I work in pizza delivery. We often get deliveries to our local hotels since we have like four within a couple of kms. The good news is that majority will tip, and many tip very well.

This past week, this cheap guy has been staying at one of the hotels near us for (what seemed to be forever) a week or so. He orders $100 worth of food every night requesting to be delivered to his hotel room. But get this, not only does the guy never tip even a nickel — because what do you know, he prepays every time — but he is never in his room! He is usually swimming to avoid showing his face for being a cheap jerk.

We get to his door, and since it’s prepaid, it should be a quicker transaction, but we waste our time during the busy times knocking several times on his door and then calling him only for him to never pick up. So, we leave his food at the hotel front desk each night.

Thankfully, I’ve only gotten him once, but my partner got him four nights in a row. My partner was pissed because not only is this a** not tipping, but he makes us waste our time, walk all the way into the hotel, take the elevator up to the fifth floor, knock on his door, and then try to call him, for nothing! All the while, he’s in the swimming pool hiding from us for being such a lowlife d****ebag.

We been in and out in ten seconds each time if we knew he wasn’t around and just leave his food at the front desk. But he purposely doesn’t let us know not to bother so he can waste fifteen minutes of our time each visit trying to hunt him down.

He buys $500 worth of food over five nights and does not leave a single dime for a tip to any driver! Some people just make me seriously sick. He’d better have already left town, and I hope he never comes back.

I’ve been working as a pizza delivery guy for a pizza chain for the past two years. I get an order for a condominium, and on the receipt, the customer has left instructions to call as soon as I arrive to find out which apartment she lives in. I get there and I call five times, and she doesn’t pick up.

I call my manager about what to do, and he tells me to call the customer’s daughter since she made an order with her and also left her number. I eventually make it to the customer’s door.

Customer: “Where were you?! You’re late!”

Me: “I tried calling you several times.”

Customer: “I thought those were scam calls.”

Me: “How would you like to pay?”

The order is $15.46 and she wants to pay with $100, and she wants exact change with no tip.

Me: “I don’t have the change necessary for that.”

Customer: *Yelling* “What the f*** is your problem?! This is your job!”

Me: “Do you have a debit or credit card?”

The woman finally pays, with no tip, and the daughter pays for her order and gives me a two-dollar tip.

Customer: “Now get the h*** off my property!”

I get back to work and my manager comes to talk to me.

Manager: “I got a call from your last customer. She says you pushed her, hit her, and called her a b****. She demanded that I fire you and give her a lifetime discount or she was going to call the cops.”

To this day, my manager is the best man alive. After that, he told her that she would be blacklisted from our chain and any other stores in the chain in the area. He told the other restaurants not to give her service or deliver to her.

We bought the boat of our dreams during this whole crazy experience the world has been going through. With restrictions and cases finally dropping to a level that isn’t absolutely bonkers, we decided to go on our first long-distance journey, leaving from the east coast of America and heading for the west coast. We’re planning to be gone for about ninety days.

This morning we awake in gorgeous San Marino, Mexico. I quickly hit the galley and make some Italian-inspired breakfast burritos using this lovely habanero marinara sauce my partner found on our journeys, some chicken, pepperoni, eggs, and onions. Using three burrito-sized tortillas, I am able to fashion this monster together as I grab a fresh beer to start the day as we’re docked here until tomorrow.

I tell you about my delicious breakfast burrito because it is a main character in our story today. I stumble up to the main deck with my goodies and our pups in tow; they’ve got a good patch of turf to do their business up here. Standing there in my crocs, obnoxiously bright swim trunks, and one of those oversized straw hats with the chin strap, I hear the song of my homeland: some entitled woman going ballistic on some dock workers.

This sends my childish brain right into wallflower mode, as nothing is better with a sloppy burrito than people-watching.

The woman is screaming at the two men on the dock about a boat, not mine but one clearly privately owned and not some kind of rental. The woman is demanding that they provide the ship to her for the day and is swinging around a fistful of bills. Our Mexican friends are doing their best to communicate to her that they have nothing to do with the boat — I assume, as my Spanish isn’t the best. The woman is screaming and stomping as she gestures toward the boat and workers are awkwardly shrugging and attempting to avoid her.

Then, it happens. I’ve been spotted. I attempt to slink back under the deck, but alas, as I turn around to seal the cabin, I see the woman making a beeline for me with what can only be described as an “I’m going to get the manager to do what I say” expression. Having two very large and protective dogs, I bite the bullet and step back onto the deck.

Woman: “Sir! Why don’t your workers speak English? How are they supposed to do their jobs if they don’t speak English?”

After a stunned pause, I respond.

Me: “Well, ma’am, we’re in Mexico; the primary language here is Spanish. Also, they’re not my workers as I don’t work here. Please get off of my boat.”

Going from zero to a hundred, the woman launches into a tirade about how it’s BS and they need to speak English and I need to get that random person’s boat ready for her before her husband arrives with their kids. Add in plenty more racism.

Finally cutting her off, I yell:

Me: “Hey, lady! I do not work here, or even in this country. Kindly get the f*** off my boa—”

As I was saying the word “boat,” the woman shoved me — no words, just a full-on shove. I did end up going overboard, but the sight I saw on the dock when I came back to dry land was glorious.

You see, in my journey over the starboard bow of my boat, I did manage to throw the about 70% of burrito I still had in my hand — which was stuffed full of Habanero sauce — at the woman, hitting her in the neck. Apparently, it exploded everywhere, and the woman was covered from her cheeks to her midsection, even seeping through the bikini top she was wearing. Surprisingly, after she was done screaming about the heat, she simply sat down and started crying.

I headed back below deck for a fresh burrito and another beer. The dock workers managed to high-tailed it while the woman was occupied with me, so all ended well.

I work as a customer support phone agent for an app that handles a lot of financial information. Therefore, we have a process whenever someone calls in to verify their identity before we can give them any information.

A lady calls in, I give her my greeting spiel, and we go through the verification process without issue. Then, we get to why she called in. She’s having trouble logging on to the app. I assist with that and ask her if there’s anything else she needs.

Lady: “Can you upgrade my Google account?”

Me: “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Lady: “That’s why I was trying to log in in the first place; I’m trying to upgrade my Google account!”

We are in no way connected to Google apart from allowing people to use Google Pay within our app, so I’m not sure what her thought process is with that.

Me: “If you’re having difficulty with your Google account, I would recommend calling Google Support.”

Lady: *Very irritated* “So you can’t help me?”

Me: “No, ma’am. I work for [Company]. I can’t assist you with accounts outside of our platform.”

Lady: “You people make this so difficult! I give up!”

I’m not allowed to hang up on customers, so I got to hear her huff and complain to herself for several more minutes before she finally hung up.

A couple of summers ago, I took a part-time job as a server at a local pub/restaurant. I had a full-time job, so this was just for the experience and to pick up some tip money on the side. The pub had been closed for a few years after the old owner couldn’t afford it anymore, so when the new owners picked it up and got it ready for opening again, the town was pretty excited. It’s a bit of a town landmark, right in the middle of our main street.

I applied as soon as I found out and ended up getting hired! I was one of the younger servers, alongside a few older ones. Most of us were women, and the older servers really looked out for us inexperienced ones. Overall, the others on the team were really nice, save for a couple of nasty ones. My new boss was… well… not as great.

[Boss]’s favourite saying was, “If you have time to lean, you have time to clean.” He thought if we took even a second to catch our breaths, he was losing money from us “slacking off.” On slow days, he would find menial, pointless tasks for us to complete. Wipe the bar counter (even though it’s been wiped three times in the past half-hour already), reorganize the menus (even though they’re already perfectly organized), fill up more condiment cups (even though there are already fifty salsa cups ready to go) — stuff like that. The most tedious task, especially in the early months of the summer, was sweeping the side alley that leads to the patio. There were these massive maple trees along the path, and they would drop leaves and seeds like crazy, especially on windy days.

One afternoon in early June, there were only a handful of us working. It got slow, and I got assigned the sweeping task. I swept up the back alleyway as much as I could, but the wind was blowing and the trees just kept dumping more and more seeds onto the path. I did my best until a coworker called me back inside to help serve tables; she didn’t want me missing out on tips, bless her.

I seated the table, got their orders, and started entering them in. Just then, [Boss] stormed up to me.

Boss: “What are you doing?”

Me: “Entering table fifteen’s order. Why?”

Boss: “The side alley is a mess. I don’t pay you to slack off.”

Me: “I swept up as much as I could before this table walked in. It’s a really windy day; that’s why it keeps getting full of leaves and seeds. You’re more than welcome to check the compost bin for how much I actually did sweep up.”

Boss: “No. We don’t finish things halfway here. You’re going back out there and finishing your job. I want it to be spotless. [Coworker] can take table fifteen.”

[Boss] then switched table fifteen from my account to [Coworker]’s account. [Coworker] was an older server, and she and I got along great. She worked as both a server and a bartender, and she used to be a general manager with another restaurant chain. She decided to join this team after her retirement as a part-time hobby. She taught me a whole lot while I worked there, and I’m grateful to have met her.

Coworker: “I’ll hang onto your share of the tips. Best not to make [Boss] angry.”

Me: “He really wants me to make it spotless. Does he know how impossible that is? I’d have to be out there all shift.”

That’s when [Coworker] gave me a smile, and the lightbulb turned on in my head. I still had two hours left in my shift, and it was going to be right into the dinner rush. I grabbed the broom and dustpan and got to work.

I would sweep as much as I could, but every so often, another strong breeze would come by and hundreds more helicopter seeds would flutter to the ground. I kept going. At this point, it started to get busier. A line-up soon began to form out the door. [Coworker] was taking care of tables, but very soon it became clear that the other servers needed someone else to deal with everyone. [Coworker] let them know what was up, and most of them, who tolerated [Boss] at best and hated him at worst, understood.

I kept on sweeping.

Like Sisyphus and the boulder, the task was never-ending. I scooped up pile after pile after pile of leaves and seeds, to no avail.

After forty-five minutes or so, the side door opened suddenly to reveal a red-faced [Boss].

Boss: “Why aren’t you in there serving customers?”

I gestured at the alleyway.

As if the gods themselves had heard the malicious compliance brewing, another strong breeze shook more seeds onto the partially-cleared alley, right in front of [Boss]’s face. The look on his face was priceless.

He told me, in a quieter voice, to get back inside and start taking orders. I handed the broom off to him, and he began to sweep. And sweep. And sweep.

The other servers and I had a good laugh about it inside, and I managed to make decent tips that night. [Boss] realized he couldn’t exactly fire me for following his orders perfectly, and he ended up being more relaxed about the side alley; no one really cares about some leaves and seeds on the ground, so long as they’re not obstructing anyone.

I ended up working there for the rest of the summer before quitting. I hear the pub had to be passed on to new owners after [Boss]’s disorganization got the better of him.

On my next shift, I found a broken broom in the garbage. I’d like to think it was the work of [Boss], red in the face and exhausted from battling against mother nature.