I’m a lanky person in my early twenties, but back in middle school and high school, I took martial arts classes and managed to reach black belt. Now my “skills” are rusty as h***, and I am out of shape, but if needed I can fight.

I am currently in a struggling financial state, so when I do shop, I go for cheap. Since it’s getting cold and it’s raining a lot, I have on a gray jacket, black pants, and some black sneakers. I need some cereal I like, so I head up to the grand palace of [Big Retail Chain].

I’m browsing the games I can’t afford, seeing what’s new, what’s on sale, what the prices are if I want to save up, etc. I’m kneeling to look at the bottom shelf, and I hear a cough behind me — the kind for getting people’s attention — and I look up.

Me: “Oh, sorry, am I in your way? I’ll move.”

Man: “No, I need you to unlock the games. I want to get something for my son’s birthday.”

Me: “Oh, I don’t work here, so I don’t have the keys to unlock this. Sorry.”

Man: “Of course you say that. You young people ‘never work here’ when I need help.”

He does air quotes when he says that in a mocking tone.

Me: *Standing up* “Maybe the reason people tell you that is because they don’t work there. Nothing I am wearing is even blue, like the mandatory uniform here.”

Man: “You’re just hiding it under your jacket. Don’t lie to me! I know those are the pants they wear here.”

Me: “Black jeans? Sorry I am an edgy b**** and prefer dark colors.”

Man: “Excuses! Now help me. I am a paying customer, and the customer is always right!”

Having worked customer service-type jobs (mainly fast food) this irks me, but I at least have a response.

Me: “Sure. The thing is, all these companies are privately owned, and they can decide who is and isn’t a customer. Plus, I am, too, and my ‘always right’ words are to leave me alone. I just want to shop in peace.”

Man: “How dare you?! You millennials are always so rude!”

At this, I do laugh, since the youngest millennials are in their late twenties.

Me: “All right, dude, is this some prank? I’m Gen Z, I’m tired, and I do not have enough time for this, so leave me be, aight?”

With that, I walk away, but he starts to yell at me and grabs the hood of my jacket.

Man: “Don’t walk away from me, b****! I will have you know I can get you fired!”

I smack at his hand to prevent myself from being pulled off balance.

Me: “Buddy, I would quit fast enough to make your head spin. Threatening to get me fired from a place I’ve never worked does nothing. Back up, now!“

Man: “You hit me! How dare you?! Where is your manager?!”

At this point, an actual employee walks up, since it is getting loud, and before he can even ask what’s going on, the man goes off.

Man: “This employee hit me and wouldn’t help me! You need to make sure they get fired!”

Employee: “Okay, that sounds serious. Where is the employee who hit you?”

Man: “Right there!”

Aaaaand he points at me.

The employee looks confused and I decide this shouldn’t escalate more.

Me: “All right, my turn to talk. Hi. I was browsing, he thinks I work here, I told him I don’t, he grabbed my hood as I was walking away because he’s annoying me, and I smacked his hand away because he grabbed my clothes. Plus, he’s a good head taller than me — why would I hit someone bigger than me if they didn’t pick the fight?”

Man: “YOU LIAR! YOU REFUSE TO HELP ME!” *Points to the actual employee* “AND IF YOU LIE AND SAY THEY DON’T WORK HERE, I KNOW YOU ARE JUST COVERING FOR THEM! I WANT THE MANAGER!!”

The employee looks a bit scared. I don’t know his age but he looks a little younger than me, so this might be his first job.

Me: “Just get the manager, and just in case, I would suggest security since this guy is—”

The man cuts me off.

Man: “YOU THINK I’M CRAZY, HUH? YOU’RE PROBABLY GOING TO LIE TO GET ME THROWN OUT! WELL, I WON’T GO DOWN UNLESS I TAKE YOU WITH ME!”

And then he lunges at me. He pushes me to the ground and starts wailing on me. I pull my arms up to block my face, and Jesus, this dude packs a punch. If I was unlucky, he probably could seriously hurt me.

The employee runs off, and the man stops to try and yell at him. Since I know what I am doing, I take the time when he pauses to bring my elbow up into his gut. He doubles over, and I punch his nose. I honestly wish I’d broken it, but no luck. I slip out from under him and crawl back before I try and stand.

Man: “I’LL MAKE SURE YOU REGRET WHAT YOU DID TO ME!”

Me: “BACK OFF, YOU CRAZY F***ER! YOU ARE MUCH BIGGER THAN ME, AND I WILL USE ANY DIRTY TACTIC TO STOP YOU FROM HURTING ME, GOT IT?!”

He just screamed and charged me, trying to football tackle me. I tried to dodge, but because we were in the middle of an aisle, I couldn’t, and he grabbed me. He pushed me to the walls of the TVs and slammed me into them. I didn’t know what his plan was, and I didn’t want to get hurt and pay medical bills, so I tried slamming my elbows down on him. That didn’t work, so I then went to plan B and tried to hit his groin. I missed, but I hit close enough to make him go on guard, and that was when security showed up yelling.

I don’t remember all the words yelled, but as the security guard was trying to pull this guy off me, he pushed them back and slammed me back into the wall. This time, some of the TVs on display came crashing down, hitting me and this guy — mostly him, luckily — and I dropped down to the fetal position. As the man was pushing one of the now-broken TVs off him, I went for the groin punch. This time, I didn’t miss, and since his jewels got slammed with my full force, I just dipped. Security now had the upper hand and finally pushed this guy to the ground.

The end of the story is how you would expect: crazy dude got arrested and paramedics were called for me. Since I’m American, I did not want them called because bills, but good news: the worst injuries I had were some nasty-a** bruises and a few cuts and gashes from when the TVs fell. It was nothing a bandage or bandaid couldn’t fix. And since the only thing I was going to buy was a box of cereal, the manager (who was told about what had happened) gave me a 50% discount, so I felt good.

I really don’t get why these people get so angry they go to violence. [Big Retail Chain] is pressing charges against the guy, but I want nothing to do with it, so I won’t have an update on the court result.

One night, I stopped by a diner after work at about 10:00 pm. I was seated at the table and the waitress had taken my order. I heard a strange sound overhead, and the next thing I knew, I was covered in crumbled ceiling tile and pissed-off raccoons.

I screamed and started flailing. The raccoons screamed back. I got a lot of little claw marks and a few bites as they tried to get safely off of me without letting me pry them off.

I managed to get them off of me, and one of the chefs and the waitress chased them out the front door.

Nervously, the chef asked me if I still wanted my order and offered to comp it. I ate, and it was okay.

I got a rabies vaccine after, just in case.

I am an extremely lactose-intolerant person. I think I could actually die — not directly from the milk perhaps, but from hitting my head on a bathroom counter while keeling over in pain. I’ve passed out from the pain while clutching the cold bathroom floor.

One day, I was very hungry. I wasn’t thinking very clearly when I went into a smoothie shop, but I knew I couldn’t safely get home without eating.

Me: “Hi! What do you have here that is lactose-free?”

Clerk: “Free? Did you have a coupon?”

Me: “No… I mean that I can’t have any milk or any dairy.”

Clerk: “They don’t blend well without milk.”

Me: “…do you have a dairy substitute? Soy milk?”

Clerk: “Oh, sorry, I thought that counted as milk. Any of our smoothies can be made with [milk options].”

Me: “Great! I’m very sensitive to regular milk, though. Can you make sure that no milk other than the kind I ordered touches any of the containers used to make my smoothie?”

Clerk: “That’s not a problem; we run everything through a sanitizing dishwasher.”

Me: “Great! I’ll have the… Oh, I’m too hungry to think. What is your favorite?”

Clerk: “I like the Chocolate Mood.”

Me: “Great. And to confirm, no milk in that?”

Clerk: “You keep asking, but we are making it with the other milk.”

I paid, thanked her, and sat down to space out while I waited. Then, I drank the thing sitting outside, still spacey. When I was feeling coherent, I drove home. At no point did I really look at the menu.

Later that day, I was in intense levels of agony. I don’t know how to impress this upon you. I have chronic pain from fibromyalgia, as well as migraines. What happens to me after I eat a lot of dairy is worse than anything else I deal with.

I really should have looked at the menu, so I could see that the smoothie was called “Chocolate Moo’d”.

I just… I should have realized that there were warning signs that the clerk didn’t fully understand the assignment. I just hadn’t considered that there would be ice cream or that the milk content of ice cream would be a mystery.

It’s been a decade, and I’m still mad about that. I had important things to do, but I was in too much pain to move, let alone inform anyone that I couldn’t make it… so there were consequences.

Now, I insist on checking ingredients with my own eyes.

Related:
Not-So-Smooth(ie) Sailing

I work in a grocery store, and I am carefully restocking the shelves with eggs. Since I am near the baking and bakery section, I am close to the cakes and pies. I overhear a customer on the phone, pushing her cart toward the pies.

Customer: “They got cherry pie, apple pie, and some chocolate ones.”

Pause.

Customer: “Because I have had a long week, and I am tired of salads.”

Pause.

Customer: “Oh, honey, I didn’t just fall off the diet wagon. I pushed that wagon off a cliff, threw gasoline on it, set it on fire, and used the insurance money to buy cake.”

She bought pie while I stifled some laughter. After my shift, I had a craving for — and so purchased — a pie!

Our gym has a health bar that makes protein smoothies and other smoothies. A young woman comes up to order.

Young Woman: “Can I get a large Power Pineapple, but make it with the recipe for the small?”

Bar Worker: “Do you mean you want the rest filled with ice?”

Young Woman: “No, I want it filled with smoothie. I just want you to use the recipe for the small.”

Bar Worker: “It’s the same recipe; the ingredients are just doubled.”

Young Woman: “Yes, but I don’t think you’re understanding. I want you to use the ingredients for the small, and make a large with it.”

Bar Worker: “We can do that, but we would have to fill the remaining volume with extra ice, and it would be really watered down. Is that okay?”

Young Woman: “No, I don’t want extra ice. I want all smoothie. I just want you to use the recipe you use for a small.”

Bar Worker: “So, you just want extra space in the cup?”

Young Woman: “No, I want the cup full, but I want you to use the recipe for the small.”

Bar Worker: “The recipe for the small will only make enough to fill a small cup.”

Young Woman: “Look, I just want a large smoothie, full of smoothie, but with the recipe for the small so that there are fewer calories.”

Bar Worker: “Ma’am, that’s not possible. More smoothie means more calories.”

Young Woman: “But the recipe for the small has fewer calories. Look at the board: 250 instead of 500!”

Bar Worker: “Yes, ma’am, because you get half the amount of the large.”

Young Woman: “I don’t get why this is so hard for you. You know what? Forget it. I’ll go somewhere else.”

I wonder if she ever found her smoothie.