I work in a movie theater. It was a holiday. Our prime-time rush had just ended, and most of the staff went on break while I handled the lobby alone.

A customer came in a full half-hour after the scheduled showtime and bought a ticket despite being told his movie had already started. He said he didn’t care.

I then sold him a large popcorn for $10. The customer literally watched me bring fresh popcorn out, straight from the popper, and serve it to him. He was quite happy because he was getting brand-new popcorn.

I then tore his ticket and directed him to his theater, which was the first theater on his right.

I didn’t see him for the rest of the night. At the end of the night, my manager came out and said she was quite pleased, as she didn’t field any customer complaints the whole night. This was a nice change of pace since, usually, people are edgy and rude on holidays and more likely to complain.

The next day, I was bored and decided to check our Google reviews and was greeted by a review from the same guy I had served.

It was a one-out-of-five review where the customer said:

• He missed part of his movie and it was our fault.
• He paid $50 for popcorn.
• The popcorn he was given was stale.
• He was sent to the wrong theater.
• When he went to the manager to complain, she was unhelpful and rude.

It was literally the exact opposite of what had happened.

I genuinely hate people sometimes.

Related:
Some People Just Want To Watch The World Burn, Part 17
Some People Just Want To Watch The World Burn, Part 16
Some People Just Want To Watch The World Burn, Part 15
Some People Just Want To Watch The World Burn, Part 14
Some People Just Want To Watch The World Burn, Part 13

I was a new assistant manager at a toy store, and we had a couple that came in to return a piano they had bought. They had their receipt and were within the return date, but the box and toy were filled with pet hair.

They were making a fuss with the cashier, so she called over our manager, and she told them we couldn’t accept the return because it was nowhere close to sellable condition.

We live in an area where lots of people are bilingual. These customers were so angry that they started insulting my manager in French. What they didn’t know is that my manager doesn’t speak French but she does understand it. Any chance they had of getting a refund went away when they said, “Eat s***,” in French. She just told them we couldn’t do the return and walked away.

The story doesn’t stop there! A few days later, we got an email from customer service saying that this customer called in saying we refused their return for no reason and that they don’t even own any pets, so there couldn’t be any pet hair in the box.

Usually, when we get these emails, we just have to send in our side of the story and that’s it. The end of this story isn’t as satisfying as getting even, but I did do a little more digging.

When customers call in to complain to customer service, they get asked for their name, last name, and email for the report. I know I shouldn’t have, but I was bored, and I really liked this manager, so I wanted to be sure that these angry customers couldn’t take things further. I did a little stalking on social media.

I found one of the customer’s accounts where every single profile picture they had was of them AND THEIR DOGS — dogs with the same colour fur that was in the piano box.

I let my manager know in case it came up again, but nothing more ever came of it.

I live in a city of over 150,000 people. Our city government has a three-digit phone number, through which citizens can ask questions about city services and report issues.

I called to ask if I had to cut up tree branches for yard waste pick-up. The operator kindly told me this was unnecessary as a lot of people didn’t have the means to do so.

So, I went out to drag the branches to the curb.

Nutty Neighbor: “You have to cut those up.”

Me: “No, I called [three-digit number], and they said I didn’t.”

Nutty Neighbor: “The chief of police called me and said it was necessary.”

Me: “You know [Chief]?”

Nutty Neighbor: “Is that his name?”

It’s closing time. There are two older teenagers still left in the store and making no attempts at leaving. As a manager, I approach them to let them know we’re closing.

Customer #1: “No speak English.”

Customer #2: “Yeah, no speak.”

This is normal. In addition to being a big tourist area, especially for Central and South Americans, my area is mostly Hispanic. Unfortunately, I’m a gringa and my Spanish still leaves something to be desired. I ask a coworker to let them know.

Coworker: “Lo siento, pero la tienda está cerrando.” *I’m sorry, but the store is closing.*

Customer #1: “No speak.”

They have clearly been speaking Spanish to each other, and [Coworker] and I have both overheard this, so we know they are playing dumb so they don’t have to leave. While [Coworker]’s normal customer service is the best I’ve ever seen, he’s also known for not suffering fools and for having the ability to say things the average customer service representative could not get away with (even me).

He looks at me for silent approval to escalate; I nod. He continues, in English, no less:

Coworker: “I’m going to call security. Do you speak that?”

The boys left. Fast.

Guest: “One adult and one child for the museum, please.”

Me: “Certainly! That’s [total]. Please allow me to check your backpack for security.”

Guest: “Why?!”

Me: “It’s for security, ma’am.”

Suddenly, the rather large backpack moves on its own! I see a little finger poke through the zipper. I open the backpack to see a tiny child, likely around three years old, curled up inside. If I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it.

Me: “Ma’am?”

Guest: “Uh… he’s… not mine!”

Me: “Congratulations, ma’am, I didn’t think this situation could look any worse for you, but you succeeded.”

The police are called and then my manager handles it. He comes up to me at the end of the day.

Manager: “That poor child that she was sneaking into the museum was just three years old!”

Me: “That’s weird.”

Manager: “What is?”

Me: “Three-year-olds get in free!”