(I’m at a bar and I’ve ordered a shot. The bartender sets it on the bar in front of me, but before I can drink it, a woman storms up, grabs it, and dumps it out on the floor.)

Woman: “What the h*** do you think you’re doing? You’re going to be a terrible mother.” *to the bartender* “And you should be fired! This is the most irresponsible thing I’ve ever seen!”

Me: “Um—“

Woman: “No, you listen to me. You can’t drink when you’re pregnant! I should report you to the police; you’re going to—”

Me: “Lady. I’m not pregnant; I’m just fat. Jeez.”

(She stared at me for at least a minute, then stammered out an apology and told the bartender to replace my drink on her tab.)

(I get along well with both of my lab partners in biology class; all three of us are very prepared, and we usually finish our labs well ahead of everyone else and spend the rest of the time chatting and goofing around. There is one woman in the class, though, who drives me nuts. She’s a lawyer, three months pregnant, who couldn’t find a job as a lawyer and came back to school for Biology. She sits clear across the room, but every time I look up, she’s leaning over my shoulder, telling me what to do, and usually getting the lab protocol wrong. When we’re testing blood cells in an isotonic solution:)

Student: “You need to hold it up to the light!”

(When we’re setting up a hot water bath.)

Student: “Are you sure you have it at the right temperature? I think it needs to be [five degrees higher than correct, which would have killed our yeast cells].”

(On learning I’m studying to be a surgeon:)

Student: “Oh, you don’t want to do that. It makes it so hard to have a family. You’ll regret it.”

(After my lab group and I have finished, cleaned up, and are chatting:)

Student: “You should really be working; you don’t want to waste your education!”

(After two months of this, I snap at her, and she finally backs off. It’s about two weeks later when both of us stay after class to talk to the professor. She is first, and when it becomes clear that they are talking about grades, I offer to leave. She insists that it’s fine, which I think gives our professor the idea that we are friends. I’m on my phone, trying not to eavesdrop, when I overhear this gem.)

Professor: “You know, if you’re serious about bringing your grade up to passing, you might want to study with [My Name]. She had the highest exam grade in the class, and on the last four quizzes!”

(She burst into tears and went running out of the room, much to the bewilderment of our poor professor. And that’s the story of how I made a pregnant lawyer cry.)

(My boyfriend hits his head and concusses himself in mysterious circumstances. He was housesitting alone; later sleuthing led me to the conclusion that he fainted, which he’s prone to occasionally, and hit his lower forehead directly on the edge of a high counter. His nose is also broken. I sit in the emergency room with him as he’s given care. He’s lost his memory temporarily and every few minutes he starts wondering anew why he’s there.)

Boyfriend: “What’s… What’s happening? Where are we?”

Me: “At the emergency room at [Hospital], love. You hit your head and you have a concussion. We don’t know just how it happened.”

Boyfriend: “Oh… Wow. My nose hurts.”

Me: “Yeah, you broke your nose, as well.”

Boyfriend: *with a rueful grin* “Oh, no! My classic good looks!”

(Five minutes later he gets confused again, starts asking again, I explain the concussion, we don’t know what happened, the broken nose…)

Boyfriend: “Oh, no! My classic good looks!”

(This repeated, I kid you not, at least 25 times. We’ve now been married 12 years. How could I resist? He has a sense of humor AND classic good looks!)

(I am supposed to come into work at two pm, but I come a little early to get some paperwork done. No big deal. I come in, and immediately I’m hearing this woman yell profanity at her kids. As it turns out, she is really cheap. She is only looking at the clearance shoes. That’s understandable — kids grow out of shoes fast — but there’s plenty of shoes for like $19.99. But no, she wants the $5 to $10 ones. I walk in and my manager’s working. I say hi, and I go to the back to clock in and everything. Realizing I’m not going to be able to do paperwork, I head out to the sales floor. There is no one else in the store but this family. I say to myself, “Oh, boy.”)

Me: *to manager* “Hey. How’s it going?”

Manager: “Okay. I’m going to take my break after they leave.”

Me: “I do not blame you. How long have they—“

Manager: “At least twenty minutes now.”

Me: “Ouch. Okay. Maybe I can help.”

Manager: “No. I tried that a few times already. She’ll come up here if she has any complaints.”

(Ten minutes go by. This woman does NOT CARE ONE BIT what happens to her kids. Why? She’s on her phone. She has four kids with her who are tearing up the kid’s section, and she’s on her phone. After another five minutes, I notice something happening by the front door.)

Me & Manager: “MA’AM!”

Manager: “MISS, YOUR CHILD IS RUNNING OUT OF THE STORE!”

Customer: “Oh, d*** it!”

(Her toddler wearing diapers not only runs out of the store, but she makes it across to the parking lot. The toddler almost got hit by a car passing by, and then by another trying to back out of a spot. What does this woman do? You guessed it. She comes back into the shop, apologizes, and keeps shopping while talking on her phone. A SECOND ATTEMPT is made by the toddler, trying to leave, but her mom stops her that time, only a second after she has opened the front door again. My manager goes in the back to do some paperwork of her own. No one else has come in this whole time, so we both get kind of bored. I go up to the mom again and she asks me about a shoe. We walk up to the register, get everything rung up, and she leaves. Once she leaves, I tell my manager, and we clean up the whole store because the kids got in the women’s section, too. Shoe boxes and random thrown shoes are everywhere.)

Manager: “If she comes back, I’m telling her to get off her phone or leave.”

Me: “I’m just going to tell her to leave.”

(She did end up coming back a few hours later, because I had goofed, so that was fine. But once she started to shop, I literally followed right behind her until she saw what I was doing and left. I think she got the hint. I encourage mom’s everywhere: if you’re in a store with your kids, whether it’s a big store or small store, YOUR PHONE CALL CAN WAIT, NO MATTER WHAT IT IS!)

(I work in a shoe store as an assistant manager in a less than desirable neighborhood, with even worse surrounding neighborhoods. A customer walks in with his mom or wife. A coworker greets them, and then the coworker comes back to register.)

Coworker: “Holy s***, I hope those two leave soon.”

Me: “Why?”

Coworker: “You’ll see why soon enough. I’m going to stay up here.”

(My coworker leaves the register area when she sees them head up. It hits me.)

Me: *to coworker* “Wooooahhh…” *feeling lightheaded all of a sudden, I ring them up quickly and they leave* “Yeah, it was definitely the guy. D***, how much weed did he smoke?”

(Turns out A LOT. I had to spray the WHOLE STORE just to try to get rid of the smell, and it still didn’t completely go away for a while.)