I am working on a theme park’s Ferris wheel. As one of the cabins approaches, I see a woman letting both of her kids urinate on the floor.

Me: “Ma’am, you should have let them use the restrooms before the ride!” 

Mother: “Eh… it shouldn’t have gone on for so long.”

It was a five-minute ride.

She shrugged her shoulders and walked off. She was escorted from the park with protests, but the damage was already done and I had to close the ride.

CONTENT WARNING: Animal Neglect

My husband and I went away for a week. I agreed to pay my younger sister (age twenty-seven) $100 to drive fifteen minutes to my house once a day, make sure my two cats had food and water, and empty the collection bin on their automatic litter box. I checked in with her every day, and she assured me all was well.

When we came back, the cats had no food and no water, and their litter box was so full that it had stopped cleaning. But the $100 I’d left for [Sister] was gone. So, I called her. 

Me: “Uh, hey. What happened here? Did you not take care of my cats?”

Sister: “Well, [Her Husband] and I decided to go out of town, too.”

Me: “Okay… And the cats?”

Sister: “What about them?”

Me: “You were supposed to be taking care of them.”

Sister: “I did. I stopped by before we left.”

Me: “When were you here last?”

Sister: *Defensive* “I don’t know!”

Me: “What do you mean, you don’t know? I paid you to stop here every day. I want my money back.”

Sister: “Well, I would have, but we changed plans.”

Me: “And you should have told me that before, so I could arrange for someone to care for them. Are you f****** kidding me right now?”

Sister: “What? They’re fine. We came by the day after you left and did what you wanted. What’s the big deal?”

Me: “So, you came by for like fifteen minutes, took the $100, and that’s all you did?”

Sister: “They’re fine!”

I hung up. She tried calling back a few times, but I just kept picking up and hanging up so she couldn’t leave a voicemail. The cats are fine, overall, but my relationship with my sister is forever ruined.

One of our stores does their usual “points” spiel. With every purchase, for every ten bucks you spend, you get a sticker that you have to collect, and with enough of these “points”, you can get a 10%, 20%, or 30% discount for a purchase once, depending on how many you collect.

I don’t collect them because I forget them anyway when it’s time to cash them in, so I usually hand them over to the next customer, and normally, this is not a big deal.

Normally.

Cashier: “And here are your points.”

I turn to the customer behind me.

Me: “I don’t collect these. Would you like them?”

Customer #1: *With a mix of contempt and indignation* “Do I look like I need your points?”

Me: “Uh… fine? Just asking.”

The customer behind her pipes up.

Customer #2: “Mind if I take them?”

Me: “Please do.”

Customer #1: “I didn’t say I wouldn’t take them, just that I don’t need them. I’m not poor!”

Me: “Nobody said you are. I just don’t collect them, that’s all.”

Customer #1: “Well, I will take them!”

At this point, though, she’s managed to tick me off just enough with her attitude that I don’t want to give them to her anymore. It’s not like these things are worth anything, but people who act like they’re doing me a favor by taking something out of my hand that others would at least say, “Thank you,” for doesn’t sit right with me.

Me: “Sorry, nope. You rejected them.” *Looks [Customer #2] behind her* “You asked for them, so you get them.”

Customer #1: *To the cashier* “Gimme my points! He gave them to me first!” 

The cashier just looks at me expectantly.

Me: “Well, give them to me.”

The cashier gladly obliges and is visibly happy that she got out of this hassle. I hand the little stickers to [Customer #2], who thanks me for them.

Customer #1: “You can’t give her my points!”

Me: “Lady, they are, first of all, my points. What I do with my points is my business. Please stay out of it.”

Customer #1: “You gave them to me!” 

Me: “No. I offered them to you; you didn’t want them.”

Customer #1: “But then I said I wanted them!”

Me: “Why would a woman who so clearly doesn’t need any handouts get upset about not getting them?”

She changes colours a few times, gasps, and then screams some profanities at me.

Me: *Leaving* “Lady, you may not need my points, but you sure need some manners.” 

Quite frankly, I hate shopping during “points” times.

I’ve started a new job in retail, and it’s one of my first weeks on register duty. I am still learning the keys. Keying in multiple items, e.g., ten chocolate bars, instead of scanning them one by one requires a supervisor code.

A well-dressed man comes through my line with thirty-two cups of instant noodles of varying flavours and varying amounts of each. I lose count with all the beeps and all of the slightly different cups, so I accidentally ring up thirty-five cups.

He pays and the receipt prints. He checks it and immediately has half his body shoved through a gap in the Plexiglas screen. (This is during social distancing.)

Customer: “What are you trying to do here? I bought thirty-two, and you rang up thirty-five!”

Me: “Sorry, sir, it was an honest mistake. Let me just—” 

Customer: “‘Honest mistake’, my a**! That was intentional so you lowlifes can steal my money!”

Me: “I can assure you, sir, I merely miscounted, but if I could just—” 

Customer: “How hard can it be to count? Did you fail math class?”

Me: “It was an honest mistake because it’s so many—”

Customer: “I bet that’s what you always do with the old ladies to rip them off! They’re old and senile, so they won’t notice you pocketing some extra money!”

I drag my wallet out of my pocket.

Me: “You know what, sir? I overcharged you — what, three times forty cents. Here, you can have 1.20€ out of my own pocket; you clearly need it more than a broke university student.”

Customer: “How dare you?! I want to speak to your boss!”

Me: “He is not in anymore; he already went home. He will be here tomorrow after eight.”

Customer: “Give me his name! And your name! I will complain about you! I will write a letter!”

At this point, the young woman behind him interrupts his tirade and screams at him.

Next Customer: “Just piss off already! Seeing how you dress, you’d think you’re well-off, but to be such a b**** over such a minor mistake?! F****** cheapskate! You got your money, so take your s***ty cup-noodles and f*** off!”

The man just went, “Well, I never!”, huffed, and finally did f*** off.

The woman, the coworker on a register behind me, and I had a good laugh about that man.

I work as a shift lead at a local restaurant with a drive-thru. There’s been some concern about credit card fraud recently, so management has asked us to check IDs if something seems like it might be amiss, but they’re also not particularly strict since the restaurant is rather small.

Mostly, we ask if the back has “See ID” in place of a signature or if the card name doesn’t fit the customer’s gender; in the latter case, management is all right with assuming the customer is the holder’s spouse, sibling, etc., as we get a lot of orders for families. It’s worth noting that, to my knowledge, this has not yet caused problems.

One evening, a middle-aged woman pulls up to the window to pay with a masculine name on the card. I’m changing the names here, so we’ll go with “Fred”.

Me: “All right, could I ask for some ID?”

The woman immediately flips from pleasant to hostile.

Customer: “You’re really gonna make me do this?”

Me: “Er, yes, please? Management has asked us to check for security reasons.”

She eventually hands over an ID, still glaring daggers at me. I glance over it and am met with her face over the words, “Fred [Matching Last Name].” Same face, same name. The rest isn’t my business. I run the payment, give her back the cards, and politely let her know her order will be up shortly. Apparently, though, additional information is warranted at high volume. 

Customer: “MY NAME IS LINDA!”

I get how that could be awkward on the receiving end, but I really don’t care what you call yourself. I want to do my job and go home. With any luck, I’ll never see you again anyway.