(It’s a normal evening at my store. I am checking out a long line of people when an older man in sunglasses hands me his credit card. I take it at first, thinking it’s our rewards card.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. I’m not allowed to touch your card; it’s company policy.”

Customer: “I don’t care. You swipe it. It’s your machine, so you swipe it!”

Me: *scanning his items, attempting to give him back his card* “Sir, please take your card. I’m really not supposed to touch them or swipe them for you.”

Customer: “IT’S YOUR MACHINE! YOU DO IT!”

Me: *giving up, as at this point my line has grown by four people* “Credit or debit?”

Customer: “Figure it out!”

(I run the card as credit, then return it to him.)

Customer: *nastily* “It’s just good customer service!”

I am job hunting and end up waiting tables at a new, fancy, family-owned Italian restaurant run by two brothers. For the first week or so, everything is perfect; friendly coworkers, good food, fast service, nice pay, etc.

However, about a month into the job, the two owners start bickering with each other. At first it’s just snips and snipes, but over the next week it gets into full-blown screaming. Coming from an Italian family, I can safely say there isn’t a more volatile argument than two Italians from the same family going at it. They go all out, complete with swears and threats, right in earshot of our diners, several of whom have children. Predictably, we get swamped with complaints and demands for refunds, and unfortunately, I even catch a few people recording the outburst on phones. When a coworker goes to tell the brothers that their fighting is ruining the night, the argument gets even louder as they start accusing each other of sabotaging their business. By the time it’s passed, the dining room is basically empty, with a handful of bemused people sitting around, enjoying the “dinner and a show.”

This continues for another week, and unfortunately, the restaurant gets a reputation for the brothers fighting to the point that guests start showing up just hoping to watch. The wait staff and chefs run themselves ragged trying to keep the business afloat, as the owners are now more concerned with their feuding. Eventually, they do make up, but only by reaching the conclusion that the business is failing, not because of them, but because of the staff.

We have all dealt with their crap long enough when it wasn’t directed at us. The first night they try to pick fights with us, the majority of the wait staff walks out without a word, myself included. Before long, the rest of the staff quits as well, either out of defiance, or out of a desire to avoid being the only target left.

I drive by the next week on the way to get groceries and see the restaurant with a “Help Needed” sign on it, and the week after that, it is shut down. I feel bad for them, but if you’re going to start a family business, you should probably do it with a relative you don’t absolutely despise.

(My mum had a stroke two weeks ago. As she was in the hospital at the time it was caught exceptionally quickly, and her doctors believe there will only be some short-term memory loss. I don’t believe there is any, for the reason I am about to tell you. I have dropped by to visit when there are several nurses and her doctor by her bed, arguing.)

Mum: “See? There’s my son. Ask him if you don’t believe me!”

Me: “What’s going on?”

Doctor: “We believe it might be a sign of memory loss. Your mother is adamant that her grandmother is still alive.”

Me: “She is. She turns 100 next week. You met her last Friday before she was discharged.”

Doctor: *stutters* “I…I see… She also believes that money has been stolen from her purse; £100 pounds to be exact. Can you confirm that she had this money in her purse while staying here?”

Me: “Yes. It was for my great-grandmother’s birthday. She literally got it out of the ATM in the hospital’s atrium what, twenty minutes before she had her stroke?”

(My mum nods.)

Me: “In fact, that’s why I came around. She called me this morning to get a card.”

(I shook the bag in my hand and the doctor blushed furiously at the realisation that everything my mum said was accurate. All the nurses then backed away, seemingly suspicious of each other. They never found the money, or figured out who stole it, but my mum demanded to be immediately moved to another hospital, and the nurses managed to pool together £100 themselves as compensation. My mum refused to take it, though, as she saw it as an admission that they collectively stole it.)

(I work as a housekeeper. I am cleaning a hospital. They have older automatic doors, which are only activated from one side. I am kneeling, cleaning the bottom side of the door. A visitor in his twenties hits the button — usually people who do not need to use the automatic doors do so, anyway. The door does not register me because I am on the wrong side. The door swings open in a jerking motion and hits me right in the nose. I fall back, holding my bleeding nose. The man walks by me with two other men. He lowers his sunglasses.)

Visitor: “Once you are done here, you can come and clean my house.”

(If you ever see a housekeeper, never say that. We hear it at least twenty times a day. I hold my nose and wait for them to slowly walk through so I can grab paper towels for my nose. When they leave, I am re-cleaning the glass doors, and the same visitor runs up to hit the button. Luckily, I hear him and jump out of the way.)

Visitor: “You can smile every once in a while.”

(I fake-smiled and waved as they left. Lucky for me I never saw them again.)

(Our cousin has a job that causes him to move to new areas quite often. His latest contract is in an area close to my brother’s home, which is currently unoccupied, due to my brother’s health, so he moves in.)

Mother: “So, you know [Cousin] has moved into [Brother]’s home? Well, he’s growing drugs.”

Me: “What?”  

Mother: “He’s growing pot.”

Brother: “Oh, for God’s sake, he’s growing pot plants.”

Mother: “Yes, pot plants.”

Brother: “He’s growing plants in pots: herbs and vegetables.”

Mother: *with air quotes* “’Herbs.’”

(She was only joking, but in the worst possible taste; [Cousin]’s older brother died due to an overdose. A joke like this getting back to his parents would devastate them. She couldn’t understand why neither of us found it to be funny.)