A customer comes in with a laptop infested with malware and illicit third-party software that have essentially turned his computer into a slow paperweight.

Me: “You’ll need to delete all the software that’s causing the issues, sir.”

Customer: “No! You need to replace it or fix it! I have a lifetime warranty!”

Me: “Sir, that warranty doesn’t cover these types of issues.”

Customer: “Get me your manager!”

My manager comes over and the same complaint is made. My manager refuses to replace the laptop.

Customer: “No! I have a lifetime warranty!”

Manager: “That only covers hardware issues. This is a software issue — and a third-party one at that.”

The customer slams his fist down on the keyboard, breaking a surprisingly large amount of it.

Customer: “What about now?”

Manager: “Congratulations! You just converted your lifetime warranty into a lifetime ban! Get out!”

CONTENT WARNING: Child Abuse

Several years ago, I visited Germany with some friends to see a band on tour. I’m American, so that involved a lengthy transcontinental flight over the ocean. This happened on my flight home.

It was the dead of night, and we were somewhere over the middle of the ocean. We flew into some sort of weather or pressure pocket, and I could feel my ears go all funny for a couple of moments.

A little girl, maybe four or five, was half asleep a few rows up, but this apparently startled her awake, and she started crying. And you can’t really blame her. We’d been on that plane for quite some time, she had probably got a confused sleep schedule, it was an unfamiliar environment, and now something startling had happened.

Instead of comforting her, which would likely have solved the problem and left me with no story to tell, the mother took a different approach.

Mother: *Sharply* “Girl! Stop crying. You’re waking people up.”

The little girl continued crying. And again, can you really blame her? She was reasonably upset, and now it seemed as if her mother was yelling at her.

Mother: *Sharply. “If you can’t be quiet, I’m going to put you outside the plane until you can calm down.”

Me: *Mouthing to my best friend* “What the effing eff?”

Now, I’m pretty sure all of us, when we were the little girl’s age, had some understanding of the concept that planes fly very high up, and if you go outside the plane, you will fall. That, of course, terrified the little girl more.

Little Girl: *Sobbing* “Mommy, please don’t. Please don’t send me outside. Please don’t, Mommy, please, please, please.”

Mother: “Be quiet, or you’re going outside.”

At this point, a middle-aged woman two rows up had had enough — not with the child but with the mother.

Woman #1: “Mein Gott im Himmel. You’re frightening her! Stop screaming and comfort her.”

Mother: “Don’t tell me how to raise my child.”

Woman #1: “Raise? This is not how you raise a child. This is how you ruin a child.”

Another woman motioned to the mother. She spoke with a heavy German accent, but her English was good.

Woman #2: “Here, she can sit with me. I will calm her.”

Mother: “She wouldn’t be able to understand you. I am perfectly capable of raising my daughter.”

At that point, the flight attendant arrived. She had a look on her face that I’ve not seen since my days in Catholic school when one of the nuns was about to mete out serious punishment. The look alone could wither most problems, but the mother was of a special breed.

Flight Attendant: “Please attend to your child. Passengers are trying to sleep.”

Mother: “I told her to stop crying. I can’t do anything if she refuses to listen. You’re clearly not parents, or you would know that.”

Some cheeky young man piped up.

Young Man: “You’re clearly not, either, or you’d be parenting right now.”

The flight attendant shot him a look. Then, she returned her attention to the mother.

Flight Attendant: “Your daughter is clearly distressed. We cannot land should she require medical attention. You need to attend to her.”

Mother: “She will stop crying when she stops crying.”

The flight attendant began to head to the front of the plane — maybe to speak to the pilot or something? I don’t know, honestly.

The mother, dozens of sets of eyes glaring at her, turned to the little girl and hissed.

Mother: “Shut up, girl! You’re going to get in trouble. The pilot is going to kick you off the plane, and then you’ll never get home!”

Brilliant thing to say to a frightened child. A man behind me snapped.

Man: “Shut your mouth, lady. The kid’s only crying because you’re a psycho. If you’d sit down and shut up, the kid would probably calm down in no time.”

Mother: “Don’t you take that tone with me!”

Man: “I’ll take any tone I like — especially with a psycho, child-abusing b****.”

The mother got up out of her seat and got in the man’s face. She was standing right beside me, screaming at him. It was terrifying, and I don’t know how he kept calm.

Then, she slapped him. Big mistake. BIG MISTAKE.

The flight attendant, returning from the front, saw this.

Flight Attendant: “I recommend you sit down and remain seated and quiet for the rest of the flight. Authorities will escort you off the plane when we land.”

The mother sputtered and attempted to protest. The flight attendant would have none of it.

Flight Attendant: “You committed an assault, and things are now out of my hands. Any further issues will likely compound your charges.”

The mother got up, stomped down the aisle to the bathroom, and shut herself in.

Immediately, the German-speaking woman sat in her seat and started comforting the little girl. She soon calmed and ceased crying.

The mother stayed in the bathroom for the rest of the flight, until it was time to land and she was ordered out. True to the attendant’s words, we were told to remain seated while she was escorted off the plane. The man who she’d slapped followed shortly after.

I have no idea what transpired after that, as I had to catch a connecting flight to my hometown airport. But hopefully, she faced some serious charges and that poor kid got someone better to care for her.

I’m planning on going back to Germany for the band’s next tour. Hopefully, this flight will be a lot more peaceful.

I played music for a living for nearly twenty years and always played New Year’s Eve. Fellow musicians and I call it “Amateur Night” because that’s when people who never drink, drink to excess.

If you frequent a local bar often, you’ll notice the regulars who are almost always there tend to leave around 7 PM or 8 PM on New Year’s Eve, because people who can’t handle their alcohol will be getting drunk soon. It’s always a madhouse, with people barfing in the bathrooms and just being idiots.

On Dec. 31, 1999, the band I was in had just finished our second set and was outside to catch a smoke and some fresh air before seeing in the year 2000, when a very drunk young woman came up to me.

Woman: *Yelling.* “You have to get me back in the bar; the bartender threw me out!”

Me: “There’s no way that’s happening because you’re banned.”

And just like that, she proceeded to take a huge bite out of my arm!

Now I’m a peaceful man who, to protect myself, flung this woman to the ground and went back inside.

An hour later, a policeman came in and stopped our set saying they were arresting me. They took me outside and there was the crazy drunk standing next to the police car and smiling. She showed them bruises on her arm and face where I flung her to the ground and she was filing charges for assault.

I showed the cop her bite mark and had my bandmates as witnesses that I acted in self-defense. The bartender also, stated that she was thrown out for being unruly. She stood there bewildered as to why she was being handcuffed and started crying as they put her in the car.

We went in and finished the show and that was the last New Year’s Eve I ever booked.

I’m a lanky person in my early twenties, but back in middle school and high school, I took martial arts classes and managed to reach black belt. Now my “skills” are rusty as h***, and I am out of shape, but if needed I can fight.

I am currently in a struggling financial state, so when I do shop, I go for cheap. Since it’s getting cold and it’s raining a lot, I have on a gray jacket, black pants, and some black sneakers. I need some cereal I like, so I head up to the grand palace of [Big Retail Chain].

I’m browsing the games I can’t afford, seeing what’s new, what’s on sale, what the prices are if I want to save up, etc. I’m kneeling to look at the bottom shelf, and I hear a cough behind me — the kind for getting people’s attention — and I look up.

Me: “Oh, sorry, am I in your way? I’ll move.”

Man: “No, I need you to unlock the games. I want to get something for my son’s birthday.”

Me: “Oh, I don’t work here, so I don’t have the keys to unlock this. Sorry.”

Man: “Of course you say that. You young people ‘never work here’ when I need help.”

He does air quotes when he says that in a mocking tone.

Me: *Standing up* “Maybe the reason people tell you that is because they don’t work there. Nothing I am wearing is even blue, like the mandatory uniform here.”

Man: “You’re just hiding it under your jacket. Don’t lie to me! I know those are the pants they wear here.”

Me: “Black jeans? Sorry I am an edgy b**** and prefer dark colors.”

Man: “Excuses! Now help me. I am a paying customer, and the customer is always right!”

Having worked customer service-type jobs (mainly fast food) this irks me, but I at least have a response.

Me: “Sure. The thing is, all these companies are privately owned, and they can decide who is and isn’t a customer. Plus, I am, too, and my ‘always right’ words are to leave me alone. I just want to shop in peace.”

Man: “How dare you?! You millennials are always so rude!”

At this, I do laugh, since the youngest millennials are in their late twenties.

Me: “All right, dude, is this some prank? I’m Gen Z, I’m tired, and I do not have enough time for this, so leave me be, aight?”

With that, I walk away, but he starts to yell at me and grabs the hood of my jacket.

Man: “Don’t walk away from me, b****! I will have you know I can get you fired!”

I smack at his hand to prevent myself from being pulled off balance.

Me: “Buddy, I would quit fast enough to make your head spin. Threatening to get me fired from a place I’ve never worked does nothing. Back up, now!“

Man: “You hit me! How dare you?! Where is your manager?!”

At this point, an actual employee walks up, since it is getting loud, and before he can even ask what’s going on, the man goes off.

Man: “This employee hit me and wouldn’t help me! You need to make sure they get fired!”

Employee: “Okay, that sounds serious. Where is the employee who hit you?”

Man: “Right there!”

Aaaaand he points at me.

The employee looks confused and I decide this shouldn’t escalate more.

Me: “All right, my turn to talk. Hi. I was browsing, he thinks I work here, I told him I don’t, he grabbed my hood as I was walking away because he’s annoying me, and I smacked his hand away because he grabbed my clothes. Plus, he’s a good head taller than me — why would I hit someone bigger than me if they didn’t pick the fight?”

Man: “YOU LIAR! YOU REFUSE TO HELP ME!” *Points to the actual employee* “AND IF YOU LIE AND SAY THEY DON’T WORK HERE, I KNOW YOU ARE JUST COVERING FOR THEM! I WANT THE MANAGER!!”

The employee looks a bit scared. I don’t know his age but he looks a little younger than me, so this might be his first job.

Me: “Just get the manager, and just in case, I would suggest security since this guy is—”

The man cuts me off.

Man: “YOU THINK I’M CRAZY, HUH? YOU’RE PROBABLY GOING TO LIE TO GET ME THROWN OUT! WELL, I WON’T GO DOWN UNLESS I TAKE YOU WITH ME!”

And then he lunges at me. He pushes me to the ground and starts wailing on me. I pull my arms up to block my face, and Jesus, this dude packs a punch. If I was unlucky, he probably could seriously hurt me.

The employee runs off, and the man stops to try and yell at him. Since I know what I am doing, I take the time when he pauses to bring my elbow up into his gut. He doubles over, and I punch his nose. I honestly wish I’d broken it, but no luck. I slip out from under him and crawl back before I try and stand.

Man: “I’LL MAKE SURE YOU REGRET WHAT YOU DID TO ME!”

Me: “BACK OFF, YOU CRAZY F***ER! YOU ARE MUCH BIGGER THAN ME, AND I WILL USE ANY DIRTY TACTIC TO STOP YOU FROM HURTING ME, GOT IT?!”

He just screamed and charged me, trying to football tackle me. I tried to dodge, but because we were in the middle of an aisle, I couldn’t, and he grabbed me. He pushed me to the walls of the TVs and slammed me into them. I didn’t know what his plan was, and I didn’t want to get hurt and pay medical bills, so I tried slamming my elbows down on him. That didn’t work, so I then went to plan B and tried to hit his groin. I missed, but I hit close enough to make him go on guard, and that was when security showed up yelling.

I don’t remember all the words yelled, but as the security guard was trying to pull this guy off me, he pushed them back and slammed me back into the wall. This time, some of the TVs on display came crashing down, hitting me and this guy — mostly him, luckily — and I dropped down to the fetal position. As the man was pushing one of the now-broken TVs off him, I went for the groin punch. This time, I didn’t miss, and since his jewels got slammed with my full force, I just dipped. Security now had the upper hand and finally pushed this guy to the ground.

The end of the story is how you would expect: crazy dude got arrested and paramedics were called for me. Since I’m American, I did not want them called because bills, but good news: the worst injuries I had were some nasty-a** bruises and a few cuts and gashes from when the TVs fell. It was nothing a bandage or bandaid couldn’t fix. And since the only thing I was going to buy was a box of cereal, the manager (who was told about what had happened) gave me a 50% discount, so I felt good.

I really don’t get why these people get so angry they go to violence. [Big Retail Chain] is pressing charges against the guy, but I want nothing to do with it, so I won’t have an update on the court result.

I have a pinched nerve. It’s usually fine, but if I lift something heavy the wrong way, or I twist just right, or the stars are out of alignment or something, it feels like someone jabs a knife in the side of my neck and hooks it to a car battery. Zero out of ten, would not recommend.

I’m out at the store, and one thing I have to get is a bag of rice. I squat down and grab the big five-pound bag from the bottom shelf, and then my brain shuts off as I straighten my legs first and THEN straighten my back and head. PING! Teeth grit, rice is dropped into my cart, and I end up doubled over the handlebar. Just around the time I’m wondering if this is a little flare-up or if I’m going to end up in bed for forty-eight hours again, I hear a nasty voice behind me.

Lady: “Ex-cuh-USE me!”

I don’t look up; I just slowly shuffle forward as I assume I’m in the way.

Lady: “Ugh, seriously?! You’re so high you can’t even look at me.”

Me: “Pain.”

Lady: “Awwww, poor little druggy coming down and doesn’t like it?”

Me: “Nerve… pain. Please, leave me alone.”

Lady: “You deserve it, druggy!”

Me: “F*** off. I don’t do drugs.”

That’s when she hit me with… something. I don’t know if it was her purse, a shopping bag, or what. I just heard and felt a vague “whump” on my back before letting out a yowl like I had been shot. I honestly have no idea why she assumed I was on drugs or why that necessitated violence, nor did I get the chance to ask as she booked it around the time several workers came running into the aisle to check on the noise.

I got a helping hand up to the “waiting for a ride” benches at the front of the store, and I got offers of ice packs which past experience told me wouldn’t help. The water bottle I did take, though, and thankfully, after another ten-ish minutes, things settled down enough that I could check out and drive home.

The manager on duty said they’d pull the security camera footage, and if anything official was done, he’d be in touch. It’s been a month now, so my hopes aren’t high.