(I get a cab through an app to drive me to the airport so I won’t have to leave my car there. The following exchange happens right after she drops me off.)

Driver: “Okay, we’re here. Have a good day!”

Me: “Thank you. Here’s your money.”

Driver: *totally serious* “And when will you need picking up?”

Me: “In about three weeks?”

Driver: “Oh.” *drives off*

(What was she going to do?! Sit there at the airport until I came back?)

(This particular location has a really bad issue with customers ordering sandwiches with double meat and extra cheese, then going to check out and pitching a fit that they didn’t order the extra and refusing to pay. I’ve already had to deal with four customers doing this today, and I am on guard as soon as this customer places her order.)

Customer: “Give me a footlong steak and cheese on white, double meat and extra swiss, toasted.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. I just have to let you know that the double meat is $3 extra, and the extra cheese another $.60.”

Customer: “Yes. I know that. I come here all the time.”

(I make the sandwich, including the extra meat and cheese, and place it in the toaster before continuing with the next customer. My coworker, who happens to be a middle-aged man with some mild mental delays, finishes off making the sandwich and starts to cash her out. He is a little slow about arranging the vegetables but he gives amazing customer service. All hell breaks loose when he gives her the total.)

Customer: “WHAT THE F*** DO YOU MEAN, $14? IT’S ONE SANDWICH!”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, ma’am. Let me check again. Steak and cheese, right?”

Customer: “Obviously.”

Coworker: “Okay. That’s $9.50, plus $3 for double meat, and another $.60 for the extra cheese. Tax makes it $14.18.”

Customer: “No. I didn’t order anything extra, and I’m not paying any extra. Manager, now.”

(I am the night manager, so I came to the register as soon as she started yelling.)

Me: “What seems to be the problem, [Coworker]?”

Coworker: “She says she didn’t order it with double meat or extra cheese.”

Customer: “I DIDN’T! THIS R***** JUST PUT IT ON THE SANDWICH! I’M NOT PAYING FOR EXTRA!”

Me: “Actually, ma’am, I’m the one who started your sandwich, and I clearly remember you requesting the extras. I even explained that it would cost more, and you were fine with that. Also, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t use abusive language toward my coworker.”

Customer: “LIAR!” *turns to other customers* “THESE PEOPLE ARE LIARS AND THIEVES! DON’T WASTE YOUR MONEY HERE!” *turns back to me* “NOW GIVE ME MY FOOD!”

(I’ve had enough. One customer has already left because the woman is taking so much time and causing such a scene; the others all look extremely uncomfortable.)

Me: “Your total is $14.18; will it be cash or card?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “That’s the total, ma’am. You ordered double meat and extra cheese.”

Customer: “NO, I DIDN’T! YOU CAN’T PROVE IT!”

Me: “Look, lady. Our security cameras also record audio and are programmed to create a memo at the time stamp whenever certain keywords are used, such as ‘double’ or ‘extra,’ so they can be sure we’re not giving extras away. I assure you, I can prove it. Now, you can pay for your sandwich or you can leave.”

Customer: “GIVE ME MY F****** FOOD, YOU FAT B****!”

Me: *violently slams sandwich into full garbage can* “Leave, now. Get out of the store or I’m calling the police.”

(The woman refused to leave, and at one point shoved our cookie case off of the counter. Luckily, the police station was right across the intersection from us, so the officers got there before she could cause too much trouble. The few customers who remained through the entire ordeal got free cookies. One of them owns a bar across the street, and he gave me a pass for five free drinks for staying strong under pressure.)

(In this case, I had been working inventory when the phone rang.)

Me: *answers before my boss gets there* Hello?

Caller: *in an obviously fake deep voice* Yes, hello. Is Hugh Jass there by chance?

(At this point, my boss walks over, therefore, I am required to put it on speaker.)

Me: *sighs* Excuse me, [coworker], could you look up a worker. Jass, Hugh?

Coworker: Sure thing [my nickname].

Caller: …. *fake voice* Also, I’d like to get some guns for my sons… Yes.

Me: Sir, I’d really like you to state your name.

Caller: *in a 12-year-old sounding voice* My name is Su-k Mike Hawk!

Me: *looks over at Caller ID* Actually, Caller ID tells me that is the [last name of respected Navy SEAL] residence. Is that correct?

Caller 2: *15-16 year old sounding voice* DUDE! I knew it wasn’t [Name]’s number! HANG UP!!!

Caller: *whimpers slightly*

(At that point, the caller’s hung up and the residence’s main Navy SEAL was called. Turns out, that wasn’t the first failed prank call they made that day!)

(My father had a simple rule for my sister and me about fighting at school: DON’T START IT! If we had to start a fight, then we would have five seconds to explain to him why we had to hit the other kid. If he agreed the kid needed to be hit, we would not be punished at home; the school could do what they liked but Daddy wouldn’t punish us. My father has been called to the office because my sister punched a boy in her class. He arrives at exactly the same time as the boy’s father, and they walk in together. Before anyone can say anything else, my sister, thinking her five seconds have already started, screams:)

Sister: “He called Mommy a [my father makes my sister promise to never repeat it and she never has]!”

(The boy’s father looks at the black eye my sister gave him and says:)

Boy’s Father: “I don’t care what the reason is; you never say that about a woman, ever again. Next time it may not end with just a black eye.” *turns to my father* “I don’t think there is any reason to go further, do you?”

Daddy: “I’d say it’s over. Honey, let’s go.”

Principal: “Wait. We still have to agree what punishment she is going to face.”

(Both fathers look at each other and say together:)

Both Fathers: “None!”

Principal: “But she—”

Boy’s Father: “Ma’am, this is Texas. This little lady just taught everyone watching the exact meaning of the phrase, ‘Them’s fighting words.’ Ain’t nothing to punish her for. Now her pa is gonna get her some ice cream, and you and I are gonna talk about what punishment my son is getting.”

(My son shares a name with a character in a series of children’s books. I understand the series is popular and often read to children of his age, but I have never been a fan of the character. The books themselves are fine, but that character, I just can’t stand. If it weren’t for a promise I made my great-grandfather, he would have a very different name. He comes home from school and tells me that they read a book in class today and the teacher told the whole class that my son was named for the character. I tell him to tell the teacher, “Mommy says I’m not named after the book character.” He says he did, and then a few days later, he says the teacher read another book in the series, and again claimed that he was named for the character. He also says that some of the kids are making jokes about him being like the character. I arrange a meeting with the teacher to discuss this.)

Me: “If [Son] told you that he wasn’t named for the book character, why did you say he was?”

Teacher: “Oh, I just figured he didn’t know what he was talking about. I mean, with a name like [Son], who else could he be named for?”

Me: “There are plenty of possible namesakes besides the stupid [species of character]. He could be named for, oh, [Famous Historical Figure], [Famous Author], [Secret Identity of a Superhero], or any of the many politicians, actors, artists, or other authors who share his name. Or, maybe, just maybe, he is named after the man who saved my great-grandfather’s life in WWII.”

Teacher: “Well, I already told the class he was, so I’m not going to tell them otherwise.”

Me: “Fine. Whatever. Just stop pointing it out every time you read a book to the class. They are starting to tease him.”

Teacher: “Oh, no. I always point out when kids are named after book characters; it helps the class relate better to the books.”

Me: “BUT HE ISN’T NAMED AFTER THE CHARACTER AND, MORE IMPORTANTLY, HE DOESN’T WANT TO BE COMPARED TO HIM!”

Teacher: “But the class thinks he is; that is all that matters.”

(After much more yelling, and a talk with the principal, I finally had to have my son transferred to a new class.)