I have been trying to solve a caller’s Internet issues for about half an hour, but they absolutely refuse to troubleshoot and insist on having a technician sent over. Finally, they explode.

Caller: “Send someone over to fix this right now! I have a loaded gun with me right now, and I will go over there and go crazy unless you send someone!”

Me: “Well, sir, I didn’t realize you were that type of customer. I will arrange to have some people over there very soon.”

Caller: “About f****** time! Tell them to hurry the f*** up to make up for your time-wasting.”

Me: “Oh, sir, don’t worry. I’ll explain the… urgency… of your situation so clearly that whoever I send will probably be running the red lights.”

Caller: “D*** straight!” *Click*

The police arrested him within half an hour.

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I work for a breakdown and towing service that, among others, has a contract with a few luxury and high-end car brands. If one of their cars breaks down, we tow it and provide the customer with a replacement vehicle for the duration of the repairs. For this purpose, we have a number of luxury cars that we give out as replacements. They may not be the exact same car as the one that’s broken down, but they’re high-end luxury cars all the same.

One fine day, we’re delivering a replacement car to a customer whose car is in the garage for a lengthy repair. Our driver arrives, rings the doorbell, and explains that he’s delivering a vehicle. So far, so good, right?

The customer, upon finding a replacement car not quite exactly like the one that’s currently in for repairs, becomes enraged. He takes one of his other cars, blocks the gate to his estate so our driver can’t leave, and releases his dogs.

Our driver manages to barricade himself inside his truck and calls the police, who arrive in force to liberate him. The customer is arrested, our driver files a formal complaint against him, and we ban the customer for the rest of his life.

All this over a replacement car that was the wrong model of luxury car…

CONTENT WARNING: Child Abuse

There’s a big, limited-time sale on a certain kitchen appliance that I want. I go to the store to get it.

When I get to the aisle it’s in, there’s one left on the shelf. There’s another woman browsing in the aisle, and she’s got a large child, maybe three or four, with her. She’s carrying him against her hip. There’s no one else in the aisle.

I grab the appliance I want and start leaving the aisle.

Woman: “Hey, you! That’s mine.”

“Then you should have grabbed it yourself,” I think. I don’t verbally reply, though; I’ve long since learned it’s a bad idea to engage with these types of people.

Woman: “Hey! Listen to me when I’m talking to you!”

I keep walking.

Suddenly, something slams into my back and knocks me into the shelves. The shelves are, apparently, not very well anchored. Product goes flying.

I’m mentally disorganized by the blow. I remember clutching at my box and attempts being made to pry the box out of my hands. I also remember essentially attempting to crawl under the fallen shelf because it seems “safer”.

The next thing that I remember clearly is several store employees around us and the woman screaming that I broke her child’s arm.

I glance at the child, expecting this to be some sort of exaggeration, and notice that his arm does not look right. I’m not a doctor, so I have no idea if it was broken, dislocated, or what, but that arm looks WRONG.

I then notice that the store employees are mostly ringed around me like they expect me to be some sort of violent menace.

Me: “What happened?”

Employee: “She says that you had some sort of violent episode, attacked her and her child, and knocked the shelves over on them. Are you okay, sir?”

I reply while attempting to stand up:

Me: “I feel like I’ve been… I feel like I’ve been… I didn’t attack anybody.”

Employee: “The police and paramedics are on the way, and we’re pulling the security footage. Please don’t stand up.”

Me: “Okay.”

The store manager gets there before the police do. He mutters something to his employees, and soon they’re circled around the woman instead of me. She doesn’t seem to have noticed the change.

The police arrive next. The store manager talks to them, and they arrest the woman. She rages the whole time about how they should be arresting me and how I hurt their kid.

One of the officers kneels next to me.

Officer: “Can I take your witness statement?”

Me: “Yeah, but I still don’t quite understand what just happened.”

Officer: “Tell me your version first, and then I’ll explain what we saw on the security footage, okay?”

Me: “Okay.”

I tell them, essentially, the first portion of this story.

Officer: “Well, on the security footage, it looks like she hit you with her child.”

Me: *Pauses* “I’m sorry, what?”

Officer: “Yeah, she grabbed her kid by his legs and slammed him into your back.”

Me: “F***.”

Officer: “Would you like to press charges?”

Me: “Yes.”

The paramedics got there next. They took both me and the child to a hospital… in separate ambulances. For me, nothing was broken, and none of my injuries were an immediate risk to my health. I asked about the child, but I was told that medical privacy laws meant they couldn’t even tell me if the child ended up at the same hospital as me, let alone if the child was “okay” or not.

I later was asked to give a deposition in preparation for a court trial, but when I showed up for my scheduled deposition, I was told that the trial had been canceled because the woman took some sort of plea bargain. I was not told any details of the plea bargain.

I was bartending at a basement bar venue that was a decent-sized place. We had two bartenders and a barback on this particular Sunday. The other bartender was my favorite type of guy to work with: jaded and surly with a sense of humor.

The barback, however, had been setting off red flags since he’d started a few months before. He just kind of seemed like a sketchy druggie. I started hearing that he was asking for advances on his check to buy coke and getting yakked up in the broom closet. I trusted the people telling me these things, but I always verify for myself, so I started paying closer attention to him.

I noticed that [Barback] would sweep behind the bar toward the end of the night, which I would never do when I was a barback. You wash dishes and stock as directed by the bartenders; you generally don’t belong behind the bar unless you are bartending. But I wasn’t trying to be a jerk to the guy for sweeping.

Tips had been feeling light for a little while, but I never had a smoking gun until the night in question. I was counting up our tips to split between [Bartender], [Barback], and myself when I realized I only had four $20s. The problem is that when I adjusted all my credit card tips, I pulled out five $20s, and that wasn’t counting [Bartender]’s $20s.

I announced that something was off. [Barback] started to sweat. The owner went to check the camera and, sure enough, saw [Barback] go in for his signature sweep behind the bar right after we pulled our credit card tips. As soon as our backs were turned, this slimy motherf***er dipped his hand into the tip bucket and took $100 out.

[Owner] told him to give it back now or deal with the cops. He had it stashed away in a shadowy corner like the rat he was.

He got fired immediately. [Bartender], [Owner], and I spent the next couple of hours drinking and cursing [Barback]’s name. Every time the conversation would change topic, someone would bring it back with, “I can’t believe that motherf***er!”

As a bonus, a couple of weeks later, I was taking inventory in the beer walk-in — kegs and over a hundred different bottles and cans — and in a half-empty six-pack, I found a phone matching one that had gone missing from a server’s purse. [Barback] had been working the night the server’s phone went missing, and the stashing behavior matched up, too.

There’s no worse Karma in the restaurant industry than stealing from your coworkers.

My boyfriend and I work at the same restaurant; he is a server and I am a food expeditor on the weekends. On Saturday and Sunday brunch, we have a bottomless mimosa bar with champagne on ice, juices, and various fruits to add to your drink.

My boyfriend has a man and woman come in, and they order the bottomless mimosas with their meal. They finish their meal, pay, and they leave out the side door in the dining room, which is locked — weird but okay.

As soon as they leave, however, the table that was next to them calls [Boyfriend] over and immediately snitches on them. Guess they thought bottomless meant they could take as many bottles of champagne as they wanted home. They were caught on camera shoving four bottles in their coats and purse, which is why they left through the side door instead of the front door.

The very next Sunday, guess who comes in? Same guy, same woman!

Enter my boyfriend, who immediately recognizes them as they get seated at his table again. He notifies his manager and proceeds to greet the table.

Boyfriend: “It’s so great to see you again this Sunday!”

They start getting a little nervous. The boss lady comes over with a bill for four bottles of champagne at twenty dollars each.

Boss: *Politely* “The bottomless mimosas are for dine-in only.”

The woman looked like a deer in headlights, and the guy started trying to argue that he hadn’t taken any bottles home with him, etc. Without a word, the manager pulled out her phone, and the video she had saved of them stealing the bottles on camera played for them.

The guy immediately shut up and handed over his card, and they left, never to be seen again.