We all have that one teacher: the teacher that is completely horrible, has no empathy for your situation, and just does everything to make your life a living Hell. I had one of those. 

She was the type of teacher who would assign a lot of homework every day. It didn’t matter if it was the first day of school or the day before leaving for Thanksgiving break, Christmas vacation, or Easter vacation. Not only that, but we all also had huge projects to do every month. Papier-mâché a planet, create a dragon for Chinese new year, even a complete project of one of the fifty states. She also made plays that we would have to perform on top of that.

The worst part was that she would assign the homework and then teach us about it the next day, so we had to figure it out before we were actually taught it.

I was a special needs student, so I was only supposed to have a set amount of homework every night. She still expected me to do all of it, no ifs, ands, or buts. If I didn’t, I would still have to do it the next day for one letter grade less. My parents complained; she didn’t care. Cue anxiety attacks.

The last straw came in the second week of June. We were cleaning out our desks one Friday when she announced that she had tonight’s homework: two sheets of English, a sheet of math, and a sheet of science.

That’s right; she assigned homework on the last day of school. And once again, it was stuff we hadn’t even learned yet. Also, we had already turned in our textbooks the previous day so we were up a creek without a paddle.

Here’s another thing. We were at an American elementary school on a US Air Force Base in England. Half the class had a parent who was getting transferred either to another duty station internationally or back in the United States. They couldn’t turn the work in because they weren’t going to be there. She said we couldn’t mail it; we had to physically hand it in.

When we students mentioned to her that there was no real way for them to hand the work to her, she said, “I don’t care. Turn it in on the first day of fifth grade, or I’m not passing you. You’ll repeat the fourth grade again.“ Our pleas fell on deaf ears. 

Since it was a half-day on the last day of school, I mentioned this to my mom and she and I bolted back to the school to complain to the principal. It turned out that no less than ten other parents were already there, including my best friend’s mom and my crush’s dad. 

My mum had the loudest voice there, saying that I have had high anxiety the entire year because of the amount of work she forced on me even though I wasn’t supposed to have it. I had never seen her so pissed off at anyone that wasn’t either me or my two older brothers. 

We had just gotten home when we received a phone call from the principal. He told us that we didn’t have to do the homework and that the teacher would be dealt with accordingly. Hearing that, I was so relieved that I didn’t have to do any summer homework.

When I showed up the first day of fifth grade, the principal came up to me and told me that our teacher was removed. He apologized for the amount of stress I had the previous school year, and he made sure that I had one of the more popular fifth-grade teachers who knew how I was. 

My fifth-grade year went a h*** of a lot better than my fourth-grade one.

I witness this interaction as I’m in line to order from a fast food restaurant at a local theme park. A customer pushes his way to the counter, bypassing the line.

Customer: “Excuse me, I just need a side tray.”

Worker: “A side tray?”

Customer: “Yeah, I need a side tray. Can I get one?”

The worker offers him a large plastic tray, the type you’d put a whole order on. 

Customer: “No! I need a side tray. A siiiiide traaaaaaay.”

The worker offers him a disposable plate with a questioning look on her face.

Customer: “A. Side. Tray. I need a side tray.”

Worker: “I’m not sure what that is, sir.”

The worker looks around her workspace and offers him a clam-shell takeout box.

Customer: “No, I need a side tray! Jeez, how many different words do I need to use to get you to understand what I want?!”

He grabbed the takeout box and stormed off, still muttering to his friend about the “side tray.” By the confusion on the faces of all of the other customers in line, I’m guessing he should have used more than just two words to describe this mysterious thing he wanted!

I am working the register and a family approaches me with their purchases. The woman has an empty bottle without any label in her hand.

Woman: “The reverse vending machine didn’t accept this bottle!”

Me: “Well, it doesn’t have a label or barcode, so the machine can’t scan it.”

Man: “Yes, of course, we can see that.”

The woman tries to hand me the bottle.

Me: “What do you expect me to do with that? I can throw it in the trash for you, if you so wish.”

Man: “No, we want our money! It’s twenty-five cents!”

Me: “I can’t do that as it doesn’t have a label.”

Man: “But you are obliged by state law to take all bottles back, even those without labels!”

Me: “I don’t know about such a law, but I do know that I can’t take that bottle back.”

Man: “You have to! It’s the law! I want to speak to the boss!”

Me: “Let me just get the store manager.”

While I lean over to the microphone to call for the store manager, the man goes on and on about how it’s the law and how we have to take the bottle back. Finally, the store manager arrives.

Manager: *To me* “What’s up?”

Me: “Well, these customers want—”

Man: “We want our deposit back for this empty bottle! It’s twenty-five cents! You are obliged by law to take those back!”

Manager: “We won’t take them back. It doesn’t have a label anymore.”

Man: “You have to by law!“

Manager: “I’ve never heard of such a law.”

Man: “There is!”

Manager: “What do you expect us to do with it? We can only throw it in the trash; this would be a loss for us.”

Man: “But it’s only twenty-five cents! Don’t make this harder than it has to be! I want to speak to your boss! This can’t be right.”

Manager: “The boss isn’t in today.”

Man: “Then call him immediately!”

Manager: “No, I won’t do that. He has better things to do. I am simply enforcing rules our boss made; we are not supposed to take unlabeled empties. It’s a direct order by him.”

Man: “But you have to; it’s the law!”

By this time, a big line of around ten people has formed behind him, all rolling their eyes and getting more and more annoyed and impatient over the delay that guy is causing.

Me: “Listen, you heard him. Our boss told us to not take unlabeled empties. Neither he nor I can do anything about that. But if you’re so certain that it’s law—”

Man: “It is law!”

Me: “—if you’re so certain about that, a few meters down the street is [Grocery Store]; they take empties, as well, so you can try there.”

Man: “This is horrible service! I will never shop here again!”

The manager speaks with that weird kind of smug smile and tone he can put on.

Manager: “Good, then don’t shop here again. I don’t mind.”

I scan their items and they pay and leave. I go through the queue, checking everyone out as quickly as possible. Once I have no customers again, the store manager approaches me.

Me: “Man, I think I lost brain cells over this.”

Manager: “You know they’re gonna tell them the same at [Grocery Store]?”

Me: “I guess, yeah. I just wanted him out of here. Besides, I want him to run around town for ‘just twenty-five cents’.”

Manager: “Fair.”

My roommate and I decide to splurge on a treat, so we go to a popular ice cream place known for little curls on the top of their ice cream. It’s a little, silly aesthetic thing, and I’ve never thought anything of it until this.

We’ve just stepped up to order when a woman in her forties bursts in and bypasses the line to demand attention. She sets two hot fudge sundaes on the counter.

Customer: “I just went through your drive-thru and my sundaes don’t have curls on them!”

After a moment, during which I can visibly see him deciding if she’s messing with him or not, the employee says:

Employee: “I’m sorry about that?”

Customer: “I want new sundaes!”

Employee: “Ma’am, they’re hot fudge sundaes. The curl probably melted.”

I glance at her food; indeed, the whole thing is a swirl of melted ice cream and cooled fudge, as it’s meant to be.

Customer: “I always get hot fudge sundaes and they always have curls!”

Employee: “I can make you a new one, but it’s hot fudge. It’s still going to melt.”

Customer: “No! They always have curls! Always!”

The employee gave up, agreed, and then fashioned her new sundaes with the hot fudge carefully poured around the ice cream rather than on top, aside from a few careful drips, probably so she wouldn’t whine about that, too.

The lady left with a few huffs about it “not being so hard” and my roommate and I shared a look with the employee before placing our order. While waiting at the counter, we relentlessly mocked the lady aloud, pitching our voices screechy and whiney, crying, “Why can’t you bend the laws of physics for me? It’s not that hard!”, “I don’t know how heat works,” and, “But they ALWAYS have curls!” I could see the employees trying to hide their grins, probably glad we were doing it for them because they were not allowed to mock customers like that.

Ever since, whenever we overhear someone making a stupid complaint, my roomie or I will look at the other, scrunch up our face, and say in the most whiney, screechy tone possible, “But they always have curls!” I don’t think we’ll ever stop mocking that lady.

Moral of the story: if you’re being rude and stupid in public, you’re probably going to become a running joke and be mocked in an awful voice until the end of time.

I am sixteen, working my first day of employment EVER. I am assisting and observing a coworker at the drive-thru of a fast-food restaurant. My coworker is giving me some tips when he looks up at the screen that shows incoming cars and stops talking.

He immediately calls out to the workers on the grill.

Coworker: “I’ll need three [burgers], cooked fresh, one with tomato but no pickles, one with pickles but no tomato, and one without either but extra mustard. It needs to be hot. I need three large portions of fresh fries, one salted, one unsalted, and one extra-large unsalted!”

Me: “What’s happening?”

Coworker: “Just watch.”

As he is doing all this, I see him gather together every type of sauce and sachet and condiment we own, in varying numbers and combinations. He also prepares four soft drinks: Cokes and Diet Cokes, each with ice and without. While doing all of this, he takes out his mobile phone — he’s a manager so he’s allowed to have it on him — and takes a picture of every item in front of him.

The customer pulls up to the window as soon as all the food arrives.

Customer: “I’ve been waiting so you had better hurry.”

Coworker: “Certainly, madam. You’re the only vehicle in the drive-thru, but I apologise if you felt there was a wait.”

Customer: “Whatever, I’ll take a [burger], no pickles, with fries, not salted, and they better all be fresh and hot! And if it takes longer than—”

Before the customer can finish their sentence, my coworker has bundled up the food.

Coworker: “Certainly, madam. I have your food ready right here, so there is no need for you to go to the collection window! If there is nothing else your total is [total].”

The customer stares at him for a moment as if challenging him.

Customer: “Actually, make that a [burger] without pickles and tomato, but extra mustard. And I want a Diet Coke! No ice! And hurry!”

Coworker: *Almost immediately* “Certainly, madam. I have that food right here, and your total is now [total].”

Customer: “That can’t be fresh and hot!”

Coworker: “I assure you, madam, they are all fresh off the grill and too hot to touch right now. I bet if you took a bite right now in front of me, it would burn your tongue.”

My coworker says this last part with a smirk on his face. Now he’s the one issuing challenges.

Customer: “We’ll see about that. While we’re at it, make my fries extra—”

Coworker: “—extra-large, madam? Of course, I have that right here, and I won’t even charge you the upcharge. Your total is still [total].”

Customer: “I want the salt on the side, not the fries!”

Coworker: *Grabbing a salt sachet* “Certainly, madam.”

The customer narrows her eyes but wordlessly hands over her card for payment. My coworker swipes it and hands back the receipt with the food.

Coworker: “Thank you, madam. Here is your receipt which lists the date and time of the transaction, the exact and itemised listing of your order, your payment method, and who served you, which is me, [Coworker]. I’ll put my copy here at this counter for reference. Have a great day!”

The customer looks like she is about to say something, but instead, she scowls and drives off. Before I can ask what just happened, my coworker turns to me.

Coworker: “It’s a good thing you met her on your first day! We call her ‘Jane Complain.’ She used to come in almost every day and complain about having to wait, even for just a few seconds, and she would always get a discount or a free item because of it. When we started to wise up and get her order ready for her so she would have no wait to complain about, she started to add silly little changes to the order to catch us out, but only ever small things like tomato or pickles; she isn’t very imaginative.”

Me: “Wow.”

Coworker: “I’m barely getting started. Then, she started to complain that the food was too cold and not fresh enough, so we would prepare a sizzling hot batch the moment we saw her car. She still complained it wasn’t hot enough, but we stood our ground on that one and said if she ate the burger right there in front of us and it didn’t burn her mouth, we would let her have it for free. She was about to do it but then realised how hot it actually was. I make sure I remind her of that every time she challenges the ‘freshness.'”

Me: “And the receipt bit?”

Coworker: “If she can’t scam free food from us when she purchases it, she usually comes back five minutes later to claim we missed something, which we didn’t, but policy states we have to give it to her if we can’t prove it. She always conveniently loses her receipt, too. Now I make sure to remind her that we both have copies of that receipt, it has all the information on it that I can use against her, and my copy isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

Me: “That’s awesome!”

Coworker: “It’s become a matter of principle for us! We want to keep one step ahead of her so she can stop scamming us. The look on her face when we’re a step ahead of her is priceless.”

The day continues without incident and I continue to be mentored. Near the end of my shift, I look up at the screen and see that same car pulling up.

Me: “[Coworker]! Jane is back!”

Coworker: “Here comes the backup complaint!”

She pulls up and my coworker makes sure he is the first to greet her with a smile. He is already getting out his phone.

Coworker: “Nice to see you again, madam! What can I get you?”

Customer: “I was here earlier this afternoon and you forgot my fries!”

Coworker: “That was the [burger] with no pickles and no tomato, extra mustard, extra-large fries, salt on the side, with a Diet Coke and no ice. Your order was at 2:37 pm precisely, and I have the picture of the order right here, which clearly shows the fries with the burger and drink. You’ll see that the photo is both time-stamped and has the checkout’s clock in the background. Are you sure you didn’t just ‘misplace’ your fries?”

Customer: “This is absurd! That is no proof! Get me your manager right now!”

Coworker: “I am the manager on duty at this time. If you’d like to make a complaint to corporate, you can find the number on your receipt, which I can still see on your dashboard next to the empty fries container. Thank you for dining at [Fast Food Restaurant] and I hope we see you again. We’ll be ready!”

With that, he shuts the window and walks away. The customer sits there dumbfounded for a moment but eventually drives away.

In the year that I worked there, I witnessed “Jane Complain” come back many many times. Sometimes, she would frustrate the combination of food enough that there would be a delay, but since everyone in the kitchen was wise to her antics, they were able to get the substitutions to her quickly enough that she could no longer scam-free items. I even got to serve her directly myself after my training and it was very satisfying denying her, eliminating any excuse she might have to complain.

When she stopped coming by, we soon discovered through friends in our nearest branch that she had started her tricks again over there. My coworker “assigned” himself a cover shift in that other branch to be the one to greet her over there and was just as ready for her there as we all are here.

She hasn’t been seen in three months. We miss her.

This story is part of our Best Of August 2020 roundup!

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