One summer evening, I was craving a burrito for supper, so I got in my car to head to the local burrito place. As I drove past my next-door neighbor’s house, a car began to pull out… and didn’t stop. By the time I realized they weren’t stopping, I was in front of their driveway, so I slammed my brakes and hit my horn, but sure enough, the car backed right into me. 

The other driver pulled forward and parked on the side of the road. Then, she got out and came over to my car. 

Driver: “Here, let me give you my insurance information.”

Me: “Yeah, that’d be good.”

Driver: “Hmm, it’s not on my phone. It must be in my glovebox.”

Then, she walked back to her car, got in, and sped off without another word. Luckily, I had enough time to write down her license plate. The damage was minor: only a dented body panel, but it made it impossible to open the passenger door. 

I called the police and told them what happened. They said an officer would call me back in half an hour. “Great,” I thought. “I’ll go get my burrito after the officer calls.” I went back inside and told my roommate what had happened. 

Forty-five minutes later, I was getting hungry and impatient, as the officer still hadn’t called me. I decided I could answer the phone just as well in my car or at the burrito restaurant. I got in my now dented car and drove to the burrito restaurant.

When I got there, the workers told me they were out of rice. I’d have to wait fifteen minutes for more. I hesitated but decided to wait since I really wanted this burrito and I didn’t want to settle for less. 

Approximately fourteen minutes later, my phone rang. It was not the police; it was my roommate, telling me the police had arrived at my house, apparently skipping the part where they were supposed to call me. With a mournful look back at the burrito counter, I left the restaurant and quickly drove home. 

By the time I got there, the police had already left. I think they just talked to my neighbor and then left. By this time, it was about 9:00 and I was starving. The burrito place was closing and I was too tired to go out again anyway, so I settled for a grilled cheese sandwich, having missed both the police and my burrito, despite waiting for several hours. 

Eventually, I learned that the other driver didn’t even live at my neighbor’s house, and her insurance paid for all of the repairs. I also got my burrito the next day, and it was all the more delicious after having been delayed for so long.

I’m a manager at a corporate chain restaurant. My bartender alerts me that there’s a guest acting weird at the bar, so I head out there to make my presence known.

The guy is sitting at the end of the bar. He’s listening to music through headphones and doing some kind of strange dance with his arms. Okay, that’s weird, but it’s generally non-threatening, so I let him be. I continue to stay on the floor to monitor the situation.

Not five minutes later, I see the guy get up and move to the other side of the bar where a mother and her adult daughter are sitting. From where I’m standing, I can’t hear what he’s saying, but they look visibly uncomfortable, so I step in.

Me: “Sir, please stop bothering the other guests.”

The dude FLIPS OUT. He starts screaming at me.

Guy: “I’m just talking! I’m not bothering them! You should mind your own business!”

Me: “Sir, I need you to leave or I’ll be forced to call the cops.”

Guy: “The cops don’t scare me! I’ll kill everyone in the restaurant!”

Well, those were the magic words. I called the police right in front of this guy, hoping he’d just leave rather than deal with the cops.

No such luck.

He was still screaming when the cop walked in behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. This five-foot-tall man turned around to face a six-foot police officer who looked like he does MMA on his days off. I have never seen someone back down so quickly.

The cop escorted the guy outside and trespassed him from the property. The mom that was being harassed called my general manager the next day to thank us for protecting them.

I’m a manager. An associate came up to me and discreetly gestured to a customer.

Associate: “Heeeey, that guy just… told me he was stealing? He was in here earlier, and he just told me he took some stuff.”

We watched for a few minutes and saw him stuff some more items into his coat. There happened to be a cop car hanging out in our parking lot (as they sometimes do at night) so I went out to let them know.

Cop: “Yeah, we’ve already had reports about him. Do you want to press charges?”

Me: “I’m sure the company does.”

The customer came out and got on a bike, and the cops drove after him.

They came back a bit later to return our product, and when they dumped the bags out, there was a bunch of stuff that wasn’t even ours. I guess we weren’t the first store he’d hit that night.

I work at my local police department. A man had his car towed after leaving it in a No Parking zone.

He came into the police station having a fit.

Man: “You had no right to tow my car! I know the Chief, and I’m friends with the mayor! I’m going to have you all fired! I’m going to sue this department! In fact, I’m going to sue the whole city!”

And so on.

He was making such a racket that an officer who was dropping off paperwork came out to see what was going on. He immediately recognized the man — who he knew had a warrant for his arrest. Instead of getting his car back, the guy got an all-expense paid weekend at the lovely county bed and breakfast — aka jail.

I love Karma.

I’m a manager in a restaurant. A customer with two children orders a meal with steak and a salad. It comes with guacamole; I even tell her it does when she orders it.

I bring the food to the customer.

Customer: “Ugh, I don’t like guacamole! Take this back and get rid of that stuff!”

I take it back to the cook to fix it, which is as simple as removing the salad and remaking it without guac, so the plate I take back to her is the same plate as before, sans guac.

Customer: “You’ve given me less meat! This is ridiculous! I want a new plate with more steak, or I want my money back!”

She’s being really rude, so I decide to just nip this in the bud and take the food and give her a refund.

Customer: “No, I don’t want the refund! I want more steak!”

Me: “Then I’m afraid you need to leave, ma’am.”

Customer: “I want to talk to the cook about this!”

Because, of course, HE must be in charge — not me, the manager.

Me: “Ma’am, that’s not going to happen.”

The cook doesn’t speak English and this woman does.

She walks outside with her children and goes around to the back door trying to talk to the cook, and he’s just looking at her like, “What is this crazy lady saying?”

I call the police because at this point she won’t leave. The cook shuts and locks the door at my request, and the lady starts banging on the windows.

Customer: “I’ll take that refund! I WANT MY MONEY BACK NOW!”

But she’s getting aggressive and I’m not opening the window for that crap. Meanwhile, I talk to the dispatcher, who says the officer is a couple of minutes out.

The woman is now SLAMMING on the window. I’m talking to the dispatcher on my phone, and the cook is on his own phone with our boss, telling him what’s happening. And the police arrive.

The officer talks with the woman first and I’m fine with that. I have a bad response to conflict because of past trauma, and there’s no way in h*** I’m getting into that, let alone stepping foot outside of the safety of the kitchen.

The officer then talks to me with a tired smile on his face.

Officer: “How are you?”

Me: “I’ll be better once that woman leaves.”

Officer: *Laughs* “What do you want to do?”

He had her trespassed rather quickly, and she flipped me off on her way out — all this in front of her two children. I probably shouldn’t have, but I was feeling a little braver with the officer there, so I waved at her as she left.