(My family lives in a typically quiet residential neighborhood. However, one of our neighbors owns a motorcycle and feels that it is entirely appropriate to race the motorcycle up and down the various streets, gunning the engine as loudly as he can, at any time of day. He’s not going anywhere in particular, just driving around in loops and up and down the streets. One day, our family is having an outdoor barbecue in our front yard when we hear the motorcyclist coming from around the corner. Right as he does, a plastic bag that has blown away from the party suddenly gets caught by the breeze and spins up into the air in front of the motorcycle. He swerves and ends up skidding into the drainage ditch on the far side of the street. Several of the adults run to help, including my mother.)

Mother: “Oh, my gosh! Are you all right?”

Motorcyclist: “F*** OFF, C***!”

(He tries to stand up and take a swing at her, forcing her to step back, before he suddenly falls down and grabs his leg.)

Motorcyclist: “F****** b****! Look what you did! F***!”

(He continued swearing, even after 911 was called, right up until an ambulance showed up. When it did, he tried to get up again and hobbled away, swearing some more the entire time. Since then, we haven’t heard him revving around on his motorcycle, at all. Honestly, I rather hope he had to sell it to cover his hospital bills. Serves him right.)

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(I work as a manager for a large chain of craft stores. Our company recently changed the return policy so customers could return anything, not matter what, as long as it was from our chain. Naturally, customers, being customers, have taken full advantage of this. This instance happens very soon after the policy change.)

Cashier: “Uh… I have a situation with a return up here.”

Me: “Do they have the receipt?”

Cashier: “Yeah, but, it’s… really old.”

Me: “Okay, well, the new policy says we have to take it.”

Cashier: “Well, it’s not coming up in the register.”

Me: “Okay, I’ll be up there in a minute.”

(I get to the register and the cashier just looks really bewildered. I don’t think much of it; I just guess that maybe they haven’t had any return issues like that one. I approach the register.)

Me: “Hi! I hear we are having a return issue?”

Customer: “I guess the receipt is too old for the register, but I do have it! And the items, here.” *gestures to items*

(I have been working for the company for two and a half years, but I have never seen these items. I’m starting to think this is a scam, or that she bought the items at a different store and has forgotten. Then, I get a look at the receipt. It’s dated 2008.)

Me: “This receipt is nine years old.”

Customer: “Yep!”

Cashier: “I told you!”

Me: “You didn’t say it was nine years old!”

(I had to call over another manager, as I had no clue how to return something that had been out of the system so long that the system couldn’t recognize it anymore. I’ve had a lot of memorable returns, but that one definitely stands out!)

Related:
Return Of The Returner: The Buyback
Return Of The Returner: Jeans Of Justice
Return Of The Returner: The Return

(My father is doing the mandatory driving practice with me when I’m 16 when I only have my learner’s permit. He isn’t the most attentive or patient. We’re at an intersection on a low-traffic street, turning left with no dedicated arrow. I’m looking around first to make sure the road is free to turn.)

Dad: *insistently* “Oh, come on, [My Name]! Go! Go already!”

(I obey. He’s my supervising “experienced” driver; that’s what I’m supposed to do. Immediately, a car shows up from the opposite direction, going straight at high speed. It crashes head on into us. Luckily, no one is actually hurt, but both cars are nearly totaled. At least no one is in legal trouble over it. Nevertheless, both my parents seem extremely unhappy and troubled over the accident, speaking alternatively in very subdued and alarmed tones on the topic of the insurance coverage. They also keep giving me accusing looks for days on end and being extremely curt with me, almost as if I’ve deliberately killed someone. Finally, I plainly ask them what is going on.)

Mom: “Oh, well, you’re not covered on our car insurance.”

Me: “What?!”

Mom: “Yes, well… When we moved to the states two years ago, we had no US credit score or any other records, so when your dad bought the car no one wanted to give him an insurance policy. Finally, the car dealership called up some agent who came over and took a bribe of $300 cash to write up a policy for Dad. He asked him if he had a wife, but never bothered to ask if he had any children, so you were never recorded with the insurance as existing. We thought we might need to notify them when you turned 16 and got your learner’s permit, but we just weren’t sure.”

(I’ve been driving around with both of them, on my learner’s permit, for five months at this point.)

Mom: “Yes, you see, we just weren’t completely and totally sure. So, we just never called them at all. Now they’re giving us trouble over you having been driving the car, and may very well completely refuse to cover the accident.”

Me: *speechless doesn’t quite seem to cover it*

(The kicker is she still somehow managed to make this explanation sound like the entire business was largely my fault, despite having been told the exact circumstances of the accident. I just tuned out of the entire business after that. I was traumatized enough by the accident and couldn’t deal with any more details about my parents’ stupidity. The insurance eventually paid, I think, but it took us a full six weeks to get our car back from the shop, which is three times the typical timeframe for these repairs, so I’m sure my parents had to deal with a lot of trouble over it. I made it a point to keep out of their financial affairs as much as I could after that, so I’m not sure if they ever learned their lesson. There are a LOT of lessons I’ve learned from them throughout my childhood about all the things an adult shouldn’t EVER do.)

(My husband and I are discussing his father’s plans for an upcoming vacation. I am curious about how it will affect his job, as he has been employed for less than a year.)

Me: “How long is your dad going to be gone?”

Husband: “He says a few weeks.”

Me: “Is he going to quit his job, then?”

Husband: “Nope. I asked him if he had any vacation time, and he said that because he’s part-time, he can take as much time off as he wants.”

Me: “And he thinks he’ll still have a job when he gets back?!”

Husband: “Yeah.”

Me: “Can I live in your dad’s world?”

(I work at a dog grooming shop that also sells cute, cheap outfits for dogs, as well as super fancy, expensive outfits for dogs. This woman walks in and looks around for about a minute, seeming very confused. I put the dog I was grooming away to see if I can be of any assistance.)

Me: “Hello, is there anything I can help you find?”

Woman: “Yes. Do you have any tuxedos?”

Me: “Yes, we do, actually! We have the well-made, but more expensive ones here.” *I hold up a small dog tuxedo* “And we also have the simple tee-shirt, tuxedo-patterned outfit.” *I put the other tuxedo away and hold the cheaper one up*

Woman: “Do you have anything bigger?”

Me: “Unfortunately, the carrier we go through doesn’t have any tuxedos for large dogs.”

Woman: “No, I mean big ones.”

Me: “Um… You mean for a human?”

Woman: “Helloooooo!”

Me: *long pause* “We’re a dog grooming shop.”

(I pointed at the dogs in kennels in the other room, behind the glass window. She looked very baffled for a moment, and then became flustered as she quickly left the store. There used to be a tuxedo store a few doors down, so that might be why she was confused. But the store was filled with dog mannequins wearing outfits.)