(In between my semesters at college, I work at the local fabric and craft store. During my years working, we come to know this one regular that most of the staff hates seeing. She will be in the store for several hours shopping, and when she finally comes to the cutting counter, she is very particular about who cuts her material and how they cut it — in other words, a huge pain. She is also known for being a pain at the checkout and each visit always involves her calling corporate with a complaint that, when investigated, proves she is making things up. Eventually, corporate starts ignoring her calls. In one of my last encounters with her, she wished that another customer would get into a car accident after she let them cut in line and they didn’t thank her. I’ve returned for a summer and I’m working closing when I realize that I have not seen this regular yet, so I ask my coworker about her.)

Me: “So, [Coworker], I haven’t seen [Regular] in some time. Has she been in here?”

Coworker: “You didn’t know? She got banned.”

Me: “Banned?! But how?”

Coworker: “It started when she tried to use one 40% coupon on every single item she had, claiming that because she was such a valued customer buying so much stuff, we should do that for her. [Manager] explained that our policy was one coupon per item and that we cannot change it. So, [Regular] then started calling [Manager] the N-word.”

(For context, [Manager] is a six-foot-tall black woman.)

Me: “I knew [Regular] was bad, but I didn’t know she was racist!”

Coworker: “It gets better. [Regular] then hung around telling every customer in the store about the terrible N-word woman and how she was going to shoot her in the parking lot later! [Manager] had enough and, once she got word of this, called the police.”

Me: “Did [Regular] get arrested?”

Coworker: “No, she was long gone before they came. But they got her information and recommend that [Manager] never let [Regular] into the store again, and that they were going to her house to let her know that she’s not allowed at the store anymore.”

(Sure enough, it’s been years and that regular has never once returned to store.)

(I’ve always had asthma, but I usually only have issues when exercising and breathing very cold air. However, I have an event where I can’t identify a trigger and the breathing problems last for a long time. I go to the emergency room, I am told it was a panic attack and I am sent home. When things don’t clear up, I go to the school clinic where they say it’s my asthma – not a spasm like I am used to, but inflammation – and give me medication. Things clear up. Then, less than a month later, I take an overseas trip. On the flight back I catch a fever and start having stomach issues. A few days later I have to switch out with my father when driving because I don’t feel like I can both drive and focus on breathing. Because it is only a little after New Year’s, my mom doesn’t think our GP can fit us in quickly enough, so we head to an emergency clinic. Our new insurance only allows us to go to one chain in the area, and it’s thirty minutes away. There isn’t a doctor available, so we confirm we are fine with seeing the head nurse. I’m used to journaling some aspects of my health due to things like adult-onset allergies, and have written specifics of the start and stop of the symptoms in a notebook, along with details from the other attack. Sometimes I also have difficulty speaking because I’m focusing on my breathing.)

Mom: “She’s been having trouble breathing. We were here a couple of days ago because she had a stomach bug.”

Nurse: “Can you describe when this started?”

Me: “Um, I noticed I had to focus to breathe. I was really aware of my breathing. It started last night, I guess? Um… I wrote it down, if it’s easier.”

(I hand her the notebook. She looks through it, but she looks skeptical.)

Nurse: “Okay, I know what’s going on here. Honey, you’re having a panic attack.”

Me: “I don’t think it’s a panic attack! It happened before around a month ago. I have asthma—“

Nurse: “The emergency guys thought that was a panic attack, too. Listen, I know you don’t want to hear this, but this is in your brain.”

(This sets me off for multiple reasons, one of which being that I DO have anxiety, but it is controlled and not the kind that results in panic attacks. Another reason is that I’ve been misdiagnosed with “stress pains” by my father’s urologist – checking for kidney stones – when we later found out I had some muscle issues in that area that were easily taken care of with physical therapy. I should also note my mother has been making some comments, but I can’t exactly remember them. She’s mostly worried.)

Me: “But the other doctor said it was asthma! I’ve had people dismiss things like this before. But when it was checked out by someone else they found something. I have anxiety, but I don’t get those! I don’t have this problem!”

Nurse: “So, you just keep going to doctors until they say what you want to hear. But I’m telling you, this is a panic attack. You said in your notes that talking is difficult, but you’re talking fine now. You seem fine. You just need to accept this. Maybe call your therapist or psychiatrist.”

(She ends the appointment. I am pretty hysterical once we return home. I have been well functioning for years and even though I don’t believe the nurse, she put the idea in my head that I wasn’t as well off as I thought. I should also note that my mom is of the generation that often writes things off as stress, and she seems to be taking the nurse’s side, or at least playing devil’s advocate, adding to my stress. I blubber to my mom and eventually my psychiatrist’s hotline. [Psychiatrist] quickly writes a prescription for anxiety, but is very firm in telling me that most of her patients don’t end up using it and that often having it in their possession helps. She also says that if I feel I need it to only take half and assess how I feel. Honestly, I don’t feel any different. Later, my mom apologizes that she helped upset me and calls our GP.)

Mom: “[Doctor] made an opening for you tomorrow… Guess what she said, though, when I told her everything that happened.”

Me: “What?”

Mom: “In her experience, asthmatics usually have panic attacks because they can’t f****** breathe.”

(My GP gave me a steroid inhaler and I started breathing better in a few days. I later went to my asthma and allergy doctor and found out that I have a new severe allergy to dust mites, something that aggravates asthma. F*** you, nurse.)

(While observing students in study hall, I am also trying to reply to some emails. One of my sixth-grade students come up to me with a cross necklace in her hand. She then takes the necklace and places it on my hand as I’m trying to type.)

Me: “Yes, what can I do for you?”

Student: “I’m blessing you so you won’t die old and alone.”

Me: “Umm… Thank you?”

(She smiled at me and returned to her seat, leaving me dumbfounded.)

(My sister and her husband live in Houston. The only way for us or her in-laws to get there in a reasonable amount of time is by taking the interstate. This interstate is mostly two lanes each way and has a speed limit of 75 mph, though etiquette is to go 80 to 85. Even the small-town cops generally won’t pull people over for going less than 10 over. It’s also considered rude to drive in the left lane if you’re not passing someone or at least going fairly fast, and there are signs everywhere saying, “Left lane for passing only.” Pretty much everyone who’s driven on that road more than once knows this, especially life-long residents like my family and my sister’s in-laws. At one point, we are all hanging out and the topic of the drive there comes up, and my sister’s mother-in-law drops this gem:)

Sister’s MIL: “With all the people entering and exiting the highway, I just go 60 and drive in the left lane.”

(I almost called her out on it but didn’t want to start drama when she obviously didn’t care about how her behavior was affecting other drivers. She isn’t even some little old, “Driving Miss Daisy” type; she’s only in her 50s.)

I work for a very busy bakery where we make pies with fresh fruit and cream.
This the most irate customer that I have ever had.
Customer: I need to talk to the manager there is something wrong with my pie
Cashier: I can help you – what seems to be the problem?
Customer: “no you have no say here- i know you, you are just a flunky, get me the manager”
I am the manager and I walk up as she is hassling my cashier
Me: Hello I am the manager- what seems to be the problem with your pie?
Customer: I bought this pie 3 days ago- (proceeds to show me and pie tin with one small slice of pie left) this Banana pie is horrible- it has a ton of bananas in it and now they are all brown!
Me: “..excuse me ma’am? are you complaining because the FRESH Banana pie has bananas or because the bananas got brown?”
Customer: “Both! you incompetent moron! Banana pie doesn’t have bananas in it! and if it did they would not turn brown!
Me: “Ma’am- we make fresh banana pie with fresh bananas-  and we absolutely do not add any preservatives to our pies. On the menu it clearly says the banana pie is a “24 hour pie”, and all my cashiers also mention it every time. Fresh bananas turn brown once you peel them, the pudding and whipped cream keeps them from browning for about 24 hours but after that they will get brown. Further more, you seem to have enjoyed eating most of the pie.”
Customer: “You are an idiot! I don’t understand how you can run a business where you lie to customer and treat them like second class citizens! I have eaten 100s banana pies- the kind you keep in the freezer (national frozen brand)- they never have bananas in them! And my bananas NEVER and I MEAN NEVER get brown! I want my money back, a new pie and an apology from you- just because…..because….you are a moron b***h!”
By this time we have several people waiting in line looking floored at her screaming and one of the cashier hands me a small note that says “RRX” our code for repeat complainers who are looking for free pie
Me: “Ma’am- First of all, please don’t call me names i am trying to help you. Second we are NOT (national bran), we do not freeze any of our pies, AND if you have “magic bananas” that never turn brown- please let me know where to buy them- I would love to have them.
You already ate most of the pie- 90% of it- so some one in your house liked the pie and you are looking to get more free pie- you like the pies and want more but don’t want to pay for them, that is stealing.
I also remember you from last month, when you had the same complain. You have had our banana pie before and I remember telling you the same thing.
I will not be giving you a refund or a free pie at this pie and I ask that you leave,  we do not appreciate you calling me or my employees names”
Customer: “You F****ing B***h- you give me some free pie or I will crucify you on your reviews! The customer is always right! Banana pie DOES NOT  have bananas and bananas DO NOT TURN BROWN! Moron! give me a f***ing pie!
I am totally blown away by her behavior and the other customers have bunched up away from her by the door, I am really starting to get angry but hold it together for the sake of the other customers.
Me: Ma’am please leave- you are not getting any pie, free or otherwise. Please buy your dessert somewhere else, we have other customers”
Customer: “B***h please, I am calling the cops on you for robbing me!”
She storms out and proceeds to rant and rave in our parking lot on her phone for the next 15 minutes. She is yelling at customers and screaming profanities into the air when the police show up. I walk outside to talk to them.
Customer: Points at me- “her, her, that b***h, she robbed me, she tried to poison me, my banana pie has F***ING BANANAS IN IT! You arrest her right now!
At this point I just can’t hold it together any more- the officer looks at me and rolls his eyes- I burst out laughing and so does the officer. The customer jumps  in her car still screaming and drives away.
Turns out – she was having an episode and was off her medication, her husband came in the next day, apologized for her and bought 2 banana pies.
Sadly we get complains about bananas in the banana pie at least once a month!