I work at a theme park. One day, I was working crowd control as the daily parade was nearly due, and a couple of my young, female coworkers came up to me asking for help with a problem they couldn’t deal with. I’m used to this, being a male in my sixties who looks like management even though I’m not.

Me: “What’s the issue?”

They simply pointed to a man with a video camera standing in the middle of the street… right where the floats would flatten him.

Me: “Ask security to stand by.”

Then, I went to speak with the man.

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t film from the street. I need you to get up on the sidewalk for that.”

Man: “With the amount of money I spent to get my family in here, I can film anyplace I d*** please.”

Me: “Yeah, no.”

I held my hat up in front of his lens.

Man: “Get that hat and your a** the f*** out of my way or I’ll break your arm!”

I smiled; now that he had threatened violence, it wasn’t my problem anymore. I waved over [Security Guard], who had just arrived.

Man: *Shouting at [Security Guard]* “Don’t you even say anything, or I’ll break your arm, too!”

Now it was [Security Guard]’s turn to smile and pass the issue along, radioing for the sheriff’s deputies who were on duty in the park.

Hearing this, I grabbed a custodial worker who was sweeping the street.

Me: “Hey, I’m going to have a mess for you to clear in a minute.”

Custodian: “That’s new. Usually, I get called in after the mess is made.”

Me: “Yeah, well, watch this guy the deputy is dealing with.”

This was just in time to hear the deputy say:

Deputy: “I’m only going to say this once: get on the sidewalk now.”

Man: “I’m not going to—”

This was followed by an “oof,” a “smash,” and a “clack,” which were the sounds of the deputy pulling one arm behind the man’s back, his camera hitting the ground as he dropped it, and the handcuffs latching on as the deputy walked the man off to his fate.

I turned back to the custodian, pointing to the broken camera.

Me: “See? A mess!”

My custodian friend was chuffed and went to work quickly, as the parade was approaching.

I scanned the crowd and found a mother with two kids with that “he’s doing it again” look on her face, and I explained.

Me: “You three might as well stay here and enjoy the parade; it’ll take a couple of hours to process him. If you go to the Guest Services office right across the street after the parade, they’ll give you information about posting bail or picking him up, depending.”

They stayed, and I hope they enjoyed the parade. I know I did.

Content Warning: Alcoholism, Violence

My husband has struggled with alcohol for a long time. For his thirtieth birthday, we invited some friends and family over for a dinner. Before anyone got there, I quietly asked him to be careful with his drinking; he agreed.

Everyone brought something to drink — a bottle of wine, a gallon of vodka, wine coolers — and each person demanded that [Husband] drink with them. After just two hours, he was so drunk he could hardly stand. Then, he got violent, broke a kitchen chair, and punched a hole in the wall.

Suddenly, everyone had somewhere else to be, except one of my male friends. My friend called the police, who came over immediately.

Officer #1: “How much did he have to drink?”

Me: “I don’t know. Everyone else was feeding him shots and—”

Officer #2: “Were you drinking?”

Me: “I had a hard lemonade a while ago, but when he started drinking faster, I stopped.”

Officer #2: *Not believing me* “Just one? Are you sure you’re not intoxicated and overreacting?”

Me: “Breathalyze me.”

The officers did not test either of us, but they did take my husband to the hospital at my friend’s insistence.

[Husband] called the next day to ask to come home.

Husband: “I don’t know why I’m here. The nurse said you called the cops because I was drinking.”

Me: “I called because you were violent and all of your friends and family left me to deal with it. [Friend] was the only one to stay, and I’m glad he did.”

Husband: “I don’t remember them leaving. Come get me and we can talk about this.”

Me: “Come get you? I’m ready to get divorced.”

Husband: “I’m sorry. Throw away the alcohol. I’m done with it. Please.”

I debated for about an hour but decided to go get him. I dumped all the alcohol in the house and picked him up at the hospital. [Officer #1] from the night before was there.

Officer #1: “I don’t believe you called her after she did that to you.”

I didn’t say anything.

Officer #1: “No smart comments today, huh? Good choice.”

When we got home, I told [Husband] about the events of the night. Then, he showed me some videos he took on his phone while he was in the hospital. This one was the two officers, a female nurse, and a male nurse.

Officer #1: “She was probably drunker than he is. He seems fine to me.”

Officer #2: “He’s talking; he’s coherent. I don’t know what her issue was.” *Directly to my husband* “You tell your woman she’s gotta calm down, man! We got other s*** to do!”

Male Nurse: “Well, his blood alcohol is .305, so that probably has something to do with it.”

Female Nurse: “Glad you brought him in. He could have died.”

He called a couple of his friends to apologize for his behavior. Those who held him responsible are still in our lives. Those who laughed it off, blamed me directly, or agreed with the officers and said I was overreacting are no longer a part of our lives.

I spoke with the local police force about the things the officers said in the video. Unfortunately, we live in a state where everyone has to consent to being recorded, and since they didn’t consent, the video was useless.

On the plus side, my husband celebrated three years of sobriety in March of 2022.

A customer walks into our home improvement store with a moderate-sized dog on a leash. Dogs are not allowed in the store, mainly because of safety issues for customers as well as employees. Basically, we don’t want them knocking something over or getting in the way of a forklift. But our management lacks some backbone, so they let that sort of thing go.

This guy comes up to me about five minutes after walking in.

Customer: “Do you have a plastic bag?”

Me: “What size?”

Customer: “Well, it’s because my dog took a dump on the floor.”

Me: “Sure.”

I make a guess at the right size and hand him the bag. He just looks at me.

Customer: “Well, I’m not picking it up; it’s not my store.”

After stating that I am going to get management involved if he doesn’t pick it up and showing him the no-pet policy, he still puts up a fight.

Fast forward a couple of minutes, and he is screaming at our manager about the no-pet policy. A couple of minutes after that, the police show up. After a short exchange, he is cited with a fine for refusing to pick up after his own dog as well as not following the no-pet policy after it was explained.

When the police officer asks me to hand the customer a bag, I find one that has a couple of somewhat sizable holes in it. To my delight, he snatches the bag away from me without looking at it. He ends up walking out of the store asking for paper towels to wipe his hands with, to which my manager says:

Manager: “Sorry, this isn’t your store.”

I’m a woman in my early thirties and have been driving for over seventeen years. I have a pretty good driving record, only getting pulled over four times.

The second time I got pulled over was when I was twenty-one. I had finished work late one Saturday night and was driving home. The route I was on went through a business district, which was absolutely dead. I hadn’t seen another car for at least ten minutes. I was driving a fifteen-year-old car my mom had bought about three weeks prior. 

I saw lights flashing behind me, so I pulled over. Two state troopers got out. One came to talk to me. The other one walked around the car, shining his flashlight in my car. The second trooper never spoke to me.

Trooper: “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

Me: “Honestly, no.”

Trooper: “You were doing twenty-six in a twenty-five.”

I was stunned into silence.

Trooper: “License and registration.”

I handed over both. He looked them over.

Trooper: “This car is registered to [Mom]. Who is that?”

Me: “That’s my mom.”

Trooper: “You have different last names.”

Me: “[Mom] is my mom. The car is registered to the same address that’s on my license.”

He was clearly unhappy to let it go.

Trooper: “This car has paper plates.”

Me: “Yeah, my mom just bought it a few weeks ago.”

Trooper: “They expire on [date four days from now].”

Me: “Yes.”

Trooper: “Why don’t you have real plates?”

Me: “My mom ordered vanity plates. They haven’t come yet.”

Trooper: “Why are you out this late at night?”

Me: “I worked until close at 11:00 pm at [Workplace], and cleanup took about forty-five minutes to finish. I’m headed home.”

The trooper went to the back of the car to talk to his colleague for a few minutes. Then, they went back to the cruiser, I assume to run my information. Finally, the trooper came back to the window and gave me my license and the registration back.

Trooper: “You’re free to go. Watch your speed.”

Me: “Okay, will do, sir.”

I think they were just bored, and that’s why they pulled me over. The whole thing last nearly twenty minutes.

By the way, the vanity plate arrived in the mail the following Monday, two days before the paper plates expired.

Related:
What Was The Point Of That?
More Time At The Fishing Hole Might Help With That Road Rage

Back in the late 1980s, my (young teen) boys were visiting their grandparents for a few days. One afternoon, the boys came home from the pool a little early, before my folks got home from work. They couldn’t remember where the spare key was hidden, but they knew the backdoor was usually unlocked, so they climbed the backyard fence and got in.

Unfortunately, a neighbor who didn’t know the boys saw this and called the cops. The cops, happily, just sensibly knocked on the door and asked the boys their side of the story.

[Son] knew just what to do to prove he was house legal. He led the cops into my dad’s study and fired up the shiny IBM PC, and then he accessed a favorite BulletinBoardSystem site.

Son: “See, I know the password. I couldn’t know it if Grandpa didn’t tell it to me.”

The cops decided this was acceptable. Either that or they looked at the walls PAPERED with family photos and saw these same boyish faces in at least a couple dozen frames.