I was traveling to Miami from the UK toward the end of a period of leave following a tour of duty in a certain Middle Eastern country in the early 2010s. During my leave, I had neglected the usual grooming standards usually required of soldiers because, hey, I was on leave, and screw the standards.

Everything on the journey went perfectly well until I reached the immigration checkpoint in Miami. A TSA agent spent a good minute staring at my British passport and back at me.

TSA Agent: “Your hair is different than your picture.”

Me: “Umm… yeah… It grew.”

I was let through without any further questions. They do know hair grows, right?

I was baffled to say the least.

I work security in a phone shop in a major city. It’s pretty much the flagship shop’s overflow shop, so we aren’t busy unless the main shop is packed. Today, both shops are insanely full. There is a large queue in the shop, and it isn’t getting smaller.

This man walks in and starts walking past the queue. It’s not like the queue is hard to miss. So, I approach him.

Me: “Excuse me, sir. There’s a queue there you need to join.”

Customer: “No, I’m fine.”

Me: “Sir, there’s a queue; you have to join it if you want to talk to staff.”

He has now walked past the queue, which is about ten people long, and is standing opposite the desk by the wall.

Me: “Sir, if you want to talk to staff, you have to join the queue.”

Customer: “I heard you the first time.”

Me: “Okay, but you will not be served before the people in the queue.”

Customer: “Whatever. You go back to the door and leave me alone.”

I looked at the manager, and he gave me a nod to let me know he had this.

The man tried a couple of times to be served, but the staff told him to join the queue. Then, they just ignored him as they served the people in the queue.

The queue did not get smaller; in fact, it grew a couple of times. I watched the man get annoyed and start huffing and cursing under his breath.

He had to wait for almost an hour and a half because he wouldn’t join the queue. When the shop was finally empty, the staff took their sweet time with the paperwork. (The manager said they could and he would sort the man out.)

The manager approached him, and he was not happy. He complained about the wait, and the manager just looked at him with absolute incredulity. The man eventually said something racist to the manager, and the manager kicked him out.

I log in to the online portal for my insurance company to update my address as we’ve just moved to a house. Looking at the listed contact information, I notice there’s a secondary contact address listed in California. I call customer support.

Me: “I was updating my address and noticed there’s a secondary address listed that I do not recognize.”

Agent: “Yes, I see [address] in California. Is that correct?”

Me: “No, it’s not. I have no idea what that address is or where it’s from. I’ve never lived in California. I don’t even know anyone in California.”

Agent: “Let me check… I’m showing that the address belongs to someone else registered on your policy.”

Me: *More concerned* “What? This policy only has me and my husband listed, and we live together. In Illinois.”

Agent: “No, this is [Woman]’s address.”

Me: “Who is [Woman]? When were they added? I’ve had this policy since I was eighteen; I’ve never added a [Woman] to this.”

Agent: “Hmmm… I can’t see the date they were added. When did you start seeing them on your statements?”

Me: “They’ve never been on my statements. My bills only show me and my husband listed. I only saw this address listed when I went to update my contact information online.”

Agent: “Well, I’m showing her in our database; that’s how her address was populated on our website.”

Me: “How can she be in your database but not show up on my printed statements or my main account page? More importantly, I did not add this person and don’t know who they are. You need to remove them ASAP.”

Agent: “You’ll have to reach out to the agent who sold you the policy regarding any discrepancies.”

Me: “That… what? This person isn’t on my original policy. The only place they are listed is your website.”

Agent: “You’ll need to contact your agent.”

The agent hangs up on me. Only then do I have a thought: [Woman] is the name of my very long-estranged and very abusive mother. It has been so long that her name didn’t ring any alarm bells, and the agent never told me a last name. With a sinking feeling, I Google the address in California, and… yep. That must be where she lives now.

I call my agent and, as suspected, he has no idea how this has happened. He doesn’t show [Woman] on any paperwork I have. He calls customer support with me on the line.

My Agent: “We need to get this contact removed immediately.”

Customer Support Agent: “We cannot remove the contact until they are removed from the policy.”

My Agent: “They’re not on the policy. I have no idea how they got into the database, but it’s in error. They should never have been on this policy.”

Customer Support Agent: “You’ll need to have [Woman] contact us to confirm.”

My Agent: “…what? No. We need to talk to a supervisor.”

While we’re on hold, I explain to my agent what I’m freaking out about. Was mail regarding this policy sent to this secondary address? Has she had access to my policy or my personal information?

Then, we’re connected with a supervisor.

Supervisor: “Okay, I’m showing that when we upgraded the database, we merged your accounts. That’s what you’re seeing.”

Me: “What? I don’t have another account.”

Supervisor: “I’m showing a second automobile policy, started on [date almost thirty years ago].”

Me: “What? I didn’t have insurance then. That’s impossible!”

Supervisor: “Ah, I see, you were a secondary driver on that account. You probably forgot about it since you weren’t getting the bills.”

Me: “Wait… Secondary driver? Are you telling me this account was in [Woman]’s name?”

Supervisor: “Yes, that’s correct.”

Me: “I was added onto her insurance when I was sixteen and learning how to drive so that I’d be covered in case of an accident. This was my mother’s insurance.”

Supervisor: “It looks like she never took you off—”

My Agent: “You’re telling me you merged two completely different policies into one record, despite having different policy numbers, contact people, and billing information?”

Supervisor: “She was a secondary cont—”

Me: *Getting more upset* “No. No. I was an authorized driver. That was to cover me if I had an accident driving my mother’s car. It was never my policy. I got my own policy at eighteen, and she was never on mine. You merged our accounts?!”

Supervisor: “Ma’am, it wasn’t a stranger. It was your mother’s insurance. I’m sure she’d never misuse—”

Me: “I have an Order of Protection against her. I would be less worried if it was a stranger.”

Supervisor: “…”

My Agent: “I think we need to have a meeting. [My Name], you can hang up, and I promise I’ll keep you in the loop.”

In the end, it turns out that the accounts weren’t truly merged; some idiot somewhere just figured that if I was on my mom’s account, she should be listed SOMEWHERE on mine. And instead of using some sort of “Notes” field in their customer database, they added her to my contact information — or perhaps they did add some sort of note and some other idiot put it into my actual information. So, my information was safe after all. But the stress of how they handled it made me leave that company, that’s for sure

It’s around 2003 or 2004. I am working in the toy section at a huge big-box store doing shelf stocking. Around Black Friday, we happen to have this doll on sale for $19.99; Toys “R” Us has the same doll for $79.99.

People know about this and are lined up outside five hours before we open. They’re not just your regular bargain shoppers but a bunch of middle-aged women who have been standing in the cold for five hours for this… doll. Of course, there are a few normal bargain shoppers in the mix, also.

Fifteen minutes before opening, we start hearing this loud bang, so a few of us go to see what’s happening.

They’re ramming the door! Two-hundred cold people are trying to take down the gate to the kingdom! Five minutes later, there is the inevitable SNAP! Yup… they’ve broken through the doors! Everybody rushes into the store even though it’s not open yet and nobody is at their cash register.

It doesn’t matter; people think it’s okay to go in through the door that popped off its hinges. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve worked retail for almost ten years in total now.

First, we have to call an ambulance, as one of our elderly customers (a very nice, old man who always makes people smile) was near the front entrance, in the front line of the battle of the bargains (barbarians). He fell to the floor and got run over by countless people. Nobody stopped to help; he just got stepped on.

At the same time this is happening, I head over to the toys section where the three pallets of these dolls are sitting. And what do I see? A crazy woman swinging her cane violently, claiming the whole lot of them! She’s screaming things like:

Crazy Customer: “I’ve been here for eight hours! I brought $5,000 and I’m getting them all! If you want some, you are going to have to buy them from me!”

She hits two employees along with many customers. Our security guard is there, though. She’s small but she is built. She goes up to the front of the crowd and addresses the violent woman.

Security Guard: “This is strike two. I want you to leave now or else I’m having you removed.”

Crazy Customer: “Bring it on; you can’t take me!”

The guard slowly walked up to her, put her hands in her pockets, and threw three or four bouncy balls on the floor. The crazy lady was a little thrown off and looked at the balls. The guard snapped the cane out of her hands. The cops showed up a few minutes later.

We sold out of dolls in minutes, with a limit of one per customer.

I am working as a tour guide, and I am waiting for my tour group to arrive. I can hear some of the early arrivals talking among themselves, including a dad talking to his young son.

Dad: “That’s the White House!”

Me: “No, that’s the Capitol Building.”

Dad: “No, it’s the White House! It’s where the president lives!”

I point down to the Washington Monument.

Me: “No, the White House is down that way, right of the Monument.”

Dad: “That thing? But that thing is tiny!”

Me: “It’s pretty big, but it is small compared to the Capitol Building.”

Dad: “Wait… This is the Capitol Building? That thing I saw them storm on the news?!”

Me: “The very same.”

Dad: *Sizes it up* “I bet I could storm it all by myself.”

Me: “Sir, our tour takes us inside the building.”

Dad: “See? I got inside without even trying!”

I advised him to not “joke” about that incident on the tour. He did not follow my advice and was removed from the tour by security before we even got to the entrance.