Bringing You Some Ketchup, Assault, And Pepper

, , , , , | Right | January 9, 2020

(I’m running the front of the restaurant alone during an extremely busy dinner rush while my coworker helps my manager cook in the kitchen. This hasn’t ever been a problem; people are usually much nicer when I’m out there solo. I’ve been able to remember drinks orders pretty well tonight, so I’ve been doing my best to keep people happy. One table has been taken over by local regulars; no problem, even easier for me to remember their drinks, so I keep them well topped up. I’m summoned into the kitchen momentarily to answer a question my manager asks while my coworker comes out to the bar to get her phone as her daughter is ill and needs to be kept on her. Unbeknownst to me, she also serves the regulars some more drinks and doesn’t tell me, and I’m unable to see this as the table is around the corner. I’ve never had any issue with one of the regulars, but as she has caused problems for my coworkers before, I keep an eye on her, being sure to remain friendly. I come out of the kitchen, smiling at the regular customer since she has brought up her empty glass and placed it on the counter, and she is now watching me and waiting silently.)

Me: “Oh, hey! I’ll be right with you; I just gotta wash my hands! Accidentally got covered in ketchup out there!”

Regular: *overly sweet* “Oh, take your time, sweetie! I’m in no rush here!”

(I quickly wash my hands off and make a big show of thoroughly drying them; we can get in trouble if a customer thinks we have dirty hands so it has to almost be theatrical. I pick up the empty wine glass with a smile and hold it up, as I usually do before I refill.)

Me: “Oh, same again? It was [red wine], if I remember correctly, right?”

(The regular suddenly goes from a sweet expression to a rage that I honestly cannot describe, and before I can react she’s brought her arm back and PUNCHED ME hard enough in the face that I almost fall over, barely keeping my feet under me.)

Regular: “How dare you suggest I’m an alcoholic, you little b****?! Can’t you see I’ve got already got another glass?! I was being kind and bringing the old one back; clearly you don’t deserve it!”

Me: “I… I…”

(I’m in so much shock I can’t speak; I’m hurting and confused as to what just happened. Every table, which had all been fairly loud, has gone eerily silent. I can only watch as the regular goes back to her table, still not understanding what I did to deserve such an attack. The silence in the restaurant must have been noticed by my manager because she comes rushing out and sees me.)

Manager: *concerned* “[My Name]! What’s going on?!”

Another Customer: *pointing* “That crazy woman on that table just punched her for doing her job! She just asked if she wanted another drink!”

Manager: “What?! [My Name], is this true?”

Me: *nods, and I’m only just noticing I’m crying, trying to rub the tears away because I already felt embarrassed enough in front of the customers* “Y-yeah, [Regular] just went nuts at me…”

Manager: “All right, you go finish helping [Coworker] in the kitchen for me. I’ll sort this out for you.”

(I did as I was told, and within a couple of minutes my manager came back and told me [Regular] had run off with the rest of her table. I finished my shift out front again, still fairly shaken, but my other customers were extremely kind and patient, with many of them leaving huge tips as they left. Thankfully, we were able to get the CCTV footage after my shift finished and handed it to the police. The regular hasn’t been back in since, and I’m still waiting for the final outcome for the assault charge against her.)

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He Had It Comin’

, , , , , | Right | January 7, 2020

(I’m a computer programmer, but I’ve been practicing UFC martial arts since I was in high school. After more than a decade of training, there are certain things you do instinctively when under attack. Our most recent client is a smarmy dude who seems to think he can do whatever he wants because he’s paying us for a program. It should also be noted that I am female.)

Client: “Wow. That’s a nice piece of a** you’ve got there.”

Me: “Yes, all the better to sit on while coding. Do you mind?”

Client: “Oh, okay.”

(The client then whips my chair around and pulls me out of it, grabbing me and pulling me close to him. He probably shouldn’t have done that. My head ducks, my knees bend, and my arms go into fighting stance. Before he can say or do anything else, I’ve grabbed him, kneed him in the solar plexus, and thrown him rather painfully to the floor.)

Me: *angrily* “Don’t touch me!”

Client: *gasping* “What the f*** was that?!”

Boss: *coming around the corner* “Dude, you went after both the hottest and most dangerous woman in the office. You deserved it.”

(The client quit coming by the office after that.)

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Judge Me By My Size, Do You?

, , , , , | Learning | January 5, 2020

When I was in the third year in high school, a Muay Thai group gave a special presentation on our sport orientation day. Along with two other guys from my school, I found them exciting and cheap enough to try and join. This group was mostly made up of legal adults, soldiers, and police, in fact, but they were accommodating enough. All three of us could join from next week. 

The club had training thrice a week, two hours. The other two from my school guys were a year older than me, and a lot bigger; the difference was mostly made up of fat, but it was still enough that they could bully me.

We started training; the first two lessons, despite the other two pestering me, were good. Then, the third time came.

This was the first time a girl came into the studio. She was tiny, maybe 90 pounds, and five feet tall. She looked like she was around our age, with spiky short hair and a suit and boots. I thought it was strange, but the group behaved as if they knew her, so I didn’t dare to say anything. The other two guys from my school started catcalling her, though, which got ignored. The girl simply changed into training clothes, and we started the lesson.

My schoolmates were pestering her, the only girl in the class, giving her advice on basics and telling her this was a manly sport; she never answered, just concentrated on breathing. She took a break twice, in fact, prompted by the coach, once using an inhaler. Then, at the body touch exercise, those other two guys crossed a line; they were quite blatant about trying to grope the girl. She mostly just evaded, and as she never said anything, just like any of the guys, my schoolmates started to get braver and braver, harassing the girl.

Then came the fighting part. The coach said, “Okay, [Boy #1], [Boy #2], [My Name], get into the ring with [Girl]. She is a beginner just like you. One by one matches, two minutes, everyone goes a round against [Girl]. Keep to the rules.”

The boys started leering, and I started to get a bad feeling. I let the other guys go before me, and the coach went over the hits with me… I don’t exactly know what happened, but only maybe half a minute passed with the sound of hits, then a loud bam! I looked up, and the bigger bully was on his back, gasping for breath, the girl apologising with a grin. She had somehow knocked out the guy twice her size in half a minute!

The second bully only lasted the same time against the girl before he fled the ring. I was the last, and I went down even faster. I was trembling the whole time! It was surreal! I could barely believe how easily she’d knocked those two out! The tiny girl was not even so tiny; she was well over 110 pounds, it turned out, merely thin.

The other two guys didn’t come next week. I did, and I lasted until I left for university.

And that is how I met the woman who inspired me to get into disaster management. She was actually well over thirty, and started Muay Thai training a year before. She had some kind of lung damage from the job, but it turned out not to diminish her fighting prowess. While she couldn’t keep up against the coaches or the prizefighters training there, she could sure kick the a**es of three newbies!

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Sadly Rewarded For Horsing Around

, , , , , | Right | January 2, 2020

I work at a place that is a historic mansion during the day, a haunted house at night. For the most part, we avoid scares where people lunge out at you. The way the house is built doesn’t really allow for it, and the risk of guests panicking and damaging walls is too high. This year, however, we have constructed a maze in an unfinished area, which we call “the Grinder.”

I did not give this tour but was told about it later. A man was scared by an actor in the Grinder who popped out of the fake wall — the intended purpose of this. This man had also happened to purchase a toy, a stick with a horse head, earlier. 

Instead of any kind of rational response to being scared, this man stayed behind, waited for the actor to pop out again, and then hit him in the face with the horse. Four times. 

The most frustrating part? Not only was he not arrested, but he was also given a full refund, despite going through a good 90% of the house and assaulting an actor.

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Influencer, Or Under The Influence?

, , , , , , , | Friendly | December 26, 2019

(I’m browsing at a boutique that carries a bunch of brands that are popular with models and influencers. I’m a big fan of one these brands that creates stunning clothes, but they’re fairly pricey so I rarely buy, and only when they’re on sale. Still, I treasure the items I do get, like the dress I am actually wearing today to the boutique. It was part of their collection two years ago, so it’s not sold at the store anymore. While I’m looking at a couple of dresses, I feel a hand grab me from behind. I whip around and see a statuesque woman staring at my dress.)

Me: “Excuse me?”

Woman: “That’s the [dress] dress! I wanted to get that, but it’s been sold out everywhere for ages. I’m so happy I finally found it.”

Me: “I don’t think they sell this here anymore. I’m sorry.”

Woman: “What do you mean? This looks like my size.”

Me: “What?”

Woman: “I’m an influencer, see? I need to have clothes that are both sexy and pretty. This dress is perfect!”

Me: “I don’t know what to tell you. You should ask a salesperson to help you.”

Woman: “I don’t need someone else to help me. This is what I want; it’d be perfect for my new Instagram post. I want to try on this dress now!”

Me: *incredulous at this point* “This is my dress. Now, please leave me alone.”

(I try to leave, but she’s blocking my way and I’m essentially backed up against the rack.)

Woman: *screeching now* “Why won’t you give me the dress?! Call your manager now!”

Me: “I don’t work here, and this is my dress. Now, get out of the way.”


(Having had enough of this, I try to push past her. She yanks at my dress as I’m leaving.)


Woman: “THIS IS MINE! A girl like you doesn’t deserve a dress this beautiful! I’ll do it justice!”

(I’m just panicking completely. I’m very close to tears and this woman just won’t let go of me.)


(She kept grabbing the dress and I tried to push her away. Suddenly, I heard a loud rip. She’d ripped off a sleeve, causing the front of the dress to fall down, essentially exposing my chest to an entire store full of people. I grabbed the front and burst into tears. I sat on the ground sobbing and I saw a store employee wrangle the woman away, while another came over to put a large wrap around me. The employee comforted me while we waited for the police. The woman was arrested when the police came, and she still kept screaming at me. I did press charges, but it didn’t really do much. She eventually got some community service for what she did, while I was left with the ruins of my favorite dress and the memory of being completely manhandled with my breasts on display for everyone to see.)

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