(It is Sunday, and our store opens at 10:30 for half an hour roaming time. We cannot trade in that half hour, due to trading laws. The cashiers who are assigned to the registers are standing by the customer service desk with me, discussing the new store remodelling we will be doing next week. They are physically unable to login until 11:00, so it is pointless for them to stand by the registers until then. We have a sign at the front noting our inability to trade at this time. A customer lines up and stares at the sign, mouthing the words on it. Several other customers also appear, but upon noticing the sign they leave and look around the store some more. This first customer, however, does not. At around 10:50, she huffs loudly, getting all of our attention. I’m about to speak when she turns away, making as much noise as she can. She walks around the barrier and along entire front aisle before arriving at the service desk. She could have just walked through a gap in the barrier which allows customers to leave.)

Customer: “You are terrible people. I have been standing there for half an hour, and instead of helping me, all you do is talk about me, to my face!“

Me: “Miss, the store opened at 10:30.”

Customer: “AND?”

Me: “It’s 10:50. It’s impossible for you to have been standing there for half an hour, and as you should know, we cannot trade until 11. At most I would say you have been there five, maybe ten minutes.”

Customer: *blushing* “HOW THE H*** WOULD I KNOW THAT? NONE OF YOU TOE RAGS TOLD ME!”

Me: “I saw you read the sign.”

Customer: “So, you admit you noticed me and did absolutely nothing?”

Me: “To be honest, I assumed you wanted to be first in line, and were willing to wait for 20 minutes to achieve that. I apologise if I was wrong. I will be more thoughtful in future.”

Customer: “Well, okay, that sounds fair.” *awkward silence* “So, can I buy these, then?”

Me: “We can’t trade for another seven minutes.”

Customer: “YOU’RE ALL F****** USELESS!”

(She threw her basket at us and stormed out of the store. Over the next month we received close to 100 letters complaining about our services, all via special delivery, which required signing for and must have cost a pretty penny. Eventually the store manager refused to take them and we were told they would be returned to the sender. I wasn’t there on the day the customer returned, but apparently a woman matching her description walked in and dumped the returned letters on the floor, before spitting on them and walking out. We have yet to see her again, and the letters have stopped.)

(I’m visiting family with my dog in tow, and I decide to hit the local big-box pet store to pick up some toys and treats for him, since we only really have boutique pet stores that are uber-expensive in the city I live in. Since it’s a pet store, I’ve brought my dog along for the trip.)

Customer: “Aw, he’s so cute! Can I pet him?”

Me: “Sure, he’d love that! He’s a big old cuddle bug.”

Customer: “He’s so friendly and fluffy!” *drops to a whisper* “I know this store wants everyone to adopt mutts that nobody wants, but I’d love to get a high-quality dog like yours. Are you breeding him or can you tell me what breeder you got him from?”

Me: “Um, actually, I rescued him from a shelter a couple years ago. He’s actually a ‘mutt,’ and, since he came from the shelter, he is fixed. I can give you the information for the shelter I rescued him from; it’s local. They often have smaller dogs like him up for adoption. They even sometimes have pure-bred or designer dogs, if you’re looking for a specific breed or breed mix.”

Customer: “What, do you work here?” *laughs* “I’d be willing to pay a handsome fee for one of his pups. Just tell me where you’re breeding him and I’ll go put a deposit down. Whatever you want for one of his pups, I’ll make it back breeding that puppy, anyway.”

Me: “Ma’am, don’t make me lift up his tail and show you that he has no balls. He. Is. A. Rescue. He’s fixed, and I am an avid supporter of adoption and rescue. I’m actually in this aisle because I’m going to buy a large bag of good dog food and donate it to the rescue I adopted him from. Again, I think it would be a good idea for you to consider adoption, but if you insist on buying a ‘papered’ dog, there are plenty of Amish puppy mills in the area that will sell you an expensive and sickly ‘purebred.’ Just go to any flea market and I’m sure you’ll find the ‘perfect’ dog you’re looking for.”

Customer: “Well, you don’t have to be so rude about it! I was just trying to make both of us some money! If you knew what was good for you, you wouldn’t have had his balls cut off!”

Me: “I know that I have a dog that was purchased from a flea market and summarily dumped at the pound when his owner was uninterested in doing the basics of dog ownership. I know that he cowers if you show your hand to him palm out, which leads me to believe she hit him. I know that he was flea-bitten and malnourished when she turned him in, and now he’s healthy and happy. And I know that he won’t be producing any puppies that just mean shelter dogs wait even longer, or even die, because shallow b****** need a cute accessory. That all makes me feel pretty good. You can keep the money. So, if you don’t mind, I’ll get back to buying that bag of food for the shelter, and a couple of toys and treats for him.”

Customer: “Well, I have never been addressed so rudely by a sad little girl. Have fun with your shaggy mutt!” *storms off*

(I mention this interaction to the cashier:)

Cashier: “Oh, yes. She comes in here a couple times a week looking for people who are breeding their dogs. She seems to target people with small-ish, long-hair dogs. She never really gets anywhere, and ends up leaving totally pissed off. She’s yelled at the rescue groups we host out front several times. I don’t know why management doesn’t just kick her out and tell her if she’s that dead-set on getting a designer dog, just go to the flea market up the street!”

I’m stopped at a three-way intersection, waiting for a break in traffic to turn right. I realize the car stopped behind me is really, really close to my back bumper. I’ve never seen two cars so close together.

I’ve got a little room in front of me, so I inch forward. The car behind me inches forward, too. I do it again. The car inches forward until he’s so close to my bumper an ant could jump across. I can’t move any further forward.

Finally, traffic on the intersecting street clears, so I turn right. The car behind me comes along, still riding my bumper. I’m freaked at this point, and pissed at how reckless this guy is being. So, I passive-aggressively slow to a crawl to make it easier for this guy to drive around me, since he so clearly wants to. It’s a 35 mph road and I’m going about 15. The car behind me zigzags to the left and right, clearly wanting to pass me, but it’s a two-lane road and there’s oncoming traffic. After a couple cars pass in the opposite lane, he zips around me and goes speeding off at 50, maybe 60 mph… all of six hundred yards to the next intersection.

(An obviously drunk woman comes up with a paper bag, swaying.)

Woman: “I have… a reservation. [Woman].”

Me: “Okay, can I see the credit card that will be used?”

(She brings the bag up to her nose and THROWS UP in it. My stomach churns and I back off a bit.)

Woman: “My daddy called and said that he was going to pay for it!”

Me: “Ma’am, I can’t give you a room unless I swipe the card.”

Woman: “Why?” *throws up some more*

Me: “It’s the rules.”

Woman: “Can’t you just make an exception for once? I’m sick and everything! Don’t you people have a heart?!”

Me: “No, sorry. It’s to prevent credit card fraud.”

Woman: “Fine!”

(She turned and stumbled away, hopped in her car, and drove off… straight into a street lamp! The cops were called and she was arrested. I wonder if her daddy bailed her out?)

(I go to college out of state, but come home to Houston every year for holidays and summers. My boyfriend attends college where I do, but lives elsewhere. A male friend I have known since high school contacts me on messenger to ask about my holiday plans one year.)

Friend: “So, you’re going to be home again for Thanksgiving?”

Me: “Yeah, I thought about going to see my boyfriend’s family this year, but we decided that we should just each go home separately. I might go visit him for New Year’s, though.”

Friend: “We should get together when you’re back! We can have a big outing like we used to with everyone!”

Me: “That sounds like fun! If you plan it, I’ll find a way to make it.”

(A few weeks pass, and Thanksgiving break is imminent. He messages me again.)

Friend: “Hey! Are we still on for getting together when you’re back?”

Me: “Sure thing! Is that Saturday okay with everyone? Did you want to do an e-vite so everyone knows? I can set something up and start a group chat.”

Friend: “I’ll take care of it. Are you bringing your car back? Do you need a ride?”

Me: “Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure [Another Friend of ours] can pick me up, since I live so close to him.”

Friend: “No, no! I insist on picking you up! Does [Local Restaurant] sound okay?”

Me: “Sure. I think that should be within everybody’s budgets.”

(I came home for Thanksgiving and the get-together had been solidified. Or so I thought. My friend texted me to say he was coming to pick me up. Upon arriving at the restaurant, I discovered that he lied and didn’t invite anyone else; it was just the two of us. I insisted on paying for my meal, despite his repeated attempts to cover it, and the entire evening was extremely awkward with little conversation. When he drove me home, he even tried to lean over to kiss me as I was getting out of the car. I chewed him out over messenger when I finally got over my shock and disgust, and he acted like I was some cheating girlfriend who had led him on for months. When I mentioned the whole scenario to a mutual friend of ours, he laughed and said that this was the third time that guy had pulled this series of tricks on a girl in our social circles. And every time, he tried to blame it on her “leading him on.”)