(A woman walks in with three young girls.)

Me: “Hi, welcome to [Nail Salon]. How can I help you?”

Customer: “Yes, we had an appointment for four mani-pedis.”

Me: “Okay, can I get your name? And how old are these three?”

Customer: “Why do you need to know how old they are?”

Me: “If they’re under 12, they get Princess mani-pedis which are ten dollars less.”

Customer: “No. I want them to have real mani-pedis.”

(I try to explain twice more that there is no difference besides the price. She starts to yell, causing a scene and bothering other customers.)

Customer: “You’re trying to give them bad service! I want them to have good nails!”

Me: “I understand, and they will. Princess treatments are only less because their nails are smaller so they don’t take as–”

Customer: “I want them to have REAL mani-pedis! You’re trying to give them half-a**ed service!”

Me: “Ma’am, the only difference is the price. Do you want to pay $156 or $129?”

Customer: “Well… in that case, yes. They’re all under 12.”

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(I witness this exchange between a mother and daughter shopping together. Note that the help desk is located between aisles 79 & 80 of the store. The mother is running up and down the store, looking down the aisles, but not walking in them. She finally stops and stands on the opposite side of the help desk from where I’m standing.)

Daughter: “Well? Did you find it?”

Mother: “No! That boy lied to us! He said it’s in aisle 79, but I’ve looked EVERYWHERE and there’s no aisle 79 in this whole store!”

Daughter: *looks to the left of the help desk* “Mom? It’s… it’s right behind you.”

Mother: “What are you talking about? This isn’t aisle 79!”

Daughter: “Yes, it is. See there? No, Mom, up there!” *points* “It says 79.”

(Mother glances at the aisle number, then glances down the aisle without walking in it.)

Mother: “Well, what we’re looking for isn’t down there! I’m sure of that!”

Me: “Hi, how can I help you?”

Customer: “I’m having a problem with your automatic ticket machines. It won’t let me buy children’s tickets.”

Me: “Okay, what movie did you want to see?”

Customer: “Final Destination 3D.”

(I look at the customer’s children, who can barely see over the counter.)

Me: “Ma’am, you can’t take your children to that movie. They’re too young.”

Customer: “What the h*** do you mean?! They’re my children!”

Me: “How old are they?”

Customer: “Six and eight.”

Me: “Ma’am, I don’t think you understand how gory it is. A man’s guts get sucked out and then explode in the air! Could I recommend a different movie for you?”

Customer: “No! I’m going to see this movie with my kids!”

Customer’s Husband: “Their favorite movies are Saw 1 and Saw 2!”

Me: “Well, they still can’t go. It’s illegal.”

Customer: “Nothing’s illegal to do with your children!” *storms away with husband and kids*

This story is part of our “Bad Parents & R-Rated Movies” roundup!

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(A customer slams open the door to our indoor paintball field and storms in, shouting.)

Customer: “Where’s the manager?!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m the owner. What is the problem?”

Customer: “I saw on your web site that you require a parental consent for kids to play at your field. Well, I never signed one, and my son said he’d been playing paintball here. He has bumps and bruises all over him, and I NEVER signed a consent form!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. He must have forged your name or had another adult sign for him. What’s his name? I’ll find the consent form.”

Customer: “His name is [Son].”

(I find his form and show it to her.)

Me: “Is this your son’s form?”

Customer: “Yes! See, I never signed it!”

Me: “Ma’am, your son is 27 years old. Only children are required to have a parent’s signature to play.”

Customer: “But he is a child! He’s my child!”

Me: “I’m sorry, let me rephrase that. Only children under the age of 18 need to have a parent’s signature to play. Since your son is 27, he can sign for himself that he understands all of the risks involved.”

Customer: “This is insane! He could get his eye shot out, or be knocked out, or killed! This is illegal! I’m calling the police!”

(I hear glass shattering from the back of the store, near the wine department. As I head to the source of the sound, I hear a second shatter and see a small child in a cart reaching for a third wine bottle to pull off the rack. There’s no sign of a parent around.)

Me: “Stop that!”

(I grab the cart and pull it away from the wine racks. Suddenly, the absent parent shows up.)

Customer: “How dare you touch that cart! My child is in that cart! How dare you touch my child without my permission!”

Me: “Ma’am, your child has broken two bottles of wine and was about to break a third bottle. I just saved you another $12.99.”

Customer: “Saved me? You’re the one trying to kidnap my child!”

Me: “Ma’am, you already owe me $26 for what happened when you were not watching your own child.”

Customer: “If you’re going to charge me money for bringing my child into the store, I should just let you take him!”

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