I’m working the desk at a hotel and a mom brings her hysterically crying ten- to twelve-year-old daughter to the desk.

Mom: “Tell her what you did.”

Daughter: *Between sobs* “I jumped up in the hallway and slapped the exit sign and it fell down.”

Mom: “My daughter’s going to pay to replace it. I want her to learn from her actions and take responsibility for it.”

I know it’s in our hotel nature to say it’s okay or no problem, but I know this is important to her mom.

Me: *To the daughter* “Thank you for coming and telling me what you did. Why did you choose do that?”

Daughter: “I thought it would be fun. I never thought it would fall off!”

Me: “Will you ever do that again?”

Daughter: “No, never. I’m so sorry.”

Me: “Let’s go check out the sign. If there is a fire, then guests may not be able to see where the exit was without it, and it could be very dangerous.”

The three of us go to the hallway. Upon inspecting the sign, it isn’t broken at all. I am able to put it back up and it works perfectly.

Me: “Luckily, there was no damage, so there is no cost you have to pay to replace it. I’m proud of you for taking responsibility for what you did.”

Mom: “I’m proud of you, too.”

We often deal with such negativity and naughty adults and children on the job. I was so happy that a child owned up to her mistake — with a firm nudge from mom — and that there was no harm to the hotel.

I work front desk at a relatively big apartment complex which has some owners and companies doing [Online Vacation Rental Company] rentals in some of the units.

A lot of the property owners hate these units, as a lot of them are not vetted properly and just book a room to party for a night and trash the place; it’s cheaper to do so compared to a hotel room. Luckily, my job does not require me to provide any service to [Rental Company] guests, as we’re only paid to look after the building and the tenants.

One day, there’s this group of six to ten women who have booked a two-bedroom apartment for a hen’s night. They come into the lobby.

Guest #1: “Hi there, we are checking in. Here are the papers.”

Me: “Hi there, I assume you’re a [Rental Company] apartment? In that case, we don’t handle keys or the check in process for your apartment.”

Guest #2: “It says here that we need to collect keys from you.”

Me: *Reading the instructions* “Hi there. It says here that you go pick up keys from the locker down the street.”

Guest #2: “Oh, my God. Why is check-in at this place so difficult?”

Me: “Unfortunately, this place is not a hotel, so we do not handle [Rental Company] guests.”

The guests groans and eventually leave to get their keys.

Later that night, one of the women phones the intercom.

Guest #3: “Excuse me, bucket of ice to our room, please. Thanks.” *Hangs up*

Me: *Calling back* “Hi there. We do not provide that service here. If you require ice, look in the freezer in your fridge or go to the convenience shop across the road.”

Guest #3: “There is not enough ice here. Can you go fetch us some from the shop, then? Thanks.”

Me: “No, I cannot. As I said, we do not provide these services.”

Guest #3: “Well, that’s a rude shock. Can you go get us extra towels for the room ASAP?”

Me: “Please ask your [Rental Company] host.”

Guest #3: “Do you do anything? Do you even know the Wi-Fi password?”

Me: “Please ask your [Rental Company] host.”

Guest #3: “Honestly shocking service.  We’ll never be staying here again and will be leaving you a really bad review.”

Me: “As I mentioned before, this place is not a hotel. You have booked an [Rental Company] apartment, so anything you require should be communicated to your host.”

Guest #3: “TERRIBLE SERVICE!”

I work at the front desk in a hotel, and I answer the phone.

Guest: “Do you have a shuttle from the airport?”

Me: “No, ma’am.”

Guest: “So, you mean to tell me I have to find my own way there? That’s ridiculous!”

Me: “I do apologize, ma’am. Our shuttle only goes into the historic district.”

Guest: “Okay, well, I’ll be waiting for it to pick me up at the airport.”

Me: “Ma’am, it only travels to the historic district. It’s $6 per person, and it’s for the day, round-trip, as many times as you like.”

Guest: “Okay, so he can come get me. I’ll pay the $6.”

Me: “The driver cannot and will not do that; the shuttle runs on a strict schedule and he is only authorized one route. The airport is twenty minutes from us. You can get a taxi, [Ride Share #1], or [Ride Share #2].”

She was not happy about that.

My mum has a catering company, and when she has a big job, as it’s a family-run business, she will ask my sister and me to help out now and again when she needs it. We’re not fans of it because we don’t like people, but it’s my mum’s baby and we love her. This particular time it is a very chill wedding with an assembly line where we are divvying out my mum’s delicious food.

I can hear this guy in the line loudly talking about how no one wanted to be his date for the wedding, poor him, he’s such a nice guy, etc. He gets to my mum in line.

Guy: “This good looks wonderful! Are you the owner?”

Mum: “Yes. And my two lovely daughters are helping me today.”

The guy looks at me and then my sister.

Guy: “Well, one of them is lovely, at least.”

My mum, taken aback, continues on as if he hasn’t spoken and serves him. He gets to my sister — the lovely one.

Guy: “You’re so beautiful. How does it feel to be the typical, beautiful younger sister?”

She gives him a basilisk stare.

Sister: “Do you want a bread roll?”

The man doesn’t want to hold up the line, despite clearly wanting to carry on speaking to my sister, and he gets to me.

Guy: “I rate you about a four out of ten. How awful it must be for you to have a sister who’s a ten out of ten!”

I don’t think I’m ugly, and I do think my sister is beautiful, but we look very different. She is very slim, athletic, and tanned with bleach blonde hair with conker-coloured (brown) eyes whereas I have an hourglass figure, pale skin, and grey eyes, and I’m heavily tattooed, so I am aware I’m an acquired taste.

I’m not offended that he thinks my sister is beautiful — I think she’s beautiful — however, I am offended that he thinks we want his “assembly line” commentary, especially when he looks like a human version of Sea Biscuit.

I lean back.

Me: “You’re the guy without a date, right?”

I can see my mum twitching like, “Please, for the love of God, don’t be too harsh.”

He’s grinning at me with his friends all proud of himself.

Me: “I wonder which one it is — if it’s your lack of manners, looks, or personality that stopped you from getting a date when every else has one?”

I pause to put some food on his plate, and then I hand it back to him and smile.

Me: “I imagine it’s all three. Also, despite being a ‘four’, I’ve never not had a date for a function. Have a good day now.”

I never got to hear his response, as the line needed to get moving; however, the guy’s smile was now gone. Such a shame. I didn’t get told off by my mum. Maybe now he’ll have a better approach to women. I doubt it, though.

I used to work at a big club warehouse in customer service. The job was great, and members were usually awesome, but every now and then I’d find the most entitled jerks to ever walk the earth. Based on the way they treated me and others, I can only assume they didn’t even see us as human. We were only lifelike robots built to ring up their items and load their carts.

One such incident that proves my assumption happened on a super busy Saturday. It was POURING outside. Members were fighting over parking close to the door and then bolting for the entrance as if their lives depended on it. As a courtesy to members, on rainy days, we always had someone outside in the front of the cart return bay to dry off the carts. This day was so busy; members were coming in faster than I could dry carts for them. Most were super nice and patient; they waited in line for dry ones and almost everyone thanked me. A few, who were in a hurry or didn’t care about dry carts, just skipped the line and grabbed a wet cart.

One such member rushed up and grabbed a wet cart from behind me. Sometimes carts get jammed or snagged together. Usually, it’s the buckles for the kiddie seats getting tangled, but sometimes it’s a warp in the cart from damage. This poor member grabbed one such warped cart and it dragged its buddy with it. The member attempted to dislodge it. He yanked. He twisted. He shook them violently. Then, he looked to me.

Member: *Demanding* “Help me get these carts separated!”

Me: “Can I offer you one of these dry ones, instead?”

Nope. He wanted THAT cart specifically for some reason. I abandoned my drying rag and attempted to pry the carts apart. It was like trying to separate two buffaloes in a horn lock. They refused to budge. I looked at the metal flap that allowed the carts to “nest” into each other. I saw where it was snagged and reached in to coax it free. I placed my other hand on the lip of the second cart to give me leverage while I untangled them.

Member: *Loudly* “Come on! I’m in a hurry!”

He decided I was clearly too incompetent to separate them, so he reached out to give the front cart one more tug.

At that exact moment, I loosened the second cart and the front cart sprang free. It launched forward… catching my thumb between it and the second, stationary, cart. I heard the POP sound of my thumb dislocating a few seconds before the pain hit me. I yanked my hand free and managed to stifle my choice profanity with less firing-worthy words. Something like, “Sucking sticks of saffron on a ship!” My supervisor witnessed this and still tells people it’s his favorite outburst.

The member just looked at me like I was nuts.

Member: “There! All I needed was a cart. Was that so hard?!”

I was cradling my oddly shaped hand.

Me: “Sir! I think you broke my finger!”

The member just shrugged, huffed, and walked into the warehouse. It looked like he forgot I existed the second he took his eyes off me.

My supervisor witnessed the whole thing but was more worried about me, not the member. He pulled me aside and radioed for ice. Lucky (or unlucky), I am very pain tolerant. It was not the first joint I’d dislocated. I also know the easiest way to end the pain is to reset the joint. I fiddled around with my weirdly dangly thumb until I felt it “click” back into place. My whole thumb was swollen and turning a lovely shade of purple.

My supervisor sent me inside to write up an incident report and sent a posse of employees into the store to find the member and sentence him to banishment, but, as it was insanely busy, they never found him. By far the worst… customer… ever.

At least I got an extra day off and a great macabre story out of it!