A young college-age woman comes in to complain.

Customer: “My new air card is wrong!”

For those who don’t know, an air card was a little thing for your computer that hooked you up to the Internet using a phone company network. You had to sign a contract, and they were limited to a certain amount of data per month — usually like 1GB or 2GB or something low like that. It was essentially for businesspeople to be able to check stuff on the go, not really meant to be your full-time Internet connection.

This customer didn’t realize that and thought she was smart for purchasing a $20-a-month air card to use for Internet instead of buying a whole package for TV, Internet, and phone for $100 per month.

She had been running all her Internet through this air card for a month and a half when the bill came. This included streaming, uploading photos and videos to FB, watching TV on the computer, and even downloading movies and such.

Thanks to the ridiculous overage rates, she received a bill just north of $2,000.

Customer: “You ripped me off! You’re scamming me!”

I showed her the contract including the BIG, BOLD LETTERS that specifically stated the amount given each month and overage rates, and I showed her where she had signed underneath it. She then broke down crying so we had to call [Cell Phone Company] for her, and they eventually halved the bill but wouldn’t do any more.

Some years back, my older teen son and I were in Denver for an event. Later that evening, we had to run an errand in a little street mall that also held a pizza chain restaurant.

We were driving out of the parking lot behind a car that had the pizza delivery sign on the top, my son at the wheel. The delivery guy started out into the street and then hit his brakes. Although my son’s reaction time was very fast, he did lightly bump into the back of the other car.

The driver jumped out screaming and clutching the back of his neck.

Driver: “YOU HIT ME! I’m going to sue you!”

He carried on in this vein for several minutes. My son and I had gotten out of the car, and I had looked at the area of impact. There was a tiny dent in our license plate and nothing was visible on his car.

This was before cell phone times, so I suggested that my son go to ask one of the stores to please call the cops. This did not suit the driver.

Driver: “I have deliveries to make. Just give me $100 and we’ll call it even.”

Me: “No, I don’t think my insurance company would like that.”

Driver: “Okay, $50? $20? You really hurt me, so you need to give me something!”

Me: “That’s strange you felt it that strongly. I barely felt anything, and I just had a hysterectomy two days ago.”

True fact!

He stared at me to see if I was joking, and then he jumped in his delivery vehicle and sped off.

I work as an insurance agent in British Columbia. In British Columbia, you have to go through the government to get car insurance. However, I work at an agency, so we’re basically a middleman; I don’t actually work for the government.

A guy walks in and tosses his papers on the counter.

Customer: “Three months [insurance].”

Strike one for tossing papers disrespectfully.

I begin to do my job, which unfortunately involves lots of simple questions I legally have to ask. These involve, “Are you driving it the most?” and going through coverages. Typically, I apologize for doing it because I know it’s annoying, but I try to be as fast and polite as possible.

I begin to ask my questions.

Me: “Are you still the principal operator?”

Customer: “Yep.”

Me: “Still driving it—”

Customer: “Yup.”

Me: “—driving it the most?”

Customer: “Yup.”

Me: “And are you—”

Customer: “Yap!“

Strike two. I say f*** it and just cut to the chase.

Me: “Sir, it is $198 to renew your insurance.”

This is fairly cheap for three months.

Customer: “What?! How much was it last time?”

I look at the papers.

Me: “Sir, your insurance went up eight dollars.”

I don’t think this is a big deal, but he starts losing his s***, wondering why the insurance corporation of British Columbia is personally victimizing him by charging eight dollars more. I explain that their rates increased a few months ago, and it affected everybody. That doesn’t cut it though; he is furious.

I gather his documents and ask him to sign, and he rips them from my hands.

Customer: “Which one of the documents goes to ICBC?”

That means the government.

Me: “None of them do; they stay in our office.”

He ignored me and began to write something on our copy of the paperwork, and at that point, I’d just had it with the guy. He stormed out as I sarcastically wished him a fantastic day.

I immediately read what he wrote: “RIP OFF!” in all caps across the page.

I felt better after reading his comments. At least he thought he was making a difference anyhoo.

Back in 1998, I moved from Michigan to Virginia and took a job as an irrigation tech for a large regional landscape company. Within six months, I learned my mistake: working as an irrigation tech for landscapers sucks. You are treated as a necessary evil and always get the s***ty end of the stick.

I heard through the grapevine that some area managers had screwed up a couple of big maintenance contracts and that, somehow, they were going to try and make me the scapegoat. I promptly went to the second contractor I had interviewed for originally, got a job there, and put in a one-week notice with [Company].

My manager was really pressuring me to give them more notice until I told him:

Me: “If you ask me one more time for more notice, you will notice the following morning that I don’t work here anymore.”

At the end of the week, I turned in my uniforms plus my reimbursement slip for $38 petty cash. I was told that I was getting nothing back on my uniforms and they weren’t going to pay my $38. I was pissed but just moved on.

The following week, I contacted my local labor board and filed a complaint saying that the entire time I had worked for [Company], I was being paid a salary rather than an hourly while I was a non-exempt employee. I asked to be paid all of my overtime.

A few weeks went by, it worked its way through the system, and I got a call from the corporation’s Controller. We had a meeting and went over everything with a bunch of back and forth. He kept trying to justify that I was really exempt and that they didn’t owe me anything until I’d really had enough of his s***.

I told him straight-up that we might disagree on how much they owed me, but I’d guarantee they owed me something. On top of that, I would make a point on every payday going from branch to branch of the company with a sign, standing outside the gate, and telling every single non-exempt employee that they were being screwed out of overtime and how they could sue the company.

I ended up signing an NDA agreeing that I wouldn’t share any of the information on overtime with other employees, and I got a check for $5,000 the following day. Within two months, [Company] and several others in the area began paying with a new overtime method. They took your weekly salary and divided it by forty for an hourly rate, and for every hour of overtime you worked, you got half your rate. If you worked your way through the math and whatnot and how the labor board determined your overtime in this case, it pretty much worked out correctly.

So, in summary, my employer tried to screw me out of $38 and I made them pay me $5,000.

[Company] has long, long, long since been sold out to a national competitor.

I am sitting in a meeting with a marketing director going over the proposal for a fifteen-product rebrand. The owner of the company barges in and yells:

Owner: “Is this him? I’m not going to let you retire on our dime, kid. Your work is great, but you’re about $7,000 overpriced compared to my cousin!”

I stand up and address the marketing director.

Me: “Thanks for your time.”

Then, I nodded to the owner and left.