Our public library branch adjoins a small square. The square is designated as a shared space, meaning that traffic can use it as a thoroughfare, but the speed limit is 10 km/h, pedestrians have right of way, and they cannot stop there at all for any reason. There are multiple road signs conveying all these.

Customer: *Pointing at shared space.* “Can I park there?”

Me: “No. And if the parking wardens see your car there, they will ticket it.”

Customer: “But there are no “No Parking” signs anywhere.”

Me: *Points at the sign.* “That’s your sign right there.”

Customer: “But that’s a “No Stopping” sign.”

Me: “And what is one of the things you do when you park your car?”

At the start of a very long flight, a family with two little boys files into the row across from my husband and me. The kids are constantly fighting and screaming at each other.

My husband leans over to the dad and says:

Husband: “Can you please split them up? This is really unpleasant.”

Dad: “No! I am going to let my kids be kids.”

Husband: “Okay then…” *My husband then turns to me and says in a loud voice.* “So, whattup, monkey butt?”

I glared at him, trying to stop his flow before it started.

Husband: “I said whattup, monkey butt? You’ve got to reply, not much, butt munch!”

The kids start to giggle. The dad leans over.

Dad: “Don’t swear in front of my kids.”

Husband: “A**hole, we’ve got a fourteen-hour flight, so you can either parent your children and shut them up or I will teach them a million sing-song repetitive phrases you don’t want them chanting around your parents and in-laws.”

The dad glared at us, then moved one of his children to the other side of the row and set them up to watch cartoons.

Dad: *To my husband.* “You’re a f****** a**hole.”

Husband: “Yeah, but I’m an a**hole who doesn’t have to listen to your dumb-f*** kids screeching like banshees because their dad’s too much of a soft-c*ck to give them a little guidance and teach them how to live in society.”

My husband’s a monster, but I love him because I get to sleep safely, soundly, and peacefully when he’s around.

CORRECTION: An uncensored swear word has been censored.

Very briefly between jobs, I had a temporary role in a big box store in New Zealand. If I were to say “the big red shed,” all Kiwis would know it.

I ended up in this role for seven months only, and it has proved to be the last retail role I have ever done for reasons like this.

I am one of the Assistant Managers, and as the temp, I’ve been placed in charge of the Boxing Day sales. 

IT IS MADNESS.

We were short-staffed anyway, but I have every checkout working, lines at every till, and the returns desk, where I am working, is overrun. 

Two ladies came by the returns desk and loudly announced to me and anyone who could hear them that they were from another branch and wanted to see what our “bogan” town had in stock. They then said they expected “top” treatment from fellow “coworkers” when they were done.

I very much did not care, and promptly forgot about them.

Two hours later, they came to the returns desk to buy three items of clothing. They demanded to be served first, and the customer in front of them was very kind and let them go first.

They were the MOST condescending of customers. A lot of quips regarding my speed, our selection, and the store’s cleanliness. 

Now, there isn’t a lot we can do when we’re short-staffed, on the biggest sale day of the year, and we are flat out, but we are making do with what we have. 

But then they come out with this:

Customer #1: “We couldn’t believe how bad the changing rooms were! You guys are pigs! I had to fight my way to get the door open and shut; there must have been hundreds of things in there! Did you like, not even bother to clean this month?”

Customer #2: “More like this year!”

Both: *Laughing.*

Through gritted teeth, I got rid of them and had someone cover me to check what they mentioned.

They weren’t wrong: the changing rooms were piled with clothes – all over the floor, chairs, and even the mirrors. They had been kicked into corners, some pulled out of packets, some off hangers. There were stacks of about 10 jeans at a time, all over the place.

Oddly, though, mostly they all seemed to still be on hangers, so no one had actually tried them on; they had just been dumped.

I had to grab some of the inwards goods team to help me move all the clothes back so we could sort them. Some had got quite dirty on the floor, and we counted over five hundred pieces in the two changing rooms!

I had a sneaky suspicion for the rest of the day, and when we finally locked the doors, security and I went and checked the cameras.

Yup! You guessed it, my two “coworkers” decided to just be… s***ty people? They had spent those two hours ensuring no other customers could use the changing rooms and bringing in more and more clothing to dump. The video showed them berating anyone who came close to wanting to try something on.

With the video, I rang their branch and spoke to their manager, but both (who turned out to be mother and daughter) had been fired for their bullying behaviour several weeks ago!

They were just the icing on a hectic, miserable day.

I’m on a cruise to New Zealand. I’m browsing at one of the stalls on the ship when I overhear a group berating the stall holder selling some of her homemade crafts.

Customer: “What do you mean you don’t accept US dollars?!”

Stall Holder: “This ship is based in New Zealand, and that’s where we’re bound, sir, so we only accept New Zea—”

Customer: “Australia and New Zealand both use dollars! I looked it up!”

Stall Holder: “New Zealand dollars, and Australian dollars, sir. It’s our own dollars, not US dollars.”

Customer: “The US dollar is the only dollar, so you have to accept it if your country accepts dollars!”

Stall Holder: “Okay, sir. This item is a hundred New Zealand dollars, so—”

Customer: *Throws a hundred-dollar US bill her way.* “Finally! You get it!”

The customer takes the item and walks away. I walk over and start a conversation.

Me: “So, that item was a hundred… New Zealand?”

Stall Holder: “Yup.”

Me: “Which in USD would make it…”

Stall Holder: “Maybe sixty?”

Me: “So he just—”

Stall Holder: “—tipped me forty. That’s what we’re calling it.”

This story is part of our Editors’-Favorite-Stories-Of-2025 roundup!

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Between the ages of about one to two, my daughter had what we called her “emotional support sock”, a pink, fluffy adult-sized bed sock. She carried it everywhere.

We were in a queue at a clothing store, my daughter sitting in the shopping trolley, and the lady in front of us was causing a hold-up.

Cashier: “You purchased a three-pack of bibs; we’re unable to process a refund for one of them.”

Lady: “But I only need two, the others are home in the wash, I’ll dry them and bring them as well.”

Cashier: “So they’ve been used? Are they defective?”

Lady: “I only need two. I want to return this one.”

After a lot of back and forth, the lady stormed out.

Cashier: *Turning to me and smiling at my daughter.* “Thank you for your patience… please tell me you’re not trying to return one sock?”

I assured him I just wanted to purchase my items, and he was visibly relieved!