I had a brief stint working as a barman in one of Glasgow’s trendier pubs, and as I didn’t drive at the time, I relied on buses to get to and from work. I met some interesting characters on the night buses after midnight, but this story is about the one time somebody tried to mug me, and I’m only telling it because it was utterly bizarre.

After one particularly long shift, followed by a drink with my colleagues, it was about 1:00 am, and I was mentally and physically exhausted. I was standing at my usual bus stop listening to music on my headphones. After a few minutes, somebody walked over, stood in front of me, and smirked at me from an uncomfortably close distance. 

Me: “What is it?”

Would-Be-Mugger: “Phone, wallet, headphones. Now.”

Now, I don’t recommend what I did next but, as I said, it had been a long day and the guy didn’t have any obvious weapon.

Me: “F*** off.”

Would-Be-Mugger: “What?!”

Me: “You heard me. F*** off.”

I was ready for a fight at this point, so I had taken my headphones off, but I wasn’t expecting what happened next.

Would-Be-Mugger: “Oh, umm, hahaha! I nearly got you?! Aye, you’re right. I watched a show today about a guy who pretended to mug people just to see what reaction they would get, but you’re right. It’s late, it’s dark, and people are going to think I’m serious. Would you like some chewing gum, by the way?”

Me: “No, I don’t want any chewing gum. Get lost.”

He ran off down the street, never to be seen again. It was a bizarre end to a long shift.

Related:
When They Act Tough, You Call Their Bluff, Part 2
When They Act Tough, You Call Their Bluff

I work in a hotel. A week or so ago, a newly hired housekeeper found a .357 Magnum with the hammer cocked in one of the rooms and freaked out. She called the head housekeeper, who grabbed it without gloves (she got in trouble for that) and took it to the office. The police were called and they took it away.

Our hotel is a budget hotel and used to be a lot worse where violence, drugs, sex work, and crime in general are concerned. Our new management has been cracking down on that and issuing Do-Not-Rents as necessary — a lot, sadly. The last gun violence that occurred here was two years ago when a murder fugitive had a shootout with police and died. Since then, we’ve had the occasional high-strung guest point a gun at staff, but nothing beyond that.

Today, a young guy with multiple facial tattoos walks in. There is a ton of cursing on his side but I’m not going to type that all out; it’s in nearly every sentence.

Guy: “I stayed in room last week, and I forgot my gun. I need it back.”

Me: “Okay. Can I have your ID, please?”

I know the room wasn’t registered to him; it was registered to a single female with no other guests listed.

Guy: “Why? I just need my gun back.”

Me: “I need to verify your identity before I can give out information for your room, sir, for security purposes.”

Guy: “What?! That’s stupid. I forgot my gun. I told you it was there, and I know you have it. No one else asked you for a gun, just me, so why do I need an ID?”

Me: “Again, sir, it’s for security purposes and the safety of our guests. I am not allowed to release private information to anyone other than the registered guests. I am not going to violate that policy, especially where firearms are concerned. If you cannot produce a valid ID, I cannot release any information. I’m sorry.”

Guy: “I know you have my gun, and you’re not going to give it to me. That’s stealing! I’m going to stand here until you give me back my property.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t allow loitering.”

Guy: “I’m not loitering! You’re not giving me my stuff!”

Me: “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave before I call the police and have them escort you off the property.”

Guy: “Then call them! I don’t care!”

So, I called them, and they arrived fairly quickly. After forty-five minutes or so, they arrested him and took him away. I’m guessing he either had a warrant or was a felon in possession of a firearm. I’m not sure why it took so long to identify him, though.

I work at a gun store. A customer comes in with his girlfriend to look at a few guns. I display each one and explain the features and the different calibers we have them available in.

Customer: “Okay, let’s do that one.”

The girlfriend then proceeds to ask for a gun form.

Me: “I can’t do that; it’s against the law.”

Customer: “But I’m not filling it out. I can’t buy a gun since I’m a felon. She’s going to buy it for me.”

Me: “Exactly. I can’t do that; it’s against the law.”

Customer: “But she’s not a felon.”

Me: “But she’s buying the gun for you?”

Customer: “Yeah, I’m a felon; I can’t buy a gun.”

Me: “It’s against the law to buy a gun for someone who can’t purchase one.”

Customer: “Call your manager over!”

The customer then tells my manager that I’m racist, classist, and liberal and won’t sell them a gun. My manager is legally obligated to back me up, so this doesn’t work.

He then sends his girlfriend in on her own.

Girlfriend: “I’m here to buy [Gun] for myself.”

Yes, because you weren’t just in here trying to illegally buy a gun for a felon. I am that stupid. I explain that I can’t do this.

Girlfriend: “I don’t understand why this matters! Money is changing hands, so just sell me a gun, a**hole!”

They did not get their gun — at least not from me.

My husband and I stopped at a beer distributor that offers a “pick six” option where you can mix and match beers for the same price as a six-pack. While we were debating which new beers to try, a younger couple came in. The girl pushed me out of the way to get to a particular beer.

Me: “Um, excuse you.”

Girl: “You were in my way.”

Me: “And grownups say, ‘Excuse me,’ when that happens.”

The girl rolled her eyes and kept stepping in front of me every time I moved. Her boyfriend laughed and encouraged her. Finally, I told my husband I’d had enough and just wanted to go. We took our beer to the register, which had two sides to approach but only one cashier.

Cashier: “Hi, guys, did you find everything today?”

Me: “Ah, I guess.”

Cashier: “You guess?”

The other couple approached the register on the other side, behind the cashier.

Husband: “It’s not your fault. There was a rude customer.”

He subtly gestured to the couple. The cashier looked behind her and then back to us.

Cashier: “Would you like me to go get you anything in particular? It’ll only take a second.”

Me: “No, that’s okay. Thank you.”

The cashier proceeded to ring us out. I glanced over at the younger couple and saw the girl sliding sixteen-ounce cans of beer up her coat sleeve while her companion stuffed a bunch of lollipops in his pockets. I’m not one for confrontation, but I’d had enough.

Me: “Hey!”

Guy: “What?”

Me: “How much are those?”

Girl: “How much are what?” *To her companion* “Babe, don’t even answer.”

Husband: “Excuse me? You jus—”

Me: “It’s okay, my mistake.” *To the cashier* “I thought, with the way he’s filling his pockets with those lollipops, they might be free.”

The cashier spun around to see two horrified young faces.

Girl: “You lying c***!”

Guy: “Yo, f*** you, b****!” *To the cashier* “You gonna let her talk to us like that?”

Cashier: “Certainly not, but since I can see the lollipops sticking out of your pocket and your girlfriend’s arms have grown considerably since you came in, I’m going to have to ask you to step aside and wait for the police to resolve this.”

I never found out what happened to them, but I like to pretend justice was served and they learned their lesson. Probably not, but I can dream, right?

I run a small non-profit cat rescue. My mother-in-law has had cats her whole life but never bothers to take them to the vet for anything. As such, she always has kittens around, and her cats are always dying from flea bites and other completely preventable issues.

One day, she comes to the rescue.

Me: “Hi, [Mother-In-Law]. What’s going on?”

Mother-In-Law: “Someone called the police and told them I was hoarding cats. Now I have to get them all vaccinated and fixed or I’ll pay a fine.”

Me: “Okay, I can give you some low-cost resources if—”

Mother-In-Law: “Why can’t you just do it?”

Me: “Oh, you want to surrender them?”

Mother-In-Law: *Dramatic sigh* “No. I want you to fix them and give them back. Don’t you have some kind of cheap connections?”

Me: “I have vets I work with, but I’m not going to use my donations and resources for cats I’m not taking care of. I’m sorry, but—”

Mother-In-Law: “So, you don’t actually care about cats. I get it. Fine. I’ll just put them all down.”

I know she won’t, and I know she has the money to get them fixed; she just doesn’t want to deal with it. I decide to call her bluff.

Me: “That’s your choice. Have a nice day.”

Mother-In-Law: “Are you serious?”

Me: *Shrug* “I offered resources to do it yourself and you said no. If you aren’t surrendering them to the rescue, there’s nothing I can do for you.”

Mother-In-Law: “You are disgraceful!”

She stormed out.

A few hours later, my husband called and asked why his mother was demanding we get a divorce. I explained everything, and he sided with me.

She did not get her cats fixed, so the animals were removed from her care. As a little extra shot, the person who removed the cats called Child & Youth Services, and her family is now under investigation for child neglect and endangerment because her house was covered in cat poop and a complete wreck.