When I was seventeen or eighteen, I worked full-time as a waitress at a very popular chain pizza restaurant. Around three months in, I was promoted to supervisor as I worked more hours than anyone else in the front of house and knew my way around the restaurant very well.

After about six months of working there, a new second supervisor was hired who had apparently worked there a few years prior. I had just gotten into work, a day after getting a new tattoo, and was showing it to an old friend from school who also worked there. [New Supervisor] walked up and interrupted our conversation. Let it be known that we had only ever said, “Hello,” to each other ONCE when she was hired and hadn’t spoken anything else to one another.

New Supervisor: “That’s hideous. Worst choice for a first tattoo, honestly.”

Coworker: “Wow, that’s rude. What the h***?”

Me: “Well, it’s a good thing it’s on me and not you, I guess.”

I walked away to avoid any other conversation, and she ended her shift shortly after, as I was taking over for the dinner shift. That night, when counting the till, we were under by about $50. We came to realize that [New Supervisor] had voided and refunded an order without punching it into the computer, so the system was displaying the total we should have had, instead of what we did have. The owner spent an hour sorting it out as we had already processed the sales for the day, and all was fine after that, albeit annoying.

About two weeks later, my coworker/friend approached me.

Coworker: “Hey, [My Name], did you see the schedule for next week? [New Supervisor] crossed off half your shifts and replaced them with her name, and vice versa. Apparently, you’re scheduled to work opening instead of closing on New Year’s Eve now.”

I walked to the office and saw that she had indeed swapped all our schedules. Being fresh out of high school, I definitely needed the tips that came with the dinner service, especially on New Year’s Eve. After that shift was our Christmas/New Year’s staff party, and as I lived forty minutes from the restaurant, I didn’t want to have to go all the way home mid-day just to have to come back that evening anyway. I spoke to the owner and he reprinted the original schedule, with a big note that said, “DO NOT CHANGE THE SCHEDULE WITHOUT MANAGEMENT’S PERMISSION.” Problem solved, right? Wrong.

New Year’s Eve rolled around, and I was greeted at 10:15 am with a phone call from panicking kitchen staff there to start up the store and turn on the ovens to open for 11:00 am, including preparing over a dozen multi-pizza pre-orders to be ready for noon. Apparently, [New Supervisor] no-showed for her shift and there was no supervisor on-site, meaning no key to get in and no voids, refunds, or anything could be processed without our special codes, nothing. Nobody could reach [New Supervisor] on the phone, so I agreed to work a double shift and headed in with my NYE outfit in my backpack.

The day went by without issue until 5:00 rolled around — my original scheduled time — and in walked [New Supervisor] in her work uniform. I didn’t actually see her come in as I was covering two sections due to the no-show, so I was too busy to see until I went into the back to print a receipt.

New Supervisor: “I’m here now, so you can clock out and leave.”

Me: “Uh, no? You no-showed so I picked up a double shift. [Owner] already okayed it. We’ve got this covered.”

New Supervisor: “Well, I’m here now and I need the money, so leave!”

Me: “I’m gonna go get [Owner].”

When I tell you the owner was not happy about being called away from setting up for our staff party at his other restaurant, I mean it. He walked in the back absolutely red in the face and stared at [New Supervisor].

Owner: “Let me get this straight. You no-call, no-show, and show up whenever you please afterward? I already told [My Name] she could have a double shift today. Go home.”

New Supervisor: “I changed the schedule! She said we could switch for today. It wasn’t my fault she was late.”

Me: “I never said we could switch. [Owner] changed the schedule back when I pointed it out.”

Owner: “[New Supervisor], leave now. You’re still on your probationary period, so I need to consider what to do with you going forward. This isn’t acceptable.”

I walked back out front to take care of my tables and customers. I saw [Owner] and [New Supervisor] emerge about ten minutes later. [Owner] pulled me aside and said [New Supervisor] was going to take over one of my two sections to help out. The restaurant was packed, the waiting line was out the door, and the phones were going nuts with delivery orders anyway, so it would have been a help.

A table of my regulars came in and I input their usual order: spaghetti and meatballs, and a large pepperoni pizza. Thirty minutes later, they asked how long it would be. I apologized profusely due to how busy we were and headed to the kitchen to check. The head cook told me that order had been voided two minutes after it was sent in, so they didn’t make it. Yep, you guessed it: only one other person could void orders with the special supervisors’ code only she and I had. I went onto the computer and saw that EVERY ORDER I had put in over the last thirty minutes had been voided only minutes after it had been put in, but I was running around too much and the kitchen was too busy for either of us to check in on one another.

[New Supervisor] approached me, in front of HUNDREDS of customers, and started laughing loudly, saying how bad of a server I was and how I should just have gone home when she told me to, that this was a lesson for me, etc. By this time, the nearly deafeningly loud restaurant was dead silent and staring at us.

One by one, the customers got up and left while [New Supervisor] desperately tried to stop them. The waiting area cleared out, as well. By the time the commotion stopped, only around ten out of the 120-plus customers remained. I packed my stuff and started to walk out. Four cooks and two servers followed me out, quitting on the spot. 

Word traveled fast, and out of the fifteen total staff members the restaurant had, only five showed up to the Christmas/NYE party.

[Owner] called me up and asked what had happened. I explained, and he said, “I see,” and hung up.

I returned the next day first thing in the morning to hand in my keys and key card to the owner. All the dirty dishes were still on the tables and [Owner] was there with his sleeves rolled up, looking at a mountain of receipts. After our call, he had gone in and fired [New Supervisor] on the spot. After doing the math, he had lost over $1,500 in unpaid bills due to the customers walking out after [New Supervisor]’s scene. He also found over $700 was missing from the till over the time [New Supervisor] had been working there; she would void orders after they were delivered and pocket the cash for herself. 

I didn’t end up returning to that restaurant, although I felt really horrible about the situation, but my mental health had gone severely downhill and I would have been put on medical leave anyway.

Someone who knew [New Supervisor]’s family personally updated me a year later. She ended up being on drugs and stealing from both of her jobs to feed that habit. She also stole from her parents, and she got arrested not long after getting fired for drug trafficking and possession. Karma, I guess?

I had a customer that threatened to blow up the place I was working at. He was walking around in circles, talking quite nastily to himself and then to us at the counter where I was working. Every so often, he would stop and address me.

Customer: “You have your fingers in the register. You’re stealing from this place. You have to be. And so are all these other people!”

He gestured at my coworkers. He told me “his angels” were telling him all sorts of things.

I wasn’t the manager, but I was the oldest of the girls at the front and I think the manager was down the back of the shop. I stupidly stepped around the counter.

Me: “Sir, I need your name. The police are coming soon.”

I wanted to back away slowly, but the other workers were younger and all scared and I couldn’t make myself leave. I asked the guy his name enough times that he actually began to slowly back away to the door. But he was still walking in circles violently. I had never been more glad that our tables and chairs were bolted to the floor!

Eventually, the guy left, and by the time the police got there, they were only able to take statements and descriptions, and the guy was long gone by then.

But I have to say, I have never wanted to back away slowly from anyone more than that person that day!

I was looking at Facebook when my friend’s grandma sent me a friend request. I didn’t read her warning that she was being scammed and that you shouldn’t accept her request. I accepted it anyway, and we hopped right onto the chat.

Scammer: “Hello.”

Me: “Hi?”

Scammer: “Have you heard the news?”

Me: “What news?”

Scammer: “The Federal Agent FBI news.”

I knew at once this was a scammer, so I decided to play around with them.

Me: “No, I haven’t. What is the news?”

Scammer: “They have warned everyone in your State about your Credit Card Number being stolen. I am here to ensure that your Credit Card Number is safe. To verify, inform me of your Credit Card Number and we will prevent it from getting stolen.”

Me: “I see. And, what would my state be?”

Scammer: “Um… Kentucky?”

I couldn’t help but laugh a little.

Me: “I’m sorry, but that’s not my state.”

The scammer didn’t completely give up.

Scammer: “That is beside the point! Your Credit Card is at risk. To keep it safe, inform me of its number so we can help.”

Me: “Yes, I see. But why are you claiming to be a credit card specialist when it says you are my best friend’s grandma? Do you think I don’t know that you’re a scammer?”

There’s a pause in replies for a moment.

Scammer: “Ma’am, I am trying to help you.”

Me: “Sir, I am a lawyer, so please tell me your location and I will get police on the spot.”

The scammer disappeared. I couldn’t help but laugh; I am actually a lawyer.

I’m in high school in the early 2000s. There has been an announcement that we will all stay in our current class — in my case, Spanish — until further notice due to a lockdown. We have had lockdown drills before, so that’s what we think it is. The classroom is off the central courtyard where we eat lunch, and there’s a giant window.

Teacher: “That’s odd. Normally, they tell teachers if there’s a drill.”

She locks the door to the classroom, shoves a couple of chairs in front of the door, and motions to a classmate to turn off the lights. About forty-five minutes later…

Classmate #1: “This is a long drill. I’m hungry.”

Classmate #2: “Did we miss the all-clear?”

Classmate #3: “I hear voices outside. I bet we missed it.”

Teacher: “I’ll call the office.”

She picks up the phone. I see movement out the window in the courtyard out of the corner of my eye. I turn my head to see what it is.

Me: “Um…Señora [Teacher], there are cops in the courtyard.”

Teacher: “What?!”

Everyone turned toward the window. Not only were there cops, but there was also a SWAT team with guns drawn heading toward our side of the building. My teacher dropped the phone, let out an exclamation in Spanish, and ordered us all to get down. We dropped to the floor. We stayed like that for another thirty minutes until an all-clear is finally given. We found out later that a kid had brought a BB gun to school and told his friends that it was a real gun. Hence, the lockdown.

I’m just a witness to the story, and I live in a pretty “out in the boondocks” area of Montana.

It’s a Friday night (years before the global issue) and I’ve just come back from the movies. That soda hit me pretty hard, so I make an emergency stop at a gas station to take care of business.

I come out, hear the beep of someone coming in the door, and then… clopping noises?

My eyes are probably the size of saucers as I peer around the shelves full of junk food, and sure enough, there’s a brown and white horse inside the gas station. But Flicka isn’t just out on a wander tonight; a guy wearing a T-shirt, blue jeans, and a tan cowboy hat is perched on the horse’s back, having ducked to get through the door.

I’m struggling to process why a guy just rode a horse INTO a convenience store when the convenience store clerk gets his wits together faster than I do.

Clerk: “Uh… Dude… Why are you riding a horse in the store?”

Man: *Slurring a little* “I needed more beer and I was too drunk to drive.”

Because that makes sense.

I was kind of trapped at this point because the horse was standing right in the doorway. I had NO desire to try squeezing past 1,000 pounds of animal that might or might not take exception to me being within kicking distance.

The clerk and the drunk guy start arguing with one another, as while those on horseback cannot be arrested for “driving under the influence,” he could not just ride the horse around inside the store. The drunk guy was arguing that he could not tie the horse up outside, so he just wanted the clerk to let him get his beers with the horse in tow. It went downhill as the clerk refused to sell more alcohol to a person who had already confessed to being drunk.

I ultimately just decided to stand and vibe as the two went back and forth. Then, a vehicle pulled up outside. A local officer got out and just stopped to stare at the giant horse butt in the doorway.

I was looking past the horse at the officer, and our eyes just kind of met. I slowly spread my hands in a shrug. The officer gave a slow facepalm as if to say, “This is going to be that kind of night.”

The officer then cleared his throat and coaxed the man (with horse) back outside, and the two started to have a long discussion. I was finally allowed to escape, so I don’t know how it ended, but I will say that someone drunk driving a horse into a gas station is one of the more interesting encounters I’ve had.