me: “Hey, my name is [My Name] at [address]. I’ve just received my order, but my salad is missing.”

Employee: “Oh, I’m so sorry! Do you want it refunded, sent back out, or a credit put on your account for next time?”

Me: “If it’s not too much trouble, could it be sent back out? I was pretty dead-set on getting the salad.”

Employee: “Sure! Give us about fifteen minutes to get it back to you.”

I let my partner start on the pizza while I wait for my salad.

A bit later, I hear the sound of someone walking up our porch steps and a weird thud against the door. I go to check, thinking maybe the delivery guy is knocking in a weird way. I open the door… to find my salad spilled across my porch, presumably from the container being chucked against the door. The driver is already in his car, and he drives off before I can stop him.

I step back into the house and call the restaurant again.

Me: “Um. I dunno how to tell you this. Your delivery driver just threw my salad at the door. It’s now all over my porch.”

Employee: “What? Are you sure?”

Me: “Yeah, I saw him drive off right after. I’m really not sure what’s up.”

Employee: “I’m not sure, either. I’m going to get my manager.”

After I hold for a minute, the manager comes on the line.

Manager: “So… you’re saying my driver just threw the salad at your door?”

Me: “Yeah. I didn’t witness the actual throwing since I didn’t realize he was here, but I heard it hit my door, and I came out to see him in a [Company]-labeled car driving off.”

Manager: “That’s… Wow. I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but I don’t know if I can see my driver doing that.”

Me: “I have a doorbell camera that should have caught it.”

Manager: “If you could email that video to me, I’ll look it over and call you back with what I can do for you.”

I hop off the call, and the incident was indeed caught on camera. I download the clip and send it to the email the manager provided.

Twenty minutes later, I get a call back.

Manager: “Wow. I’m not even sure where to begin. That… definitely happened. I can assure you that this won’t happen again. I’m going to have a different driver run you a full-size salad, plus I’m adding some credits to your account. I am so sorry about this.”

Me: “Do you have any clue why on earth this happened?”

Manager: “I do not, but I am, again, so sorry. I’m sending the new driver out now.”

Five minutes later, the new driver comes to my door. Out of curiosity, I ask her if she knows what happened.

Driver: “Oh, yeah. The guy said you were personally trying to get him in trouble by saying you missed something he knew he dropped off, so he was going to make it even. I’m not even sure why he took it personally, since that’s a kitchen mistake. But congratulations; that’s the funniest way I’ve seen someone get fired!”

I’ve been a server for over six years on and off. I only work a few times a month now as I have a full-time nine-to-five. I expected that my worst serving experiences were behind me, but last night proved me wrong.

I was very busy juggling eight tables at once. I was literally running and sweating because of how busy it was.

It all started when a woman asked for a side of butter. I told her I would get it for her.

I went to the bar and dropped off some drinks, which took maybe forty-five seconds.

Customer: “Where is my butter?!”

Me: “I haven’t even been to the kitchen since I left your table, but I’m getting it right away.”

I ran to the kitchen, ran out her butter, dropped it off, and ran back. Apparently, I “threw” the butter on the table. It’s possible I didn’t do it super gently, but it wasn’t meant to be aggressive or anything.

She complained to the manager and told him what an evil person I was. He didn’t care but assured her it wasn’t malicious. He told me to just continue to be nice.

I kept checking up on the woman’s table. “How’s it going? Everything good over here? Let me know if I can get you anything.” And they stayed mostly silent.

At the end, I gave them the check, and after five minutes of her intently reading the check I asked if everything was okay. This is where she got so out of hand.

Customer: “You ruined our entire night! You’ve been so terrible and malicious. Your attitude ruined my birthday!”

She kept being hateful to the point where I just had to walk away and have my manager take care of it.

My manager took care of their bill and told her to leave. She then came to the front to berate me more. I finally couldn’t hold it in.

Me: “STOP! Please leave me alone! I have been nothing but nice to you. Just leave!”

She continued throwing her nasty words at me.

Customer: *To my manager* “Your employee can’t speak to me like that!”

My manager repeated exactly what I said and told her to leave, as well. My coworkers also demanded that she leave. Some customers joined in, too, after witnessing her behavior.

As she tried to yell at me more, I was unprofessional; I looked her in the eyes and said:

Me: “Some people are just miserable.”

All the tables around her assured me that I couldn’t have done anything differently, but I still felt at fault for some reason. I know this was an overreaction on her part, but I kind of felt unsafe and scared afterward. I had never experienced anything like this as a server.

After a couple of chances to sleep on it, and thanks to some reassuring words from some kind people online, I felt much better. I think it was just shocking initially.

I’m a cheap b*****d, so rather than renting my own place or, God forbid, buying a home, I usually rent a room in a house shared with others, and I put the rent money saved to better use instead. Despite horror stories I’ve read online, I’ve mostly had pretty decent rental experiences. Either we all get along, or more often, everyone stays in their own room and ignores each other, and you only see a reminder the other person exists once or twice a week.

That was except for one experience. We had four in the house, but the newest person, replacing a tenant who moved out recently, was trouble. He smoked pot while playing music way too loud all the time, causing the house to stink and be too loud to do anything, including falling asleep. He was rude and left us to clean up for his messes and otherwise was just a terrible roommate. He also was home all the time — as far as we could tell he had no job or social life — which meant there was no time he wasn’t around making the place unlivable.

We reported this to our landlord, who assured me something would be done. When that something failed to materialize, I started looking for a different rental location only to find my house listed on the sites I checked. It seems my landlord’s idea of “doing something” was to wait until he had a replacement before he removed [Roommate].

One day, the doorbell rang, and after a few rings without anyone answering it, I paused my game and went down to see who it was at the same time that [Roommate] came up from his basement room. [Roommate] got there first, only to discover police officers asking to come in to speak with us.

[Roommate] clearly got worried, immediately insisted that they couldn’t come in, and asked what they wanted. I eavesdropped long enough to piece together that the police wanted to ask questions about a string of burglaries that I hadn’t realized were happening around where we lived. [Roommate]’s evident terror reminded me of his only leaving the house late at night, and of some mysterious items he had brought home even later at night that trusting, naïve me hadn’t thought to be suspicious enough about at the time.

Me: “You can come in, officers.”

Roommate: “What?! No, no! You’re not invited. You can’t come in.”

Me: “I’m also a legal tenant here, and I say you’re invited. Come on in.”

[Roommate] tried to bar the way in and continued protesting that they couldn’t come in. [Officer #1] just glared at him before saying, “Excuse me,” in a tone of voice that was more demand than request, and [Roommate] backed down so the officer could enter.

Me: “Come with me, please, officer.”

I started leading him down the steps toward [Roommate]’s room and away from my own. There was nothing but his room and the laundry down there, so [Roommate] was immediately suspicious.

Roommate: “Hey, you can’t go in my room.”

Me: “I’m not taking them in it.”

Roommate: “Then what the h*** are you doing?”

We got down there and, as I expected given [Roommate]’s past pattern of behavior, the door to his room was wide open and reeking of marijuana. Keep in mind, it was still illegal in the state back then.

Me: “Can you see anything interesting?”

Officer #1: “Indeed. Is that a joint?”

Me: “He brought some stuff in a black cardboard box he didn’t want us to know about last night and put it in there, too.”

[Officer #1] started to go in, and [Roommate] started ranting that the officer couldn’t go in there and that he knew they need permission, etc. Of course, while I’m far from a lawyer, I know just enough to know that the officers can enter the home if any resident invites them, even if another doesn’t. While I couldn’t give them permission to search [Roommate]’s room — only shared spaces — once they were in the hallway, they could look in and see plenty of evidence in plain sight that would allow them sufficient probable cause to enter his room.

[Roommate] ended up facing charges for theft — apparently, someone saw him rob a home just to walk right into ours — along with the use of illegal substances, and I think some other charges.

I had a long talk with my landlord. I basically said that either [Roommate] could not be allowed back in the house or I was leaving, and I would convince the rest to leave, too. After our talk, the landlord decided to have a talk with [Roommate] about how he had breached the rental agreement by smoking pot and basically ban him from returning to the house.

Of course, I was still frustrated enough with my landlord’s failure to act sooner that I kept up my search for a new place and moved out not too long after that, anyway.

I’m a young male working behind the counter of a well-known clothing store. A young woman walks up with who I assume is her boyfriend since he’s got an arm around her.

Me: “Hi. How can I help—”

Before I can even finish, she grabs the guy by the collar and begins hardcore making out with him, all with overly nasty, wet noises and sloppy tongue action that I feel like I would expect from a comedy flick. I stand there dumbfounded, trying to figure out what’s going on. She then finishes and nearly pushes the guy off. She turns to me and gives me a very smug look. And I’m just wishing she would wipe her face.

Woman: “See? That’s how a real man kisses his girlfriend!”

Me: “Uh… okay?”

Woman: “Bet you wish you were him, huh?”

Me: “I’m sorry, did you need help with anything?”

Woman: *Gives an exaggerated scoff* “Please! I have him now! I don’t need you anymore!”

Me: “Do I… Do I know you or something?”

She’s about to say something but stops and begins staring at me with a puzzled look. She looks down at my name tag and goes bright red. She whispers something to her boyfriend and then quickly runs off, leaving us both in awkward silence.

Guy: “So, uh… She mistook you for her ex and forced me to come in here and make him jealous. I guess she saw you yesterday while shopping and was certain you were him. To be fair you do look a lot like him.”

Me: “I see…” *Motioning to his chin* “You got a little something there.”

Guy: *Wiping his face with his hand* “Thank you.”

He walked away awkwardly. I decided it was time to take my break.