I work at a fast food restaurant in my town. I open in the wee hours of the morning to keep the store clean for all you loving customers, especially with what is going on. You’re welcome.

Around 10:30 am we start lunch and we start to get busy quickly. A lot of parents will order kids’ meals for their children and maybe a small drink or coffee for themselves; I’ve noticed this pattern. My coworker is working in the back cash/first window. She takes orders and pays out the orders to keep the drive-thru moving.

Around 11:00 am, this older gentleman comes back to the drive-thru. My coworker opens the window.

Coworker: “Is there something wrong?”

Customer: “Yes, I just ordered this kids’ meal for my grandson. He can’t play with this toy!”

The man throws the toy at [Coworker]. It is a little Black Panther toy. Our store, along with all the others worldwide, are doing a thing with Marvel and their superheroes, so the first toys of the week are Black Panther.

Coworker: “Is there something wrong with it? Is it broken? I can easily replace it for you.”

Coworker: “No, he can’t play with it because he’s African American!”

I’m not sure if my coworker gave him another toy that was available or told him that was all we had available, but she kept the line moving.

I live in the UK but I’m from former Czechoslovakia. I don’t have the usual Slavic accent for people to immediately know, but it’s strong enough to leave people guessing where I’m from. It is fun most of the time.

I’m also interested in history, so I know that the UK, France, and Italy pretty much sold Czechoslovakia to Hitler in 1938 to prevent a war.

It was a normal day at the café where I work. I am at a cash register and this man walks in. Everyone who works in customer service eventually develops that feeling for people who will cause trouble. I have that feeling the moment I see him enter. He looks like he’s in his sixties, and at first, he is nice when he comes up to order.

But as soon as I speak, his smile vanishes. He looks me up and down.

Man: “Where are you from?”

Me: *With a smile* “Oh, I’m from [Former Czechoslovakia]. I study here—”

Man: “How dare you be here?! You leech on our economy and take our jobs!”

I don’t leech on the economy any more than any British person on minimum wage, and I’m here legally. I am shocked for a bit as panic and disgust start to storm inside me. The man does on about how immigrants ruin his country and his town — one of the most culturally various towns in the UK — and how we should all go back to where we came from.

After what feels like an eternity, I get the idea for a perfect comeback. I smile.

Me: “Well, it’s the least I could do to say, ‘Thank you!’ for selling us to Hitler in 1938!”

This time, the man was shocked. His expression was priceless. He stood there and looked around for some support, and when he realised he wouldn’t find, it he stormed off.

I’m not very good at confrontation. but I’m proud of this one, and I didn’t even get in trouble because, as I learnt that day, my boss has Jewish Ukrainian heritage.

My older sister has worked for this banking company for over ten years and has told me a lot of entitled people stories.

This man of African origin comes into the bank and asks my sister to withdraw £1,000 from his account, as he forgot the PIN to the card. My sister asks for the card and pulls up the info on her screen. Without even asking for the gentleman’s ID, she knows something is wrong.

Sister: “Umm, sir…”

Guy: “Yeah?”

Sister: “This isn’t your account.”

Guy: “Yeah, it’s my girlfriend’s account.”

Sister: “Sir, you do realise that I can’t withdraw money out of this account without your girlfriend’s authorisation, right?”

Guy: “I understand that, but my girlfriend just had a C-section and can’t come in; she is bedridden. We need to pay our bills and our other expenses, so she asked me to come in to withdraw the money.”

Sister: “I’m sorry to hear that, but for security reasons, I am not allowed to give you any money without your girlfriend completing security.”

Guy: “Ugh! Fine!”

The guy storms out and my sister thinks that is the end of it. NOPE! He comes in a few hours later with his girlfriend and their baby. This baby is not a newborn; the baby is around nine months old.

Ah, s***, here we go again!

This guy goes straight to my sister.

Guy: “See? I wasn’t lying.”

My sister internally rolls her eyes and asks the girlfriend for her photo ID and to type her PIN into the reader. The ID matches the account — and the girlfriend — but not the PIN.

Sister: “Excuse me, madam, your PIN is wrong. Can you try again, please?”

Girlfriend: “Umm, it looks like I forgot my PIN. We kind of need the money today. Is there a way to get the money without the PIN just for today?”

Sister: “I’m sorry, madam, but the best we can do for you today is that we can withdraw £300 without the PIN and request a new PIN. It will take three working days for it to come to you.”

Girlfriend: “Oh, really, then—”

The entitled p***k cuts his girlfriend off.

Guy: “No, that’s not good enough! I told you before. We need £1000, today!”

Sister: “Sir, please calm down. I—”

Guy: “Who are you talking to?!”

My sister does not give two s***s at this point.

Sister: “I’m talking to you, sir.”

Guy: “How dare you?! I will report this to head office! What is your name?!”

Sister: “My name is on my badge, sir.”

Guy: “What’s your last name?”

My sister just got married around this time, so she is in the process of legally changing her last name. So, she thinks it would be funny to say:

Sister: “I don’t have one, sir.”

Guy: “What do you mean, you don’t have one?!”

Sister: “As I told you before sir, I don’t have one. But, even if I did, legally, I have the right not to give it to you. If you tell the head office my first name; they will know who you are talking about.”

My sister has a unique name.

By now, the bank has a big queue to the door; only my sister and one other member of staff are working at the front desk. A lot of the customers are very irritated by this man and his nonsense, and some people are telling him to hurry up. He just waves his hand at them, which is clearly code for “piss off.”

My sister turns back to the girlfriend.

Sister: “Would you like the £300 or not, madam? I am sorry to rush you, but we do have a queue.”

Girlfriend: “Yes, I’m sorry, I would—”

The jerk interrupts again.

Guy: “You don’t want to give us the money because you’re racist!”

Silence.

The whole bank is quiet for a good fifteen seconds. My sister and her coworker give each other the “Are you f****** serious?” look. All the black customers are shocked and are ashamed of what the man said. Another customer — a white woman — speaks up.

Customer: “Wait. I’m confused. Is she not black, as well?”

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my sister is black herself; she is light-skinned and has been mistaken for biracial many times. My sister and her coworker burst into laughter.

Coworker: “Wow! So, [Sister], maybe this gentleman should report you to the head office for being racist to your own race!”

My sister laughs harder.

Guy: “What’s so funny?! I’m going to report you!”

Sister: “Go ahead, sir. I dare you. I would love to hear what they have to say. But just to let you know, we have CCTV footage of you causing a disruption, so you will be banned from this branch.”

There is a no-nonsense policy in my sister’s bank.

Guy: “You can’t do that!”

Sister: “Yes, I can, sir. So please leave the premise or I’ll call the police.”

The p***k stormed out, and his girlfriend apologised to my sister and ran after him. My sister and her coworker joked about it for the rest of the day.

A few weeks later, my sister got a call from the head office to ask her what had happened. The t**t had actually called up head office. My sister told them the story and said she had witnesses to the story; management found it funny, as well, and told her not to worry about.

I am the OP of Junior Maid Causing Major Problems.

My sister-in-law is still causing issues with my wedding, through her demands for her daughter, who at the time of this story is still set to be one of my bridesmaids. I would uninvite her myself and have been harsher earlier, but she is my partner’s only living close adult relative and it’s important to me that I look after him and that he’s happy, so I’m happy to take on the burden of dealing with issues and to make sacrifices – to a point.

I did not want traditional bridesmaids so I had told everyone that they could choose a dress they really wanted, pursuant to coordinating it with me so it was appropriate and they all worked together. I was also happy to pay for the outfits because I really don’t like the expectation that people participate in a wedding pursuant to my requirements and have to spend their own money to do so, especially when it’s an expensive wedding.

I said three things: no navy, no one shoulder, no splits. Sister-In-law (also a bridesmaid), without checking with me, went and bought herself a one-shoulder navy dress with a side split. It clashed with my sister’s dress (the actual Maid of Honour), and the junior bridesmaid dresses.

My mother, sister and I spent hours and hours reorganising the other dresses to make it work, not just to match her, but because she looked like the d*** Maid of Honour instead of my sister. We also pissed thousands of dollars up against a wall doing this.

I was petrified that if I told her not to wear that dress she would do it just to spite me, and we decided to keep my sister’s new dress private so she couldn’t get something else to upstage her again.

I am lucky because we are in a financial position to do this (we’re not zillionaires but we both have well-paying jobs and investments), but I certainly resented it and that is not something that is usually possible for people. I’m tempted now to send her a bill.

Related:
Junior Maid Causing Major Problems

I have the joy and honor of serving as the personal bailiff to one of the greatest judges I’ve ever had the chance to meet. Often, our court is so busy, it is just him and me in the courtroom for staff. I am the court bailiff, clerk, reporter, and probation officer. I also create about 90% of the forms we use.

One day, we have one of our regular customers in. I became very familiar with the young man well before I ever met him. Not only have I frequently entered new warrants for his arrest in the state system, but I also have the frequent occasion to be the dispatcher answering radio calls from pursuits he’s lead, and frequently evaded, our officers on.

On this particular day, he knows he is going to be drug tested (by me), which includes me physically having to watch him pee into a cup, on the side of which is a thermometer strip. He pulls out what appears to be a normal male appendage and starts to free urine into the cup. Once he has filled the cup to the indicated line:

Me: “You can finish up, and then wash your hands and meet me in the courtroom.”

Something isn’t right. The temperature of the fluid is not body temperature, at least not a normal one. According to the thermal strip, the liquid is close to 106 degrees F. As an EMT, I know that this would usually be a fatal body temperature, or at the absolute easiest, the person would be so feverish that they would not be able to hold their legs beneath them to stand. What is even weirder are the results. Now, we’re talking about a kid, about seventeen or eighteen, and I know his drug of choice is weed. Well, he doesn’t test positive for weed.

After I get back into the courtroom, I seal the test kit in a bag — normally, I throw them away — write down some information in his case file, and hand it to the judge. When I do, the judge scratches his left inside wrist and then his right inside wrist, our code for “get ready to arrest.” The judge calls the kid up, and I have him stand almost behind the court reporter’s bench, so I can cut him off if he tries bolting on foot.

Judge: “Are you feeling well?”

Kid: “I feel fine.”

Judge: “Well, according to your test kit, you’re running a very high fever, and you tested positive for MDMA and methamphetamines.”

MDMA is also called ecstasy.

I s*** you not, the kid rolls his eyes, reaches into his pants, yanks pretty hard a couple of times, and brings out a male-appendage-shaped apparatus that has a small bladder attached with a locking mechanism keeping the fluid from leaking out.

He knew that such kits usually come back under temp, so he had it suspended in a half cup of coffee until he finally took it out and strapped it to his leg before entering the courtroom. The delicious irony is that he wasn’t careful who he got the urine sample from. All he asked was whether or not the donor had been smoking weed lately, not even thinking to ask about any other drugs.

I take him into custody, glove up and take hold of the device he left sitting on the reporter’s bench, and take him to jail. I will tell the jail staff that charges are pending, but he is to be held on PC of probation violation.

On the way to the jail, I turn to him. He isn’t a bad looking kid, and he didn’t have a bad upbringing, so I say something he isn’t expecting.

Me: “You know, I’ve known about you and your exploits for like five years or so now, but I have one major question.”

Kid: “What’s that?”

Me: “Have you ever given any serious thought to doing something positive with your life?”

Kid: “What could someone like me do?”

I look him in the eye.

Me: “Dude, you’ve been doing it for over five years. On the horrible dirt roads we have in this county, you still drive ’em like you’re Dale Earnhardt. Seriously, kid, you should think about making an honest career as a racecar driver.”

He kind of laughed me off, but I was 100% deadly serious. The kid could drive. For him to drive so well he could evade multiple-car pursuits at high speed, on winding, poorly-maintained dirt roads, surely he’d be no match for an oval circuit. I even offered to put in a word for a local racing team, whose owner I knew.

Sadly, the kid never took me up on my offer and just sank further and further into the quagmire of the justice system, ultimately spending time in a state pen for his actions. I still maintain that he would have made one h*** of a racecar driver.

For clarification, he did not get put in jail for drug charges. He got put in jail for a probation violation on one of his high-speed pursuits. We can’t charge a person for testing positive for marijuana, except if it’s one of the terms of their probation with the court.