(The general manager is talking to one of the supervisors in the middle of the kitchen. I don’t hear the entire conversation, but it sounds like it is about the supervisor’s shift the previous day.)

General Manager: “…and you didn’t do [list of duties] yesterday. [Very Pregnant Coworker] had to lift a bunch of heavy syrup cases to hook them up to the machine!”

Supervisor: “Uh, [General Manager]… I didn’t work yesterday. You did.”

General Manager: “Oh.”

(I manage a 1000-unit storage facility. A few weeks ago, I had to send our customers their rental increases for the year. The contract everyone signs says we can change their rent with 30 days’ notice. The increases are done automatically by computer. Our facility is nearly full, and if someone moves out, someone else moves in within a week, two at the most. My employee and I watch a car pull up, and someone gets out of the back seat, almost slamming his door into a post. A “gentleman” comes in, complimenting my employee and me, saying how nice it is to have two women looking at him, since he’s allergic to men. Strange, but not unexpected. We smile, and I ask how I can help him.)

Customer: “I got this rental increase letter. It’s too much. You’re going to wake the beast.”

Me: “I’m sorry about that, sir. May I have your unit number, so I can take a look?”

(The customer goes on for several minutes about his unit number, giving me wrong numbers, not giving me his last name, giving me the runaround until my employee figures it all out.)

Me: “Well, as far as I can see, yes, you’ve been with us a long time, but I do not have full control—”

Customer: “Would you rather I move out? You’ll lose more money than the increase if I move out!”

Me: “Let me take a—”

Customer: “Thank you for your poor customer service!” *storms out*

Me: *once the door has closed* “I was going to cut his increase in half… but…”

Employee: “Do we schedule a move-out?”

Me: “Yup.”

Employee: “Huh. One of our most popular sizes. That’ll be rented in a day.”

Me: “Yup.”

(I’m working grill when a car pulls up to the drive-thru speaker.)

Coworker: “Welcome to [Restaurant]; how may I help you?”

Customer: *slurring and stuttering* “Can I get a-a [combo #1] with ffffffries and [drink] and a [combo #2], just the burrgerrrrr, with an on-ion ring and [drink].”

(I’m making the order when my coworker comes back to talk to me.)

Coworker: “Hey, [My Name], can you hand the food out and tell me if this guy is drunk? He reeks of booze.”

(I go to hand his food out the window.)

Me: “Here you are, sir.”

(He doesn’t respond. He’s clearly out of it.)

Me: “Sir? I have your food for you.”

Customer: *looking very confused* “Oh, oh, thanks. Where are my drinks?”

Me: *I can see them in his cup holders* “You already have them, sir. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Customer: “Uh, no, I’m good.”

(He drives off, and instead of turning to follow the curb, he drives straight over it. Thankfully, he stops in the parking lot. I immediately pick up the phone and call the police. I come back out from the office and his passenger has come in to get more food. Not even a minute has passed since I called and there are already two cruisers in the parking lot.)

Passenger: *turning around and seeing the commotion outside* “What are they doing? He isn’t drunk!”

(We watched the police give the man a sobriety test, cuff him, search his car, take him away, and have the car towed, all while his passenger stood in the lobby and kept repeating that “he isn’t drunk.”)

(I work in a tool and parts store as a cashier, and 90% of the clientele is male. I’m a shy, socially-awkward female but I’m usually very good at faking it and being friendly. This is a Thursday afternoon, and while it’s not overly busy, it’s been steady. I’m about to go on my lunch break when an older man comes up to my till, ignoring the fact that my light is off and I’m gathering my things. I’m not the type to turn a customer away or make them wait for another cashier, so I smile at him as he starts tossing his merchandise on the counter. This is a store where we collect phone numbers to save copies of receipts. Every customer is asked for their phone number when they check out. They can refuse and we don’t push, but most see the benefit to it since we sell some expensive pieces of equipment, and they can return or exchange an item if we have an electronic copy of their receipt.)

Me: *in a friendly voice* “Hello, sir, how are—”

Customer: *cuts me off in a very rude tone* “—I’m good, since you didn’t bother to ask. How are you?”

Me: *startled, as I was just starting to ask* “Um, I’m good, sir. How—”

Customer: *cuts me off again* “Don’t bother with that! Just check me out already!”

Me: *getting nervous* “O-Okay. Can I have your phone number, please?”

Customer: *mutters last four digits*

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but you only gave me the last four digits. The system needs the full phone number in order to bring up your profile.”

Customer: “That’s all I’m giving you!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t bring up your profile without your whole phone number. If you’d like, you can just hang onto the receipt in case you need to return or exchange—”

Customer: “No, I always lose those! Put it in! I gave you my number!”

(I try to explain again how the system works, but he keeps arguing that he doesn’t want to give me more info. At the same time, he won’t let me skip the phone number and proceed with the sale, because he insists he always loses receipts and he wants an electronic copy. A part of me wants to just say I pulled up his information and skip it, but he would know because the receipt prints the customers name on it if a profile is attached to the sale, as well as my name and cashier number. We go around in circles for ten minutes until he spits the number at me, so fast that I can barely catch it. I input the number and finally start ringing his items through. The whole transaction is tense and awkward, and he grumbles at me the entire time about invading his privacy. When I finish bagging his items, I put them up on the counter and tell him the total. Note: We have a customer screen that shows items and prices while they’re scanned, and he’s been watching it the entire time.)

Customer: “There’s no way it’s that high! You’re overcharging me! Look, the total is [amount], not [higher amount I quoted him].”

(I am starting to feel shaky, because I don’t handle confrontations well. I look at the screen, and he’s pointing to the subtotal before taxes are added.)

Me: “That’s the subtotal, sir, and if you look underneath that, it tells you the tax is [amount], so that makes the total [original quoted amount].”

Customer: “No! That has to be wrong! Void the transaction and start again!”

(The managers are in a meeting right now and I can’t call them for help. We’re also not allowed to refuse a customer, and even if we were, I’d be too afraid to try. I void the transaction and go through the hassle of getting his phone number again because I’ve forgotten it at this point. I then start ringing his items through with the hopes that he’ll give up and leave if I do what he wants. He complains the whole time about how incompetent I am, and stops me after I scan each item and double-checks the price. I have to call for several price checks because he thinks I’m overcharging him, and every time the price on the register turns out to be correct. In the end, his total is the same as before. I’m already an hour late for lunch and I’m thoroughly upset for how I’ve been treated when I’ve done nothing wrong.)

Customer: *snottily* “I still think you’re overcharging me somehow. I’m going to look at the receipt when I get home, and if there’s anything off I’m coming straight back here and talking to a manager about you!”

(I don’t trust myself to say anything at this point. I get the transaction set up and he pays with his credit card.)

Me: *trying to smile and thankful it’s finally over* “Here’s your receipt, sir. Have a nice day.”

Customer: *scowling and storming out* “It would have been nicer if I didn’t have to deal with you!”

(After he left, I practically ran to the break room to compose myself. Thankfully, the customers throughout the second half of my shift were pleasant to deal with.)

(I work alone most days, as it’s a small store and the start of the work week is usually pretty slow. I’m also a fairly short woman at 5’3″ and come across as pretty meek. I’m currently working on a stock reorder, when a man I’ve never seen before comes into my empty store.)

Me: “Hi there! Anything I can help you find today?”

Customer #1: “Do you guys sell Pokémon cards?”

Me: “No, sorry. We don’t carry them.”

Customer #1: “Do you buy cards?”

Me: “No, we don’t, but [Other Store] does. It’s what they’re known for, actually. Is there anything else I can help you with, though?”

(A married couple comes through the door and starts looking at the shelves of chess sets next to it. [Customer #1] gives a quick look over his shoulder and shakes his head.)

Customer #1: “That’s fine. I’ll just look around.”

(He then moves further into the store towards the rack we keep our card sleeves on, so I assume that he’s interested in finding something for his card collection. I greet the new customers and inform them that if they need anything they just have to ask, but they’re pretty content and continue to look over the games there while I go back to my previous task. Two minutes later, I can hear this strange rustling just to the side of me behind the counter.)

Me: *to myself* “That sounds like wrapping paper. What the…?”

(That’s when I see something moving out of the corner of my eye, and turn just in time to see [Customer #1]’s arm pulling back around the corner of the counter with a sealed box of an expensive and popular card game that we store under the gift wrapping, some of which was hanging over the lip of its shelf and had brushed against his arm while he was reaching inside. I immediately go after the guy as he shoves the whole box into the front of his hoodie.)

Me: *in a surprisingly loud and stern voice* “EXCUSE ME?! Give that back to me, right NOW!”

Customer #1: *barely looks at me as he starts to run for the door, with the box clearly outlined on his stomach* “What?! I didn’t take anything!”

(The guy is at least a foot taller than me and is built like a linebacker, so even while I’m running after him, I’m thinking to myself, “Just what am I going to do if I catch him?” As he hits the door to shove it open, though, the husband’s arm snaps out and grabs the thief’s arm before anyone even realizes what he’s doing, and they both go tumbling out into the street with the wife and me close behind.)

Customer #1: *struggles to pull himself free of the arm-lock he’s suddenly found himself in while the other man holds on to him tightly* “Let go! You can’t do this!”

Me: “Give me back the d*** box!”

Customer #1: “I didn’t take anything!”

Me: “I can see it!”

(I start to reach for the box, ready to rip his hoodie open on the spot, even as a crowd gathers around to see what all the noise is about.)

Customer #1: “Fine! Whatever!” *scowls at me as he opens his jacket and hands the box back* “Now let go!”

(With that, he finally pulls his arm free and stomps off through the crowd before any of us can say anything about it.)

Wife: *to her husband, clearly worried about him* “My God! What were you thinking?!”

Husband: *gives a small shrug as he watches the other man storm away with a look of surprise* “I wasn’t. I just did it… He’s really big, huh?”

(Though not as short as me, this gentleman is still a good three or four inches shorter and 75 pounds or more lighter than the guy he nabbed at the door.)

Me: “Thank you so much! I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t have grabbed him when you did!”

Husband: “Ye-yeah. I’m really surprised I did, too.”

(He chuckles a bit as he becomes more aware of just how badly things could have turned, then hugs his wife.)

Husband: *in a joking tone* “I don’t suppose there’s a dumb heroics discount, huh?”

Me: *completely serious* “Yes. Yes, there is, sir. What can I get for you?”