I used to work a part-time job in a library with a not-so-nice boss. She was extremely demanding, my wages were ridiculously low, and the work was extremely hard since the library had a skeleton crew and we were barely enough to run the library. Just a few months after I started working there, I quit for a full-time job.

One of my friends came to know of it thanks to social media. She asked me some questions about it, and I didn’t lie; I told her it was pretty awful. Since she really needed a job, she applied. I gave her information about the dress code, what she needed to know, the tasks, and so on. She got an interview very early in the morning (before sunrise in January).

I offered to coach her in the morning before the interview. However, when she arrived, she was on the verge of tears.

My awful boss had called her while she was on the train to tell her not to bother coming for the interview. 

I invited her home for a coffee. I told her about my worst days there, what my boss had asked me to do, the back-breaking tasks, the lack of training on the tasks, and my extremely low salary (from which my boss once deducted around 10% for a mistake I made, which is extremely illegal in Belgium), even though my meager wage was barely enough for me to live. I spared no details.

I tried my best to lift her mood. Since I had followed a job-searching training course after I left college, I gave her my notes. We also pimped up her CV. When she came home, she was in a much better mood.

She found a full-time job in a toy library closer to her place. I was much happier at my new job.

Warning: this story will likely make you itch — BAD.

I once had an insane experience with a scumbag landlord, hereafter known as Mr. Scumlord. I moved into a ten-story complex only to discover bedbugs! Mr. Scumlord feigned ignorance and refused to take care of it.

Me: “The apartment has bedbugs in it!”

Mr. Scumlord: “That’s funny; I haven’t received any complaints.”

Me: *Showing him pictures* “They’re literally crawling over each other along the baseboards!”

Mr. Scumlord: *Blank-faced* “That’s funny; I haven’t received any complaints.”

Me: “I’m complaining now! You need to call an exterminator!”

Mr. Scumlord: “I’ve run this apartment complex for years and I. Haven’t. Received. Any. Complaints. Pay the rent on time. I’m not giving you a discount, and I’m certainly not shelling out any money for a non-existent problem.”

Then, Mr. Scumlord shut the door in my face. I stared for just a moment, and then I went nuclear.

I immediately went to talk to my neighbors in my hallway, and of course, they were all dealing with bedbugs and had been for months. They’d been fighting with their own treatments, but since the entire building was infested, cleaning one apartment just made room for them to migrate back in later. Mr. Scumlord would simply stone-face at them and reply that there wasn’t a problem, refuse to accept or acknowledge a complaint, and tell the tenants to use their own treatments if they wanted to be hypochondriacs.

We all cussed and discussed (pun intended) before organizing to submit multiple complaints to License and Inspections. Word spread through the complex, and I got to talk to a LOT of neighbors from other floors. I learned that there was a leak in a wall that had been slowly growing worse, and the tenant was terrified that their bathtub was going to crash through the floor into the apartment below. (They had already warned the tenant below, and both had tried to complain.) I learned that if you touched the hanging lamp in one apartment’s dining room while the light was on, you’d get a shock. 

The stories just piled up, and people got excited when I told them where to lodge their complaints.

I’m sure you can imagine how very, very, VERY interested the city became in the absolute flood of complaints from the entire building, complete with photographic evidence of the bedbugs from all of them. The floors were literally crawling with the little bloodsuckers, and the edges of the room were black with droppings of digested blood.

The city quickly sent an inspector, and I gave her the door code to come and go as she pleased. Mysteriously, no matter how busy many tenants were, there was nearly always someone home during her visits to let her in to discuss concerns and take photographs. She inspected that ten-story building from top to bottom and found tons of other violations.

She insisted on a very expensive remediation process. Mr. Scumlord was told that if he didn’t follow the process, the city would immediately condemn the entire complex, as well as slam him with an a**-puckering set of fees. She was already dragging him over some very hot coals about tenants’ rights and how he was personally responsible for providing every tenant in the building accommodation while the complex was brought up to code.

Mr. Scumlord was soon eyebrows deep in renovations and treatments. I heard he eventually just ripped out the flooring and replaced it because the infestation was so bad that it couldn’t be cleaned.

I had to bag up all of my clothing and wash them. I had to throw out my mattress and nearly everything I owned because within days of moving in, they were all stained with bedbug fecal matter. I got out of the lease and moved; luckily, a friend of mine had a spare room I could stay in. 

Many tenants couldn’t do the same, so on top of the renovations, Mr. Scumlord had to find them places to live and ensure that no bedbugs migrated with the families. He’s not bankrupt yet, but some other properties he owns are apparently under scrutiny, as well, so fingers are crossed.

Related:
This Is Why People Have Big Feelings About Landlords, Part 2
This Is Why People Have Big Feelings About Landlords

A few years ago, I was on call for jury duty for three months. We were supposed to call in every week to see if we needed to report. Toward the end of the three months, there was a notice to report.

I arrived at the courtroom, checked in, took a seat, and waited… and waited. A friend joined me. She was a music teacher, and she was worried that she would get chosen as it was right before spring concert dates for her. 

The judge came out.

Judge: “People aren’t showing up for jury duty. We’re having to send sheriff’s deputies out to find people as we can’t start until we have enough potential jurors.”

A few more people straggled in, and they finally said we could start. The defendant and the lawyers came out and stood at their tables. The defendant started peeking back over his shoulder at all the people sitting in the courtroom. About the time the judge came out, the defendant leaned over and whispered something to his lawyer. The lawyer then asked to approach the bench. Both lawyers went up and talked to the judge for a couple of minutes. Then, they went back to their tables and gathered up their stuff, and they all left. 

The judge came over to the potential jurors.

Judge: “The defendant has decided to plead guilty. You are all free to leave. It’s fairly common for defendants to see all of the people here and change their minds.”

The defendant ended up getting a plea deal out of it, my friend didn’t have to miss her concerts, and I got paid for sitting in a courtroom for a few hours!

CONTENT WARNING: Armed Robbery

This happened when my girlfriend and I were eighteen, and we worked at the same store. Our store manager was a small, middle-aged lady who overall wasn’t a bad manager, but she had one big problem. She was terrible at dealing with shoplifters. I don’t know what the laws are in other countries and states, but where this took place, workers were not allowed to touch shoplifters or else they could sue our company. According to store policy, for safety reasons, we were not allowed to block or stand in the way of shoplifters. Our store manager regularly yelled at, confronted, harassed, and blocked shoplifters. She had gotten in trouble for it before, but she was good at her job and we had no replacements.

One morning, my girlfriend, the store manager, and I were all working in the store. My girlfriend was working the front register, managers are supposed to stay at the front, and I was in the back helping people if they needed something from our back room.

At some point, I came out of the back room and found [Manager] arguing with some woman, who was carrying a large bag that appeared to be empty. This person was a regular shoplifter in the plaza where the store was located. So, [Manager] had followed her all the way to the back of the store.

Shoplifter: “Stop following me!”

Manager: “I’m just here in case you need anything.”

[Manager] was constantly about five to ten feet away from her just cleaning up shelves.

This was nothing new, so I didn’t think much of it. The shoplifter asked for some items from the back, which I brought out to her because she hadn’t done anything wrong yet and I didn’t know she was a regular shoplifter. I was still being nice and cordial with her because that’s just how I work.

Afterward, I convinced [Shoplifter] to let me bring the items she had asked for to the front for her. We do this to prevent shoplifting by placing the items behind the counter of the register and not bringing them back up until they pay for them. When I got to the front, I began helping my girlfriend cut the line down and got on the other register.

As [Manager] and [Shoplifter] approached the front, they were getting more and more aggressive with each other. [Shoplifter] had begun grabbing items off of the shelves and stuffing them into her bag.

Shoplifter: “Now I’ll give you a reason to follow me!”

[Manager] started berating her and slapping items out of her hands onto the floor. [Shoplifter] then tried to leave out the front door, and [Manager] blocked the door, two feet in front of her. [Manager] told me to call the cops, so I did. This whole time, I was trying to ignore what was happening and help other people at checkout, and my girlfriend was doing the same. At the same time as I was trying to ring people up for their items, I was on the phone with the cops telling them the situation and the description of the shoplifter.

At some point, I looked over, and [Shoplifter] had pulled a gun out of her bag and was now pointing it at [Manager]’s head. As I relayed this new more terrifying situation to the operator, [Manager] continued to stand her ground and MOCKED HER GUN, saying the gun wasn’t real and that she was doing a poor job of threatening her. The operator was asking for descriptions of the gun; it was a small pistol with a sight accessory on the top.

[Shoplifter] then pointed the gun to the floor behind [Manager] and shot it, causing everyone to suddenly crouch down. I continued relaying this information to the operator. It was pretty loud but not as loud as normal firearms, and there was little to no flash. So, when she brought the gun back to point it at [Manager]’s head, she STILL didn’t believe it was real and was still berating her and blocking her from leaving the store.

A few seconds later, [Shoplifter] pushed past [Manager] and began running down the sidewalk. [Manager] FOLLOWED HER OUTSIDE and continued to yell at her as she ran away. I explained to the operator the direction she ran, and they said the police would be there soon.

At this point, I would like to mention that [Manager] owns many firearms and regularly takes them to firing ranges.

[Manager] walked back inside complaining about how the cops were still not there yet.

Manager: “People who do that are so funny. Like, don’t you think I can tell it’s not real?”

To which I pointed at the bullet casing lying on the ground. She picked it up, said, “Huh,” and set it on the counter. Then, she walked to the office to pull up a security camera of all this being caught on tape.

Not too long after, the cops arrived and said that they found someone hiding behind the building behind a dumpster. The cops gave [Manager] s*** for not closing the store immediately as people were still walking in and out. They took our statements and information, and I was taken around the back in the police car to verify that they had gotten the right person. They also found her bag and gun in nearby bushes.

For some reason, I was calm throughout the whole thing and still was afterward, but my girlfriend was freaking out and shaking, which is fair. I was glad I was there to help calm her down and hold her.

[Manager] asked the police when we could open the store back up, and she was told a minimum of two hours. She wanted to open back up immediately. The cops explained to all of us that we should never block shoplifters or confront them, and they told us to always assume the gun is real just in case.

And just like that, we reopened two hours later, and my girlfriend and I worked the rest of our shifts like nothing had happened.

Except for the entire front of the store being covered in and smelling like gunpowder dust.

I’m a driver for a rideshare service. I have a dashcam and a camera that points backward at both myself in the driver’s seat and at the back seat. My rideshare profile has that information on it, and I have signage on the inside of my car that the clients are being recorded for my safety and theirs. 

I picked up a client from a bar because he’d been drinking and needed a ride back home, and he was being responsible and not taking his own car. The ride was meant to only be about twenty minutes, and he seemed to be one of those cheerful drunk people who just kind of laugh a little too loud, but he was cracking jokes, making conversation, and not being overly obnoxious.

So far, so good, right?

Then, maybe five minutes into the ride, we stopped at a red light next to a police cruiser, and he noticed the cop. His demeanor changed, though when he started getting angry, it wasn’t at me, it was at the police. I didn’t really engage that much. People aren’t required to have good feelings about the police, after all, though he had some choice words that I won’t be repeating here. 

He wasn’t getting so belligerent that I felt like I was in any danger, and he seemed to calm down once the light turned green and the cop turned onto a different road. Still, he seemed to decide I needed an explanation that I didn’t ask for, so he told me the story about a time he was detained and arrested for having an expired license and that his charges were dropped because, and I quote:

Rider: “We don’t need a driver’s license to drive a car.”

Here’s where, admittedly, I make a mistake. Once I heard that, I flashed to several videos I’d watched over the years of Sovereign Citizens being arrested, and more than a few saying those exact words. It was then that I sort of mumbled, louder than I intended, and he heard me:

Me: “Oh, God, you’re one of those?”

Rider: *Angrily* “What?”

Again, I realize that I shouldn’t have said what I said out loud, but when I tried to apologize and de-escalate the situation, he went on a complete meltdown, kicking the back of the passenger seat, waving his arms around, and full-blown screaming at me because I was “a sheep” and “a government spy”, whatever that meant.

That was the point when I decided that it was time for the ride to end; he was raging so hard that it was making my car rock on its suspension. So, I pulled into a parking space at a gas station and made several attempts to ask him to get out of my car. He refused and continued to scream incoherently over my voice. Then, I decided to just get out of my vehicle and leave him alone in the back seat while I called the police.

His screams continued in the back of my car, though quite muffled, as he started getting red in the face. Other people at the gas station were staring, and it was all I could do to just shrug, as baffled as they were. A few asked what he was mad about, but I just said I didn’t know, which honestly didn’t feel like a lie since his rage seemed really disproportionate to my (admittedly kind of rude) words.

The whole time I stood outside my car talking to 911, the man in my car kept repeating, over and over again:

Rider: “Am I being detained?! I don’t consent to being detained!”

I tried to tell him several times that he could just open the door, it wasn’t locked — I was not going to open the door myself and risk him attacking me — and he wasn’t being detained. He refused to listen, his breath fogging the window as he mashed his face hard against the glass. To this day, I swear that left a permanent face mark that has refused to come off no matter what product I use.

It took several minutes before any police arrived, and later, I learned it was the same cop who had shared a red light with me earlier in the night because he recognized my car in passing. Still, I went up to him and explained what had happened. All the while, the man in my car had not let up on his tantrum, attracting a small crowd. 

Officer: “Is he locked in?”

Me: “No, sir, he can just open the door anytime he likes. I just got out because…” *gestures in my rider’s general direction* “…I didn’t think I was going to be able to help, and I didn’t feel safe opening the door for him.”

Officer: *Nods understandingly* “You got license, registration, and insurance on you? We need proof of ownership if we’re gonna trespass him out of your vehicle.”

Me: *Taking out my wallet* “I have my license here, but the other two documents are in the glove box, and…”

I gestured again at the full-grown, possibly drunk adult, whose voice had started becoming hoarse.

Officer: “Yeah, no, I get ya. I’m waiting for backup before tackling this situation, so do me a favor and hang out for a bit, yeah?”

I agreed, the officer handed my license to his partner to run it and my plates, and before too long, another cruiser pulled into the gas station. With four cops on the scene, my license was returned to me by the first officer, and he asked one last question.

Officer: “You have any information about why he might be like this?”

Me: “I picked him up from the bar around the corner, and I figured he was drunk, but I don’t think I’m qualified to make any… assumptions, I guess?”

The officer nodded.

Me: “I… think he might be a Sovereign Citizen guy?”

At these words, the officer and the other cops in earshot all collectively groaned, sighed, or rolled their eyes.

Officer: “Not that I don’t believe you, but why do you think that?”

Me: “During the ride, he said something about not needing a driver’s license to drive a car, and during… the whole thing here, he just kept screaming that he doesn’t consent to being detained. I’ve seen videos.”

The officer took a breath, closed his eyes, and then let it out before thanking me for my information and telling me to step away to give him and the rest of the cops room, just in case. Not needing to be told twice, I took several big steps away, as far as I could go while still being able to watch.

I think at this point the man had finally tired himself out; once the officer opened the door, he barely even made a token effort before falling limply out of my back seat. He was cuffed, lifted to his feet, and escorted by only two officers as he weakly rasped out protests and accusations, and other than one burst of energy that made him trip and fall, he was placed in the back of the cruiser without further incident. 

Once he was secured, I was able to get my registration and insurance, but the first officer said I was good; he had checked my tags against my license, and everything was in date and it was all under my name. I still offered my camera footage if he needed it, and he agreed, making a note of my phone number and asking me to make a copy.

Officer: “Did he damage your car at all?”

Me: *Checks* “Other than stomping dirt all over the back of the passenger seat and floorboard, no, I think it’s fine. I’ll give it a more thorough check later and let you know?”

Officer: “Yeah, sounds good to me. You stay safe out there.”

Me: “I’ll try my best, sir.”

Once the excitement wore off and I had explained what happened to the other folks who were still hanging around, I treated the officers to some coffee and doughnuts, which they thanked me for and drove off, taking the now — I think — passed out Sovereign Citizen with them.

And that was still only in the top ten craziest things that happened in my rideshare career.

Related:
Sovereign Citizen, Stupid Criminal
Sovereign Citizen, Stupid Coworker