I was an elementary school teacher who was transferred to the middle school. It was not a good fit, and I often butted heads with the students. That’s why I was surprised on Valentine’s Day when dozens of them brought me handmade Valentines. And they all said something like this:

Valentine: “Mr. [My Name], you are my least favorite teacher. Ms. [School Counselor] made me make this.”

Apparently, the counselor had had the bright idea to have all the students write Valentines to their favorite and their least favorite teachers. She saw it as a way to mend fences, and it never occurred to her that being told you were disliked wouldn’t be a lovely Valentine’s Day surprise.

I’m back in elementary. The counselor is no longer in education.

This lady has come into my store on three separate occasions in the past few weeks. It’s three days before Halloween.

The first time was almost two weeks ago, and the first thing she did was ask me if Halloween products were on sale yet. This was over two weeks before Halloween.

Me: “They most likely won’t go on sale until after Halloween, ma’am.”

She proceeded to buy a five-foot skeleton and a blond mullet wig.

Customer: “I’m going to a Halloween party with my husband, and I’m going to try to convince him to wear this wig and dress as a hippie.”

I thought she was a little odd, but I moved on with my night.

Later that week, she came back to exchange the wig for another one. The new one was a black mullet.

Customer: “My husband didn’t like the blond one, but he said he would wear a black one. Then, I decided that rather than having him dress as a hippie, he’s going to go as a Mexican-American!”

Of course, I couldn’t say anything, but I thought this was incredibly stupid. Since she didn’t have her receipt, I had to process her refund onto a store gift card, which she then used to buy the second wig. She also had a coupon, so she still had some money left on it after.

Well, this confused her so much that I had to get my manager, who spent fifteen minutes explaining why there was still money on the gift card. Right before she left, she asked me again if Halloween had gone on clearance, and I gave her the same answer I had before.

A few days ago, she came back to return the new wig. This time, her reasoning was that she didn’t like that the top was curly — just like the picture showed — so they had found a “better” one online. I processed her refund onto another gift card, and she laughed at the fact that she had two now. Once again, before she left, she stopped to ask if Halloween was on sale. At this point, I think she is just stupid.

I work as a pizza delivery driver. Around Christmas, I deliver to a woman who has holiday-themed nails.

Me: “Oh, wow! Your nails look amazing!”

Customer: *Pleasantly surprised* “Oh… Oh, thank you!”

Later, my boss got a text from her.

Text: “I know people usually use this number to complain, but I am going through a really tough time, and your delivery driver really made my day. I really needed that, so thank you, and thank her!”

That was the best “tip” I’ve ever made.

Many years back, I hadn’t been away from my abusive family’s influence long enough to say no when they said they’d be picking me up on the way to my grandmother’s for an early Christmas. On the way, we stopped at a shopping mall to stretch our legs and spend gift money. We were very sternly warned to be back at the meeting spot on time so that we weren’t late for dinner because we didn’t want to upset Grandma. (She wasn’t part of the abuse, but Mom and [Stepfather] threatening us with other people was.)

My sister (still in high school and living with Mom) and I were very careful to be there a few minutes before the appointed time, but when it rolled around, my mother and stepfather were nowhere to be seen. Five minutes passed, and then ten, so I told my sister to wait in case they showed up and I’d do a quick stroll through the mall to find them.

I did find them. They were in a pet shop, signing the final paperwork on a purebred Saint Bernard puppy. I was told to go wait, and they’d be along soon. I returned and let my sister know where they were, and she got livid. She ran to the pet store and started yelling.

Sister: “This is money you should be spending on me! How dare you neglect me in favor of a new dog?!”

Stepfather: *Yelling back* “This is my money, and I don’t need to spend any of it on my wife’s kids!”

Eventually, my mother quieted them down (“calmed” would be doing too much heavy lifting here). The dog was paid for and slated to be picked up on our way home, and we were told in no uncertain terms that Grandma was not to hear about this because she’d be upset hearing about a new dog.

In the end, Mom told Grandma about the dog over dinner, and Grandma was not the least upset over it. Mom, [Stepfather], and [Sister] came to the conclusion that their entire fight had been somehow orchestrated by me to try and destroy the “happy part of the family” out of spite. (Apparently, my sister was never going to notice stopping at the mall on the way back, the dog sitting in the car on the drive, or, you know, a SAINT BERNARD living in the house for the next decade or two).

I went on to write this story and to reduce the contact I have with my family.

Related:
Getting A Slap In The Face For Christmas

It is Christmas, and I am restocking some items in our seasonal aisle. A little boy, maybe around five or so, has seen one of the chocolate Advent calendars — twenty-four little Cadbury chocolates behind little doors counting down to Christmas Day. I turn away to stock something, and then I turn back to see one of the display calendars on the floor and the boy furiously chewing something in his mouth.

Me: “Excuse me, did you just take a chocolate from one of those Advent calendars?”

The boy simply gives me the middle finger and laughs with his mouth wide open. He has chocolate in there, all right.

Me: “Where are your parents?”

Boy: “F*** you!”

Me: “Right, that’s it.”

I shout out to the adults in the aisle, asking if anyone is his parent or guardian. As I am doing so, the boy starts pulling down more merchandise.

Me: “Stop that! I am calling security!”

Suddenly, an adult customer appears, and she is scowling at me.

Customer: “Don’t shout at my son!”

Me: “Then your son shouldn’t be swearing at staff and destroying merchandise.”

Customer: “He’s a child! He’s just venting energy!”

Me: “He can vent it outside where he isn’t damaging stock.”

Son: “But I want my toys!”

Customer: *To her son* “Soon, poppet. Mummy just needs to speak to the manager.”

I happily call over the manager, who arrives just in time to see this little jerk giving me the finger yet again.

Manager: “Ma’am, please control your child, or we will need to escort both of you out.”

Customer: “You can’t do that! He’s just being a little boy!”

Son: “Mum! I want my toys! Santa only brings me one toy, and I want more!”

Me: “Santa isn’t real!”

Everyone stops for a second. Maybe the adults are silenced by my lack of decorum, but the boy has stopped because his little worldview just took a hit.

Son: “You’re a liar!”

Me: “Santa is a lie parents tell their kids to force them to be good, not that it’s working on you.”

My manager gives me the unspoken gesture to walk away and calm down. I do so, but slowly, so I can still hear the customer.

Customer: “What are you going to do about her?! She’s causing my son distress!”

Manager: “Ma’am, let’s face it. If Santa was real, would your son be anywhere near his ‘nice’ list?”