There is a waterfront trail near where I live which has a large breakwater along the side of it made from compacted flat stones. The flat stones are a lot of fun to build with and people often build Inukshuks — traditionally indigenous stone people — from the stones.

One night, I am walking along the trail and I see a guy get off his bike and climb onto the breakwater to build an Inukshuk. A few minutes later, a big black truck drives up and parks illegally in front of the breakwater. The truck is huge, freshly washed, and left running the whole time. 

Out hops a skinny guy in a black T-shirt and camo pants. He climbs up on the breakwater and starts kicking over the Inukshuks people have built on it. When he sees the other man building an Inukshuk, [Camo Pants] walks up to him and kicks it over, right as the man is bent over trying to put one of the rocks in place, nearly kicking the other man in the face in the process.

The guy straightens up and looks at camo pants.

Guy: “Hey, man, you just trying to be a d**k?”

Camo Pants: “Yep!”

The guy looks at the large square stone in his hands.

Guy: “Funny. Me, too.”

And the guy threw the large stone as hard as he could through the windshield of [Camo Pants]’s truck, hopped on his bike, and took off.

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Several years ago, I was on the bus, playing on my original Nintendo DS and listening to music. 

Apparently, this older man started asking me what I was playing on and I couldn’t hear him because, you know, I was listening to music. 

Since I, a stranger, wasn’t paying attention to him, he decided to hit me in the shins with his cane!

He was amazed that I wasn’t receptive to answering his questions after this.

When I’m in school, maybe nine years old, a new government program gives all children from elementary to high school little laptops with little functionality, aimed to teach kids about technology. Since they can go on the Internet, most kids use them to play games.

I’m sitting outside my classroom before class with a friend and a classmate, with the latter’s five-year-old sister standing near. I have come to hate this child because every time her kinder class crosses paths with mine, she aims to do her best to annoy me, including trying to steal whatever I am holding or have near me.

We are all playing games on our little laptops, nobody is paying attention to the kid, and I have my laptop bag next to me on the bench. The kid approaches her sister and suddenly snatches my bag and takes off through the courtyard. I put my laptop aside and take off after her, expecting to have to force a bathroom door open or call a teacher, because that’s where she usually runs to. But when we are nearing the restroom doors, the girl trips on a loose tile, falls on her face, and starts crying.

I stop, take my bag, and start walking back, but my classmate’s younger brother intercepts me, followed by his sister.

Brother: “You pushed my sister! What the f*** is wrong with you?!”

Me: “I didn’t even to—”

He punches me right in the mouth and I throw a punch back, but his sister and my friends manage to pull us apart. I walk off holding back tears out of pride, and I spend the rest of the day tasting blood.

When the classes are done, I spot my mom amongst the crowd of parents waiting outside our classroom and run to her, but I am stopped by another woman yanking my arm violently.

Woman: “Who the h*** do you think you are, pushing a little girl?! I should teach you some f****** manners myself, you little monster!”

I am starting to cry because this strange woman is screaming in my face and is still holding my arm. Then, I spot the little demon grinning behind her. Next to her is her brother, glaring at me, and then my classmate, pale as a ghost and trying to step away from her family. In the middle of the third or fourth time the woman calls me some form of the words “monster” or “bully,” another voice, equally as angry, rises above the yells.

Mom: “Excuse me.”

My mom makes her way to us, yanks the woman away from me, and hides me behind her.

Mom: “What gives you the right to touch my daughter?”

Woman: “Your little monster pushed my baby to the ground and then punched my boy in the face! I should call the police on you right now!”

My mom turns to me with a questioning look. By now I am in a complete panic, sobbing and hiccuping, but I am able to tell my side, including the brother punching me first. By the time I finish, the brother is trying to hide behind his older sister, and the sister has started defensively crying. Their mother explodes in expletives and curses, but this time talking to her kids.

Woman: “I did not raise you to steal and lie to me, [Sister]! Why in the h***—”

We didn’t hear the rest of it because my mom pulled me away and out of the school, muttering about crazy people and reassuring me that I’d done nothing wrong. 

The next day, the little demon and her brother stayed as far away from me as possible. My classmate came up to me and apologised many times for her siblings’ actions and for not stopping either of them. She turned out to be one of the sweetest girls I ever met, which still baffles me, having witnessed her mother’s behaviour.

I am a cashier at a big box retail store. I have clocked out of an eight-hour shift, exhausted during the Christmas season, and changed into my normal-people street clothes — jeans and a hoodie — not the dress code dress pants and shirt.

A customer recognizes me and flags me down.

Customer: “You! Help me!”

Me: “I apologize, but I am off my shift and another associate will assist you.”

She grabs my arm and digs her nails into me! If I wasn’t wearing long sleeves I think she would have broken skin.

Customer: *Screaming* “I’ve been standing here waiting for you because I saw you walking into the staff room! Now that you’re here, you’re going to help me!”

I just look at my arm and back to her.

Me: “Ma’am, unhand my body or I will ask my manager to call the police.”

She loosens her grip but doesn’t let go, and instead, she tries tugging me towards the cash registers.

Customer: “The lines are too long! I’m not waiting! You’re head cashier, so do your job!”

Since I have to be bag-searched at the exit near the registers, I allow this deranged woman to pull me towards them. She pushes me behind a register where I then pick up the phone that pages for a manager.

Me: “Available manager to till four, please.”

The woman is busy unloading her basket on the counter. The manager comes over and I open my backpack; they peek inside.

Me: *Smiling* “Okay, see you tomorrow!”

I then walked out to catch my bus.

The next day, my manager told me that the customer screamed for fifteen minutes about how I needed to be fired for my lack of customer service skills. I got written up because that particular manager hated me, but it was worth it to know that the woman could have waited in line for eight minutes and been out of the store instead of spending thirty minutes trying to beat the system.

Related:
Off The Clock, Customer Block, Part 2
Off The Clock, Customer Block

It’s the beginning of the Christmas season. There is a lot of Christmas product to put out as well as the regular items going faster due to the increase in foot traffic. As I’m shelving, I get a slight tickle between my shoulder blades, so I reach back and give it one good, satisfying scratch before getting right back to stocking. A second or so later, I feel another hard scratch, which is startling as my hands are accounted for, and as far as I know, I’m alone up front.

Startled, I jump and cry out. My foot gets caught under the flatbed cart I’ve got the boxes on so I fall over, into the wall next to me, where I take down every single hook within my silhouette. I finally end up on the ground, surrounded by socks and some of the small boxes I was stocking.

I look up to see who did that and see a middle-aged woman looking down at me. Amazingly, she looks surprised, as well.

Customer: “Sorry. I thought you might not be able to reach.”

Me: “Please don’t do that.”

Customer: “I was just trying to help.”

My brain is still trying to catch up to the situation.

Me: “Okay, but… please don’t do that.”

Customer: *Shrugs* “Sorry.”

She left shortly after that. I don’t think she bought anything. I considered making a “Please do not touch the employees” sign, but fortunately, it was never necessary again.