I live in a three-unit townhome. We’re all good friends and share keys with each other. One of the residents is my best friend. With my approval, she sometimes enters my house when I’m gone to grab a soda. In return, she cooks me food and shares her alcohol with me on weekends. She has the code for my house alarm.

[Neighbor] lives in a different building, and she thinks we’re friends just because I’m friendly to her when she comes around. [Neighbor] is very obnoxious, but we’re all nice to her because you don’t want crazy people living across the street.

One day, [Neighbor] sees [Friend] leaving my house and asks what’s up. [Friend] tells her what’s up. Later, [Neighbor] texts me to “rat out” [Friend], and I tell her it’s fine.

A week later, [Neighbor] comes by.

Neighbor: “Why won’t you give me a key to your place?”

Me: “It’s a safety thing; I’m the only one with a fire extinguisher.”

The fire extinguisher part is a fact, but this is just an excuse I’ve made up. The only other excuse I’ve thought of is that my landlord won’t let me. But my excuse seems to shut her up. I really don’t want her in my house. I can only imagine what she’d do in there, and I know she’d bring her kids over to see my s***. I have expensive computer equipment; I don’t need kids around.

A month later, [Neighbor] sees me unloading a bucket of Fireball shots and quickly makes a beeline across the street. She asks for some and tries to make friendly conversation. I roll my eyes, struggle with the seal, and hand her two.

Neighbor: “Thanks, babe! Love you!”

Ugh. Whatever, it’s not a big deal.

Meanwhile, she still messages me like friends, and I watch her house from time to time when she’s gone.

Last week, I’m at my mom’s house when I get a phone call from my home security system company asking if I need the police. My roommate, [Friend], and keyholders have my code, and it gives you sixty seconds to push the code even if it’s wrong, so something is up.

I rush home, and my front door is wide open, letting the hot summer air strain my electric bill. There are two cops inside.

And there’s none other than [Neighbor] standing at the counter.

Neighbor: “Here she is! She lets me in her house! We’re best friends!”

My jaw dropped.

Apparently, [Neighbor] had the garage door code to [Friend]’s house. She found my house keys in [Friend]’s house, and she had the balls to take MY stuff when I was gone like she was entitled to it. Then, she didn’t message me that the alarm was screaming, let me know she wanted something, or even leave when the cops showed up.

It took the cops eight minutes to get there, so I have no idea what she was poking around with while the alarm was screaming. She broke into two houses like it was no big deal.

I demanded that she leave, but I didn’t press charges because I don’t want a crazy, angry neighbor.

My city charges you $100 if you have an unregistered alarm system, so I got a fine from the city. I paid the fee and stuck the bill in [Neighbor]’s doorway. I haven’t seen a dime of that yet. [Neighbor] also hasn’t asked for my alcohol, either, since then.

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In 2007, I am involved in a traffic accident on a ramp on the freeway in Baltimore. Traffic goes from the speed limit — fifty-five miles per hour — to a dead stop around the curve of the exit in a space of 500 feet, AND it has just started raining. My Honda Accord and I manage to stop literal inches from the bumper of the car in front of me. I have enough time to have half a sigh of relief before I am rear-ended so hard that the can of tea in my waist-level console cupholder winds up splattered all over the windshield.

I get out of the car, and the person who hit me is literally crying blood. She’s driving a Saturn that is at least a decade old, and the ancient airbag broke her nose and blacked both of her eyes. She’s also crying for real because this is her only transportation.

I go, “F***,” grab an umbrella out of my now weirdly-shaped backseat, and hold it over her while she sobs.

Girl: “My brakes have been locking up lately. I was literally on my way to the mechanic!”

She tries to text her boyfriend to pick her up. She’s crying so hard that she drops her phone twice.

And then a cop shows up.

He writes this girl a ticket for “failure to control speed to avoid an accident”, “reckless endangerment”, and half a dozen other bulls*** things to the point that the ticket will literally cost more than a new car and she might get her license revoked and/or jail time.

She’s hysterical. I talk to her, reassure her that it’s not her fault, and manage to swap insurance information with her.

Fast forward two months. I had mild whiplash, but I’m healed up and mostly good regarding the accident. I have a new car and everything. I get a notice in the mail that I am requested to be a witness for this poor girl’s trial for her ticket; I don’t have to show, but it’d be nice.

F*** if I’m gonna let that cop roast her. I was asked, so I’m taking a day off work to show up.

I turn up in court dressed in my civil servant best. I’m working for the state government at the time, so however staid you imagine that outfit looking, multiply it by three. I even toss on some makeup to impress the judge. I wait three hours for her hearing, because h*** if I’m gonna accidentally be late. The cop goes first, making up a bunch of bulls*** about how recklessly she was driving to have hit me in an accident he was probably ten miles away from witnessing based on his response time.

Then, the judge calls me, and I stand up. The cop looks this weird combo of Surprised Pikachu Face and pissed — like he didn’t expect me to show. The poor girl was already crying, and she starts crying more.

I get to the stand, get sworn in, and tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Me: “We were going exactly the speed limit. I know because I checked my speedometer in surprise that there wasn’t more traffic. [Girl] was following a proper distance behind me; I checked my rearview mirror and she was a ways off. It had just started raining after a dry week, so the road was very greasy; I knew that because I’d almost slid into the car in front of me, only saved by my car’s ABS [anti-lock braking system]. [Girl]’s wheels locked; I heard the screech and saw the skid marks. She definitely wasn’t at fault because she was on her way to get her car’s old ABS fixed.”

I also mention:

Me: “[Cop] didn’t show up until twenty minutes later.”

I know this sounds like an “…and everyone clapped!” moment, but the judge did thank me for doing my civic duty and turning up. And I got a quick hug from the poor girl after the judge dismissed her charges.

Anyway, if you can turn up in court to fight a traffic ticket (even someone else’s), you should do so.

I worked in a hotel with a bar — a super ritzy place where there was a room that was over $5,000 a night and a shot of alcohol that was $1,000 — for a little over two years and have hundreds of stories. However, I am going to start off with one of my favorites. I was the supervisor of the contract security division.

After a portion of the rush was taken care of one night, I had the opportunity to go out for a lightly deserved smoke break. The smoking section was beneath the balcony of the bar. While I was shooting the s*** with a coworker, I heard the crash of a bottle as it fell from the balcony.

“Oh, s***. Time to get back to work,” I thought, as that was never a good sign.

When I got up to the bar and made my way through the crowd, I spoke to one of my officers who had a really keen eye for dumba**ery. I gave him an update and asked him to keep an eye on the balcony. He did so, and not even a minute later he came back to me.

Officer: “I just saw someone throwing a bottle off the balcony.”

[Officer] later informed me that [Guest] had been trying to sell alcohol to another bar patron, which is illegal in my state. That bar patron told [Guest] no but that they were going to get security, which is why [Guest] had decided to throw the bottle of alcohol from the balcony.

My second-in-command officer and I approached the guest, and we escorted him out.

In our bar, we had a sign at the exit for people leaving that stated, “No alcohol beyond this point”, which was one of our ways of keeping the place state legal. As we passed this sign, [Guest] must have seen the sign because he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little bag of coke.

Guest: “I don’t have any alcohol but I have this.”

At that point, I radioed property security, and they sent “Tower” over. Tower was an officer who worked private security for the property. He stood at about 6’8” and was a tower of a man.

I got [Guest] out on the second floor, and he wandered off. When Tower showed up, I updated him and gave him a description of [Guest], but at this point, [Guest] returned and shoved a group of random people, stating, “They were in my way,” as if he hadn’t done anything wrong. I went to talk to the group he had shoved, and Tower spoke to [Guest].

You know that one guy on your team that not a single person will screw with? That was Tower, mainly because there wasn’t anyone even close to his size, but also because he was a giant teddy bear. But [Guest] was pretty much ignoring Tower, to the point that he just walked away. Tower got the police on the radio and they met him at the skybridge.

I got the group that [Guest] had shoved to calm down, asked if everyone was unharmed, told them that we were handling this guy, and let them know that if they wanted to they could file assault charges. They declined, and we moved on.

I turned around to see [Guest] peeing off the skybridge while Tower was speaking on the radio.

At the end of this incident, [Guest] was trespassed from the property, but the police released him because the amount of coke in his possession wasn’t enough to prosecute. They did confiscate his coke, though.

BUT WAIT: THERE’S MORE!

[Guest] came back to the property later, found the officer who had confiscated his coke, and asked:

Guest: “Can I have my coke back?”

That officer called the police, who arrested him for violating a trespass, and it turned out he had warrants for his arrest in other states. All in all, that was the last time I will ever see [Guest]… probably.

In 2013 or so, I am an adjuster for a popular car insurance company. I go to many tow lots after car accidents and decide if a car was a total loss or send it to a body shop, as well as do the initial write-up of an estimate on repair costs.

The tow lot I am at today also works with the state police and houses their overflow storage for anything deemed evidence and on hold from release. These vehicles are kept behind a locked gate inside the already fenced, gated tow yard.

I am here to do an appraisal on two vehicles. They were involved in a minor accident; however, both were left unable to drive from the scene due to either multiple flats, lights knocked out, or windows busted. I’ve finished the first vehicle and started taking photos of the second vehicle. I have headphones in.

I see a woman walking up to the police evidence lot and the gate swinging open out of the corner of my eye. I’m not paying much attention. My back is turned to this woman as I take the last couple of photos I need. The last is a photograph of the VIN of the vehicle, which is located where the windshield meets the hood almost on the dash.

Out of nowhere, this woman grabs both cables to my headphones from behind and rips them out of my ears.

Woman: “Excuse me! Why are there two cars in front of mine so I cannot get it out?”

This lot stacks cars in four or five deep, side by side, and moves them around with a small truck to release them.

Me: “Please don’t touch me, and I don’t think you should be in here. And I don’t w—”

Woman: “You shouldn’t be listening to music on the job, anyway, or slacking off taking pictures of other people’s belongings. You’re probably back here stealing.”

I attempt to point at the insurance company logo on my blue jacket, but the woman continues on.

Woman: “Are you going to do your job, or do I need to call the police because you’re refusing to give me my property?”

Me: “Have you gone into the office at [Towing Company]?”

Woman: “No, I saw you here, and you need to move these cars so I can get mine and leave.”

She marches over to the evidence lot, opens the door of the first car blocking hers, and gets in.

Me: “HEY! HEY! NO! You can’t go in there! That is police evidence!”

I use my cell phone to call the towing company and inform them of what’s happening.

Woman: “If you won’t move these cars, then I will! Where are the f****** keys?”

Me: “In the office with the employees.”

The towing company’s manager comes running out with a phone in his hand.

Manager: “Hey, lady, get the h*** out of there! Those cars are property of the state police!”

[Manager] frantically called someone on his phone. Then, he saw that the chain used to keep the lot closed had been cut WITH BOLT CUTTERS. The woman was carrying a pair of bolt cutters and had thrown them into her car when she was back at it.

[Manager] and the woman argued back and forth, and I listened and half-paid attention as I finished my duties for work.

About ten minutes passed, and SEVEN police cars came flying into the lot.

[Manager] greeted the police and started to explain what was going on, but the woman attempted to scream at the police that I had stolen her car. One officer told the woman to stand over in the direction he pointed in, sending a female officer to wait with her. It turned out that the Lieutenant who was in charge of the County’s Police Tow Licenses was on the scene.

After getting [Manager]’s story, [Lieutenant] came to me and took mine. While I was informing him of what had happened, the woman overheard and started yelling and attempting to approach me. The officer standing with her grabbed her by her arm. The woman yanked her arm out of the officer’s hand and shoved her, surprisingly knocking the officer down.

The woman was screaming incoherently as she charged toward me. [Lieutenant] stepped in front of me and hit the woman with his taser, creating the most beautiful sound in the world. The woman went limp and face-planted in the light gravel of the lot. They immediately handcuffed her.

It turned out the woman had walked onto the lot carrying the bolt cutters while I was in the office talking with staff about the two cars I needed to adjust. She had been roaming the lot until she saw me when I happened to be near her car.

The woman was charged with burglary, two counts of tampering with evidence, assault on a police officer, assault on me, trespassing, and resisting arrest. I know she did jail time, but I’m not sure how much.

Years later, the towing company I now own impounded her car for being double-parked. She remembered who I was and quietly paid.

This story is part of the Readers’-Favorite-Stories Of-2023 roundup!

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When I was younger, I had a job at a small market in our city’s center. Usually, you can work from age fifteen to seventeen, but as soon as you turn eighteen, you will most likely get fired. Once you turn eighteen, your salary increases a LOT.

For two years, I worked at the same shop sitting at the desk, but since I was nearing age eighteen, I knew I couldn’t stay. I knew was about to get fired, and sure enough, a week before I turned eighteen, I was. I told my boss I knew why, and it was understandable, since the small shop needed to save as much money as possible since the income and profit were already low for being a local city market and not some big shopping centre. I got a bonus for being fired and decided to keep this bonus to use on something special.

One day, weeks later, I saw that the same shop had just stocked some extremely expensive and unique food products, imported from around the world, and out of pure curiosity, I went there to buy some myself. I arrived to find a really busy shop, with many customers wanting to buy all these special beers, sausages, and so on, but I had set my eyes on this one thing: American candy. I live in the EU and American candy isn’t really sold so much in my country, so I was drooling at the thought of getting to try some of these big products I’d heard about on the Internet.

I went to take some of the candy and put it in my basket, and up walked [Customer], one of our regulars. When I still worked there, whenever there was a discount or something special, [Customer] just took as much as he could, not letting other customers buy any. It got so bad that we needed to put up signs on some of our specialty products saying, “Each customer may only purchase [amount] of this product.”

Customer: “Are you packing these away already?”

Me: *Laughing* “No, I’m picking these for myself.”

Customer: “But you are still working. You can purchase some when you’re free from work.”

Me: “Sorry, but I don’t work here anymore, [Customer].”

Customer: “Yes, you do. I saw you a few weeks ago at the counter.”

Me: “I recently got fired because I turned eighteen.”

Customer: “Yeah, right. Don’t lie, or I will call your boss and get you in serious trouble for stealing the products that are meant for the customers!”

Me: “You can call him. It’s not a joke; I really got fired since I turned eighteen.”

[Customer] then began screaming about how I was being disrespectful, how I shouldn’t be working in the store anymore, and how I was stealing and packing away special products from the customers so they couldn’t buy any. I was getting pretty pissed. [Former Boss] and I already knew that [Customer] was a sour, bitter old man, but [Former Boss] always kept telling me that [Customer] was a good, loyal, paying customer. I always wanted to say, “Screw it,” and say something whenever he went hoarder mode and bought all the specialty products.

Me: “Just call [Former Boss] and ask him if I still work here or not.”

Out of nowhere, [Customer] started to take things out of my basket.

Customer: “These don’t belong to you!”

I then screamed at him for being so entitled and disrespectful, saying that he was the whole issue, since I had already told him that I didn’t work there.

Then, I saw two police officers walking down the aisle toward us. I stopped screaming and turned pale. I knew it looked really bad; I had just been screaming in [Customer]’s face. One officer held up one hand to grab my attention. While I was staring at the officer, [Customer] decided to slap me in the face and punch me in the stomach, making me drop the basket I was holding. It didn’t really hurt; it just took me by surprise.

The two police officers then went from walking and holding eye contact with me to running at us and looking at [Customer]. They handcuffed [Customer] and called [Former Boss].

They watched the shop’s surveillance video and confirmed that [Customer] had been misbehaving first.

The officers told me they’d been called by another customer who was worried because they heard “stealing” being yelled in the store and [Customer] throwing a tantrum.

I left with my American candy and an apology from [Former Boss] saying they should have done something about [Customer] before this happened. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time [Customer] had left the store in cuffs.