My grandson was born and lives in southern California, where he spends as much time swimming and surfing in the Pacific as possible. It’s rare that a week goes by without at least one trip to the beaches near Los Angeles.

When he was nine, his family took a trip to Maine. At one point, they were staying in a hotel on the coast just north of Bar Harbor, and there was a small but inviting beach nearby. He asked, and his mom and dad told him to go ahead and jump in. Sans wet suit, he dashed into the water…

…where he became intimately acquainted with the branch of the Labrador Current that runs south along that part of the coast. Barely past ankle depth, he stopped and sprinted out twice as fast as he’d gone in. His parents couldn’t keep straight faces when he wailed:

Grandson: “Why do they have a beach if it’s too cold to swim?”

The local grocery store is a fairly small one. The self-checkout section has a grand total of two stations. I go in one weekend at a naturally busy time. The store’s understaffed and the lines for both self-check and manned registers are long.

As luck would have it, one of the self-checks is down. [Man #1] is using it, and when he runs his card, it crashes the entire system. After a cashier moves him to a manned register, the other self-check becomes free and I step up to it.

The cashier comes to the crashed self-check, puts solid plastic signs over the screen and scanner that say, “Out Of Order”, and walks away.

[Man #2], who was behind me in line, proceeds up to that register.

Man #2: “Why does this say, ‘Out Of Order’? There was a guy just using it.”

Me: “I think it crashed when he went to pay, and they haven’t rebooted it yet.”

I turn away and start scanning my items. I get through two before he speaks again.

Man #2: “This thing isn’t working!”

The cashier who helped [Man #1] comes over after hearing him.

Cashier: “It’s out of order. I put signs up.”

I was first in line when the register crashed. [Man #2], right behind me, would’ve seen them bring [Man #1]’s items over to another register and the cashier put the signs up.

Man #2: “Yeah, I saw those. I took them off.”

He proceeded to put his groceries back in his cart and huff off.

Relate:
Self-Check Yourself Before You Self-Wreck Yourself, Part 4
Self-Check Yourself Before You Self-Wreck Yourself, Part 3
Self-Check Yourself Before You Self-Wreck Yourself, Part 2
Self-Check Yourself Before You Self-Wreck Yourself

This was back in 2014. I was four or five months pregnant, but due to having Polyhydramnios (too much amniotic fluid) and my daughter naturally being bigger than what was normal, I clearly looked pregnant. I didn’t mind talking about it, as long as I wasn’t touched. I absolutely despised being touched by anyone who wasn’t family. Before becoming pregnant, I didn’t mind the occasional hand-to-shoulder or hug, but after becoming pregnant, I hated it. I even hated that belt they put on my stomach while I was in labor prematurely and was desperate for it to come off.

The truck my late husband and I owned needed an alignment, and only one shop was open for that, so I took it in while he was at work. In the waiting room, there were a couple of other people, one of whom was a much older man who didn’t seem bad at all, and I had talked to him previously as he had noticed me doing a Sudoku.

I also knew the manager; years ago, I broke his son’s nose for bullying me, and [Manager] stood by ME about it, not his son, though his son and I get along now.

I got up to get my daily coffee from their maker, talking to the woman in the seat next to mine about my pregnancy.

Me: “Yeah, it took us five years.”

Woman: “I feel you; it took me nearly ten. My sister adopted, and boom, pregnant. Couldn’t believe our luck with it all.”

The older man reached over and put his hands on my belly, pushing hard.

Older Man: “Oh, are you expecting?! What is it? A girl or boy? Must be a girl! They take away their mother’s beauty!”

The woman next to me quickly stood up, and a young man at the end also quickly got up. They told me later that my face went from smiling to absolutely enraged in the amount of time it took them to stand. I was told later this was my Mama Bear kicking in.

I grabbed the man’s wrist tight enough to make him yell out

Me: “Get your motherf****** hands off me right now, you old b*****d! You lay a single finger on me again, and I will snap all of your fingers and break your nose!”

The young man gently took a hold of me and slowly pulled me back, letting go when he was able to put a little bit of distance between me and the older man. The older man looked at me angrily and then turned on his heel and walked out. The woman quickly followed the man as he was screaming that he was calling the cops for assault. The waiting room opened to the main area, so we could hear them.

Man: “I want the cops called! That fatty grabbed me! Look at my wrist!”

Manager: “Fat… You can’t seriously mean that pregnant lady? I know her well; she went to school with my son. She’s never hurt anyone before… sorta.”

Woman: “Sir, he put his hands on her and basically called her ugly. She got mad, grabbed his wrist, and threatened him. She was only defending herself and her unborn baby.”

Man: “Well, she’s showcasing that fat gut! It’s basically an invitation from the ugly w***e!”

Manager: “Get the h*** out of my shop right now. We have cameras, and I will pull them for the authorities so they can see that you were the one who assaulted a pregnant woman. And sir, for the record, I’d love to see her break your nose, as she’s done that before. I should know; my son was the victim. He shouldn’t have called her a [derogatory name for women] when they were fourteen. Here are your keys. Get out. You are now banned, and if you ever come back, I will call the cops myself.”

I was told the man opened and closed his mouth, gaping like a fish, before turning apparently purple and storming off. The manager and lady quickly came back to find the other man walking me through a panic attack. The manager did waive my fees for the truck, but we found out that something had snapped and they couldn’t align it. I have never been arrested or accosted for grabbing the older man, so I guess he either realized that the police weren’t going to really do anything — in that town they never did — or he realized he really was in the wrong.

Of course, I’d hate to see him run across the very baby whose home he touched now. She’s not an itty-bitty anymore.

This happened to a coworker and me a few weeks ago at our fast food job. I had finished my shift a while ago and had stayed to eat some food before I headed home. When I was ready to leave, I decided to go to the bathroom first. I got in, and almost immediately, someone else (who I found out later was my coworker) went into the only other stall.

The time between me finishing my food and me finishing up my “big business” was a grand total of three minutes.

Enter the entitled customer. She didn’t wait even a few seconds for a stall to become available. She tried my stall door and then the other when mine didn’t open.

Customer: “Hurry up, girls! Other people have to use the toilet, too!” *Bangs on the doors* “COME ON! HURRY THE F*** UP!”

Me: *Purposefully being loud with the toilet paper dispenser* “Ma’am, I’m almost done! I’ll be out in a minute!”

Customer: “WHAT THE F*** ARE YOU GIRLS DOING IN THERE, DRUGS?! PROBABLY F****** SHOOT’N UP WITH NEEDLES, YA F****** DRUGGIES!”

During her tirade, the other stall had become available, and I was exiting mine when I saw she was getting up in [Coworker]’s face. [Coworker] was just trying to wash her hands and get out of there.

Customer: “You girls took way too long!”

Coworker: “Sorry, ma’am. The stall is available now, though, so please stop yelling at us.”

Customer: “THIS IS A PUBLIC BATHROOM! NOT A PLACE FOR DRUGGIES LIKE YOU TWO TO HANG OUT! OTHER PEOPLE HAD TO USE THE TOILET!”

Coworker: “It’s not like this is the only bathroom around…”

Customer: “And where are these other bathrooms? I only see two stalls!”

Coworker: *Calmly* “If you had to go desperately, the men’s room has a stall and toilet, or there’s a public restroom at the gas station right next door.”

Customer: “I am a woman, and I am eating here, so I will use this restroom! You f****** methheads should not have been in there so long while I was waiting!”

Me: “Lady, I had been in there at most two minutes before you came in and she—” *points to my coworker* “—came in after me! If you have to go so bad, why don’t you go use one of the two stalls that are now available instead of wrongfully accusing us of taking drugs?”

My coworker and I leave and I go report what happened to our female manager.

Me: *Voice cracking from anxiety* “I just wanted to let you know, [Coworker] and I were just in the bathroom, and this lady came in, and apparently, we took too long so she accused us of taking drugs. [Coworker] told her where more bathrooms were, and I told her we had gotten in there right before she did, but she didn’t like that, so I think she’s gonna come out yelling.”

Sure enough, the moment I get done saying that, the customer comes out holding up two fingers.

Customer: “SEE?! TWO MINUTES! THAT’S ALL IT F****** TAKES! TWO MINUTES!”

My very petite but feisty manager speaks up.

Manager: “Excuse me?! I didn’t realize there was a specific time limit on how long someone was allowed to be in a public bathroom! You’re being ridiculous!”

Customer: “They were in there for more than the two minutes it should have taken them! They must have been doing drugs and that is unacceptable!”

Manager: “No! What is unacceptable is accusing my employees of taking drugs just because they didn’t conform to your stupid bathroom beliefs! Please leave!”

Customer: “I WANNA SPEAK TO THE MANAGER!”

My manager tugs at her shirt, which is obviously very different than mine.

Manager: “You see this shirt?! I am a manager, and I’ve asked you to leave! Now get out!“

Customer: “WELL, YOU’RE FAT AND UGLY!” *Storms out*

I’m really glad that our managers look out for us and have our backs against crazy people like that!

Related:
Two Too Much, Part 2
Two Too Much

I’m enjoying a lobster dinner with some friends on an outdoor deck at a lobster house. Knowing that it’s outside and it’s York County, Maine, I choose to wear a shirt that has Permethrin treatment. Any mosquito or horsefly that gets close enough has its nervous system scrambled… so I’m comfy and safe.

A woman at the table next to us has been swatting herself like crazy because she’s being eaten alive. She looks over at me and interrupts our conversation.

Woman: “You haven’t had a problem with the bugs since we’ve been here.”

Me: “Nope.”

Woman: “It must be where you’re sitting. If you were a gentleman, you’d give me your bug-free space so I can eat in peace.”

I’m bemused but offer her my chair, which she happily takes. Of course, she is still being swarmed, so I offer her a pocket wipe of mosquito repellent.

Woman: *Making a face* “I don’t believe in pesticide.”

Me: *Politely* “That’s probably why you’re getting bit, and that’s why I wear clothing with Permethrin when I know there are going to be bugs.”

Woman: “You’re an a**hole! You should have told me that you had repellent on!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m not proactive for others when they choose to be stupid.”

I then went back to enjoying my lobster. She dragged her husband off in a big huff.