(I work in a coffee shop. My coworker is on her break, leaving me alone. I am helping somebody in the lobby as a lady comes by the drive-thru.)

Me: “Thanks for choosing [Coffee Shop]; I’ll be with you in a moment.”

(I finish serving the lobby guest, and go back to talking on the headset.)

Me: “Thanks so much for your patience; I do appreciate it. What sounds good today?”

Customer: “Can I get a 16-ounce hot chai?”

Me: “Absolutely! Anything else?”

Customer: “No, that’s all.”

Me: “I’ll see you at the window!”

(The customer gets to the window.)

Customer: “I don’t see why I had to wait when there’s no one in front of me.”

Me: “I’m so sorry about the wait; I was helping someone in the lobby, and we are short-staffed at the moment.”

Customer: “There’s absolutely no reason I should be waiting like that! Customers come first!”

Me: “I’m very sorry, but, like I said, I was helping another customer in the store.”

Customer: “This is horrendous service! I’m very close with the owner and her family. I’m going to call her and see to it your employment is terminated!”

Me: *laughs* “You do that, ma’am! Have a fantastic night, and here’s your chai!”

(My coworker happens to be the owner’s daughter. I ask her about this lady.)

Coworker: “I have no idea who the f*** that lady is; she can f*** off.”

(She never did call the owner.)

(There’s a girl in my year at school that no one really likes, due to the lengths she goes to just to get attention. If you don’t immediately rush to her and shower her with attention, she tends to try some pretty crazy things to make sure you will. Many of us believe she may have a learning disability, not because of how she acts, but because of how the teachers treat her, and the fact that she’s in a special class with only one or two other students. I’m in the library during lunch one day, minding my own business, when a teacher comes up to me with a pretty large scowl.)

Teacher: “Phone. Now.”

(He holds his hand out expectantly, glaring at me. I just stare at him.)

Me: “What? What’s going on?”

Teacher: “Just hand it over, missy. You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

(Confused and slightly worried, I get my phone from my bag and hand it to him. He turns it on and starts scrolling through something. Due to the angle, and him being much taller than me, I can’t see what he’s looking at and just stand there as he slowly starts looking angrier and angrier.)

Teacher: “So, you deleted them, did you?! Rather than own up to your actions, you’d rather be a spiteful coward and hide the evidence?”

Me: “What are you talking about?! Evidence to what?!”

(I don’t get a response as he simply drags me outside the library to “talk.”)

Teacher: “Listen, missy. We have no patience for your kind here at [School]. Since we’ve had no trouble from you before, we’ll give you two choices. Own up and simply get a suspension, or keep lying and we’ll have to get the police involved.”

(Now I’m majorly freaking out. I have no idea what he’s talking about, and he doesn’t seem to want to tell me.)

Me: *stammering* “W-what?”

(The teacher sighs heavily, looking at me like I’m a misbehaving toddler, and gives me back my phone.)

Teacher: “I can see you’re not going to cooperate. Cyber-bullying is dealt with severely; you should know that. I expect you in my office first thing tomorrow, ready to face the consequences.”

(He leaves, and I end up bursting into tears in the hallway. Leaving my stuff behind, I head home and burst through the front door in hysterics, much to the worry of my mother. It takes a while, but I manage to tell her what happened, and she is furious. She sends me to call my grandmother, a policewoman, and tell her what happened.  My mother phones the school, then goes in with me the next morning. She takes me to the teacher’s office and glares him down.)

Teacher: *obviously uncomfortable* “Ah, Miss [My Last Name], I do hope you’ve calmed down.”

Mum: *icily* “I’m perfectly calm, thank you. Now, are you going to finally explain the reasoning behind you threatening my 12-year-old daughter with the police, or do I have to take this issue higher up?”

Teacher: “We’ve received several complaints from [Problem Girl], along with a series of screenshots of texts messages that show [My Name] has been cyber-bullying her quite viciously for the past week. It’s rather disgraceful that anyone would bully [Problem Girl], and we won’t take this lightly.”

Mum: “What?! [My Name] would never do that.”

Teacher: *sternly* “Well, it’s quite obvious that she did.”

(My mum looks about ready to slap him, slamming my phone down on his desk.)

Mum: “And what proof do you have that those screenshots aren’t fake?! Any fool could send them to herself!”

(The teacher opens his mouth to respond when [Problem Girl] bursts into the room, wailing dramatically.)

Problem Girl: “Mr. [Teacher]! I just got more messages from [My Name]! She’s getting really mean now!”

(The three of us look at her, then at my phone, which is still on the desk.)

Teacher: “When did you get these new messages?”

Problem Girl: “Just now! See?!”

(She thrusts her phone towards the teacher. The time the messages were sent was barely a minute ago, when I hadn’t even been in touching distance with anything capable of texting her.)

Teacher: *extremely uncomfortable* “[Problem Girl], that’s impossible.”

Problem Girl: “What?! Are you saying I’m lying?!”

Mum: *cutting the teacher off* “Given that my daughter hasn’t had anything electronic during the time you got those messages, yes.” *turning to the teacher with a death glare*

(The teacher promptly waved us from his office and my mum took me home, refusing to let me into school until everything was sorted. It turns out, the girl had sent the messages to herself in order to get me in trouble. Why? I hadn’t believed her when she faked being pregnant and had called her out on it. My mum and I got a profuse apology from the head-teacher, and I believe the teacher got suspended for a week, but the girl was never punished.)

(I’m at home awaiting pickup of a defective appliance for warranty replacement. There is construction on the main road to my house; I’ve made this clear to the pickup service, and provided alternate directions and my phone number in case the road is closed. It should have been picked up over half an hour ago. I call the service.)

Service: *puts me on hold and calls the driver* “The driver says he was there but you weren’t home. We’ll have to reschedule for tomorrow.”

Me: “I’ve been here all morning. No one has been here. I’m certain of this; the dog would have gone nuts if someone rang or knocked. I took off work for this pickup.”

Service: “I’ll contact the driver and see if he’s still in the area.”

(A few minutes later, my phone rings…)

Driver: “I can’t get to your house. We’ll have to reschedule for tomorrow.”

Me: “Where are you? I can give you directions.”

(He’s at a truck stop three minutes from my house. I give the directions. They aren’t simple — five extra turns — but should be within the abilities of a professional driver.)

Driver: “I can’t do that. We’ll have to reschedule.”

Me: “Wait there. I’ll be there in three minutes.”

(He ended up following me to my house. I had to supply my own dolly to get the appliance to his truck and help him load it. I was so happy that the defective appliance was gone that I didn’t question him about the obvious lie that he’d already been to my house.)

(I’m having a pint when my phone rings. That’s unusual enough, and the caller ID says that it’s from Jamaica, of all places. Hmm, that’s not suspicious at all. The chances of this being a scam rise to 100% at the caller’s first badly-accented words, but I resist the urge to hang up for a moment.)

Scammer: “Hi. My name is Arthur Winters, and I am calling from the Publish Clearing House company.”

Me: “Can you say that name again?”

Scammer: “Yes. My name is Arthur Winters, and I am calling from the Publish Clearing House company.”

Me: “You mean the Publishers Clearing House.”

Scammer: “What?”

Me: “The company; it’s the Publishers Clearing House.”

Scammer: “Yes, I am from the Publish Clearing House.”

Me: “Yes, dear, but that’s not the name of that company. It’s okay. Come on. Say it with me—”

Scammer: *swears at himself and hangs up*

(Poor guy sounds like he’s going to have a tough time at this.)

(I’m working the front desk one night. Around nine pm I hear a guest walk over to the vending machines. I hear them put in money, I hear the can of pop being dispensed, and I hear the change come out. The guest then walks up to me, empty-handed, with a suspicious bulge in his sweater pocket. This kid is no older than 13 or 14 years old.)

Customer: “Hey, um… I just put $2 in your machine and, like, nothing even came out. So… yeah. Can I, like, get my $2 back?”

Me: “So, nothing came out at all?”

Customer: “Yeah, it just kept my money and didn’t give me my pop.”

Me: “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Let me give you your money.”

(I fill out a little ticket with the guest’s room number, the amount, and the reason for the refund, and have him initial it. Then I take $2 from the cash drawer to give to him.)

Me: “Okay, here you go. That’s $2.”

Customer: “Okay, great. Thanks.”

(As he’s saying this, he takes the can of pop out of his pocket, opens it, and takes a sip.)

Customer: “I guess I’ll go try again.”

Me: *looking at the pop in his hand* “Um…”

Customer: *after a pause* “Oh, yeah. I brought this from my room.”

(He then went to get another pop and ran back to his room. Some people’s kids, eh?)