In the UK, the majority of police officers are not armed, and in fact don’t have much formal gun training. For those who do want to be AFOs (Authorised Firearms Officers), they have to undergo special training, part of which I am overseeing. 

The new trainees have reached the stage where they’re firing live weapons at a gun range, shooting the standard circular targets. One of the trainees is not doing as well as the others.

We’re overseeing his target, and the lack of accuracy is apparent.

Officer: “Okay, be brutally honest. How bad am I?”

Me: “Well, the good news is you have a promising career ahead of you… as a Galactic Imperial Stormtrooper.”

Officer: “…Ouch.”

I work in a small corner shop in a rural village (nearest big city is Glasgow). Our stock is usually just for the essentials. A guy who has moved to the village in the last few months (and complained every time) comes in and asks:

Customer: “I want ten [Lottery scratchcard games].”

Me: “Sorry, but we don’t have any of that particular game. We haven’t received any deliveries from the lottery guys in a while.”

Customer: “That’s f****** typical! This shop never has anything I need!”

Me: “We’re just a small rural shop, sir, so our stock doesn’t really match the bigger stores in town. We do have [other scratchcards], just not that particular one.”

Customer: “No, I’m fed up with this. Get your manager from the back. I know she’s back there! I’ve had issues like this for weeks, and I’m done with it!”

My manager was indeed in the back, but she was already walking out to the front after hearing this guy’s familiar shouting.

Customer: “You! Why do you even manage this useless shop! It never has—”

Manager: “—then drive twenty miles into town and shop there! We’re not f****** Costco, and we don’t pretend to be. Next time, come in with reasonable expectations, you f****** white crayon!”

Customer: *Confused.* “White… crayon?”

An older lady customer, who had been standing to the side of the shop looking at the small selection of birthday cards, chimes in:

Other Customer: “She’s callin’ you useless, you f****** tube.”

Customer: “This… f******… place!” 

He slams his fists on the counter and storms out. The other customer calmly selects her birthday card, and my manager checks her out, having a chat.

Other Customer: “I’d have called him a third nostril myself.”

Manager: “A waterproof teabag.”

Other Customer: “A paper umbrella.”

They got progressively cruder and more savage as they went (too crude to repeat), but whatever they did worked, as maybe he did start going to the Costco in Glasgow, as he’s never darkened our doors since.

Related:
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 10
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 9
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 8
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 7
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 6

My father-in-law was staying with us because his house burned down, and the rest of my husband’s family ghosted him (for reasons that will soon become clear). It was a tense five months, especially for my kids.

We’re raising our kids to have minds of their own, and while they should try to always be courteous, they don’t have to show respect to anyone who doesn’t respect them. My father-in-law doesn’t appreciate this school of parenting and comes from the Era of “children are seen and not heard.”

Well, one day he was talking to my youngest, who had just turned six, and she enjoys conversation, asking questions, and contributing to the dialogue. My father-in-law thinks kids should just sit there quietly while he talks at them. So, he told her a little information, and she responded:

Daughter: “Oh, I didn’t know that.”

Father-In-Law: *Snapped at her with a lot of irritation.* “Yeah, well, there are a lot of things you don’t f****** know.”

This was his way of telling her to STFU. I was about to jump in, but in a heartbeat, she fired back:

Daughter: “Yeah, well, I know your house burned down!”

I had to leave before I laughed in his face. And it may have been rude, but she had been enduring months of him talking down to her and treating her as if she was stupid because she’s a child. He had it coming.

I’m reminded of an incident decades ago that I can now tell now that most people involved have likely retired. My coworker has recently been promoted to be a client caseworker (the industry we’re in doesn’t matter), same as me. He’s very competitive and trying to be ‘number one’ in the office, which is a position I currently hold.

Me: “Hey, [Coworker], where did you put the file for [Client] that I left here last night?”

Coworker: “I filed it.”

Me: “Why? I wasn’t done with it.”

Coworker: “I took care of the client and processed their case.”

Me: “You did what?! But they’re my client.”

Coworker: “Then you should have taken care of it instead of leaving early last night.”

Me: “I left at 8 PM last night.”

Coworker: “Well, now you need to work harder since I’m here.”

Me: “Fine, if having no work/life balance isn’t an issue for you. It’ll be nice to go home at 5 PM today.”

Coworker: “Whatever, be like that.”

Me: “I’m not that bothered.”

Coworker: “Pfft.”

Me: “But you seem to be bothered that I’m not bothered.”

Coworker: “Whatever. At least now I’m making more money than you!”

Me: “Good, since I’m clearly living rent-free in your head.”

Boss: *Walking past.* “[Coworker], don’t engage in a battle of wits when you’re so outgunned. Also, if I hear of you taking credit for someone else’s client-work in the future, you can go pack your things, capiche?”

He angrily silences himself, and we both go back to work. He quits within a month when he realizes he’s back to the number two spot despite putting in more hours (something to do with being too aggressive with his clients) and had a mini-meltdown over it.

The cashier has finished dealing with the angry-looking customer in front of me.

Cashier: “You’re all set. You have a good day!”

Customer: *Angrily, as they grab their bags and leave.* “And what’s so good about it?!”

Cashier: *Smiling, in a customer service friendly tone.* “For one, you’re leaving!”

I snorted a little laugh out as the customer made a few angry grunts and stormed off to face their miserable day.