We had a cleaning lady who came by every week. Things started off rocky when, after her first visit, she left a note asking if we could “tidy up” more before she came and maybe vacuum, as well. We were like, “Excuse us? That’s what you are for.”

So, we let it slide, and for a few months things went well. We would leave the money on the counter, she would come in while we were at work — we gave her a key when we hired her — and she would clean, take the money, and leave.

But after a few months, my husband lost his job. Because it was only temporary, we decided to keep on the cleaner rather than fire her and rehire once he had a new job. During that period, whenever the cleaner came over my husband would go out swimming or something until she had finished.

One day, however, circumstances were such that he came home after only two hours. Lo and behold, the cleaner had left, taking the full four hours’ worth of money with her!

The next week, my husband returned early again, planning to claim he “forgot something,” and after only an hour and a half she was gone already. We called her asking for an explanation. She claimed she had to “pick up her child from work” and that “she didn’t take any breaks so she finished early.”

Now, you can take as many breaks as you want, but if you are being paid for four hours of work, that doesn’t mean you get to skip off after two hours and leave stuff unfinished.

After a few more repeats of this, we decided to fire her. I told my husband to wait until the next time she came over, hand her the money for that day, request our key back, and tell her not to come back.

Sadly, he’s a bit spineless and prefers to avoid confrontation, so he fired her over social media and asked her to bring by the key.

Two weeks went by and there was no word from the cleaner and no key. We started to get somewhat worried, as we live in an apartment building, and that key opens the main entrance and the shared garage. As such, if one of the keys is unaccounted for, all the locks in the building have to be replaced, costing upwards of 10,000 euros.

Since we willingly gave the key away, our insurance wouldn’t cover it and we were liable. In a last-ditch attempt, we call our legal insurance — basically insurance that supplies a lawyer when you need one.

We explained the situation, and they told us that technically this didn’t fall under our coverage, but they were having a quiet day, so they’d give the cleaner a call.

That evening the cleaner called us, panicking because a lawyer claiming to represent us had left her a voicemail claiming to investigate a lost key. She then claimed that she mailed our house key, by post, and it must have gotten lost in the mail. She promised that she would call the mail company in the morning to ask them to investigate.

We were livid at this point, as truly nobody could be so stupid or careless as to mail a key to the house it unlocks. Two days later, she called and claimed that the post office had miraculously found our key and mailed it back to her. If there was the tiniest chance she was telling the truth, that spoiled it right there; no way in hell the post office is that fast or efficient.

She asked if she could come by that evening to drop it off and insisted we take a picture of her handing it over as proof.

And that is how our lawyer saved us 10,000 euros and helped us catch a crooked cleaner in the act.

(A woman is brought into our hospital and upon checking her personal items, the staff discover illegal drugs on her. They call us — campus police — to take possession of the drugs and file the evidence. We process a warrant for her arrest for possession of controlled substances and wait for her to be discharged. The arrest goes smoothly and we think nothing of it… until the next day when I receive a phone call in dispatch from a woman stating we have her property and she wants it back. I ask her what property she’s needing, as we don’t typically keep property; it is transferred to the jail.)

Woman: “You have my drugs.”

Me: “Excuse me?” *thinking I MUST have heard her wrong*

Woman: “You took my drugs, and I paid for them, and I want them back!”

Me: “Ma’am, we took your illegal drugs and they are now evidence of a crime. You’re not getting them back.”

Woman: “But I paid for them! They’re mine!”

(She then spent a good five minutes arguing with me that we should give her drugs back to her because she “paid” for them.)

(I’m working in customer retention for a major automobile insurance company. This caller has threatened to cancel her policy because she doesn’t like the price, so she is transferred to me.)

Customer: “I need you to reduce my premium. I was transferred to you because the person I just talked to wouldn’t do it and he said you could. You can start by changing my address from [Inner City Area] to [Residential Suburb] where my sister lives, because she pays less for insurance there.”

Me: “Have you relocated to that address?”

Customer: “Of course not! I don’t want you to change where I live, just the address for my car!”

Me: “Your insurance cost is based in part on where your car is kept for greater than 50% of the time, so the address won’t be updated.”

Customer: “I also need you to change the description of my car from a 2-door to a 4-door, and the year to [a few years’ older].”

Me: “Have you changed vehicles?”

Customer: “No, but I know it costs less to insure an older car; just change it!”

Me: “The insured vehicle will also not be changed on this policy.”

Customer: “Why does everyone keep arguing with me and asking so many questions?! I already explained to that other guy that I know what I’m doing. Just make the changes; he said you could help me!”

Me: “Your car’s Vehicle Identification Number indicates the year, make, and model and can’t be overridden. Our rates and rating factors are filed with the state department of insurance and have been reviewed and approved. All of the information used to rate your policy, including your address, the location of your car, and the vehicle insured need to be accurate to be in compliance. I am not going to falsify information; by asking me to do so you are requesting that I be a party to insurance fraud. If I were to participate, I’d risk losing my insurance license and my job, and face the possibility of a hefty fine against myself and my company. Now, I see you were provided a review which did result in an additional discount added, which will save you [amount], and I can take another look to see if anything was overlooked.

Customer: “It wasn’t enough, and nothing’s really changed. I just want to save more money. Just do your job and make those changes for me; it’s not like I’m asking you to do anything illegal!”

(I live in a dense and popular neighbourhood where a lot of gentrification has been going on — old houses coming down and flashier new ones going up. I live next to a house which has been gutted in preparation for tearing it down. It is locked, since it is really old and the floors are collapsing, so it is very unsafe to go inside. I have detailed knowledge of the house structure and condition, since one of my cats constantly climbs up on the roof. We have to get a climbing crew in to get him down, since he only has one eye and no depth-perception, so he gets scared to come down. We do this about once a week. One day, I look out of my window and see a man forcing the way in with a crowbar. That door is about three metres from my window, so I see it very clearly. I call the police:)

Me: “I am calling to report someone breaking in into my neighbour’s house.”

Police Officer: “And how do you know he us breaking in and not just going in regularly?”

Me: “Well, you know when you watch someone breaking into a house in a movie? They do not have to caption what is happening for you to know.”

Police Officer: “Well, I would not like to come over and then have that be a good friend of the owner.”

Me: “He is opening the door with a crowbar.”

Police Officer: “Maybe he has the permission of the owner?”

(I do not recall what I said, but I managed to convince them to come out. They did come out, but by that time the wannabe squatter was inside and had closed the door behind him. The police stood around idly for a few minutes and decided all was good. I did not want to come out because I was scared the squatter might be aggressive, so I just seethed from my window. Apparently, somebody else called them again and they came out and so did the owner. They went in and took the squatter outside, and I could hear the discussion. The squatter saying it was open, and the policemen kept saying they had no clue who the real owner was, the squatter or the owner, and “they were not the court to decide that.” Having had enough, I went outside and told them that I saw him open the door with the crowbar and that I knew for certain that the door was locked because otherwise I would go and take my cat down on foot and not call climber crews every week. The police, however, just shrugged and moved on. The owner gave the squatter a look and told him that the house would be coming down in a few days, with or without him in it. After that, I always tell people not to be afraid someone will rob their home, but rather that someone would just come in and not leave.)

(I work in retail. Normally, I’m a cashier, but on this particular day my managers have assigned me to work the sales floor. The day starts off normally, and when it slows down, I make my way up to the front register to take a break. The head cashier sees me as I’m walking up, and I notice she looks slightly panicked.)

Coworker: *excited* “There are two city homicide detectives here.”

Me: “What?!”

Coworker: “Yeah, they’re in the manager’s office right now. They took a box of [Expensive Brand] boots in with them.”

Me: “Why?”

(One of my managers walks over and joins in on our conversation.)

Manager: “They found something.”

(My manager then told me that a week earlier, a family had entered our store and stolen a pair of high-priced fashion boots. They had taken off their old, worn boots, slipped on the new ones, and then put the old ones in the shoebox and left it on the shelf. Unfortunately, the old boots had bloodstains on them that had come from the victim of a homicide. The police had managed to track down the family, and one of them must have admitted to leaving the evidence shoes at our store. Those bloody boots had somehow managed to stay on our shelves, in the box, for nearly a week without anyone noticing. Even creepier, our store had surveillance footage of two other employees — and me — serving that family on the day of the theft, not knowing that we were talking to people who probably had intimate knowledge of a murder. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well that night.)