I pulled into a parking spot at the local grocery store and reached into my back seat to get my reusable bags. In those few seconds, a woman approached my car and rapped her keys against my windshield.

Me: “Yes?”

Woman: “Are you disabled?”

Me: “No, are you?”

Woman: *Offended* “Of course not!”

Me: “Okay.”

Woman: “You can’t park here!”

She pointed at a disabled parking sign in front of my car. It was facing the blue-lined space across from my car. I opened my door enough to look out and saw that I was in a white-lined space.

Me: “This isn’t disabled parking.”

Woman: “Yes, it is! There’s the sign!”

Me: “For that space, yes.”

I got out of the car, making sure to lock it.

Woman: “Move your car! Do you want a ticket? I’ll call the police! I’m tired of you lazy children!”

Me: “Ma’am, this is not disabled parking, so I will not be moving my car.”

I walked off. The woman followed me in the store.

Woman: “You want me to call the cops?”

Me: “I want you to f*** off.”

Woman: “Excuse me?!”

Me: “Look. If you’re so sure I’m wrong, call the police. Otherwise, I will call them for you stalking and harassing me.”

She stared at me for a moment before pulling out her phone and walking back toward the entrance. I saw her duck into a fast-food restaurant near the entrance of the building and figured she was waiting for the police to arrive.

I was wrong. When I returned, there was a milkshake poured over my car, particularly the driver door and the windshield.

I’m grabbing something to eat before an appointment. As I’m people-watching, I see an old lady looking lost. She spots me and, through broken English, asks me:

Old Woman: “I need [Doctor’s Surgery], where?”

Me: “Oh, I’m heading there, too. It’s down there, then turn left at [Shop], keep going, and you can’t miss it.”

Old Woman: “You go there?”

Me: “Soon, after this.”

I motion to my lunch.

Old Woman: “You take me?”

I have a burrito barely holding itself together. I move, I lose.

Me: “After this! Or it’s down there and turn left.”

Old Woman: “You take me now.”

Me: “No, I’m not ready. You can wait or go by yourself.”

She grabs my sleeve and tugs at it. She’s a little old lady, and I’m a weighty guy, so that doesn’t work. She gets more frustrated and goes to hit me with her bag, but she thinks better of it. All the time, she’s stopping me from finishing my lunch and making it even less likely that I will help her.

Eventually, she gives up and goes in the direction I told her. She is at the reception desk already when I go in.

Receptionist: “Your appointment is for tomorrow. Tomorrow? Wednesday.”

Old Woman: “No I’m busy. He see me now.”

Receptionist: “No, he’s busy. He doesn’t have time to see you now. You need to come back tomorrow.”

This went on for some time. Luckily, another receptionist called me over and I went straight in. The woman wasn’t there when I got out, so I assume she took the hint. Some people want the world to run by their rules!

I work as the sole attendant at a twenty-four-hour gas station during the overnight shifts. It’s typically pretty quiet, but it clearly isn’t tonight.

While I’m handling a guy getting scratch-offs, two customers come into the store roughly at the same time. One is this tall dude with a scowl on his face, and the other is a regular I know works nearby because of her fast food uniform and because we chill during the quiet hours and talk about customer horror stories.

Tall Dude is eyeing the Fast Food Girl and sort of following her around while she’s browsing some racks looking at chips, and she gets in line and pulls out her phone. Tall Dude steps in front of her while she’s looking at her phone, and he just snaps for no reason and pushes her shoulder.

Tall Dude: “HEY!”

She looks up.

Tall Dude: “Smile already! Stop looking like such a b****!”

The scratch-off guy and I are looking at both of them and each other like, “What the heck was that for?” Fast Food Girl just looks at Tall Dude for a moment… and smiles.

Then, she starts shrieking like a chimp on drugs, rips off her coat and uniform shirt — she is wearing clothes underneath — and proceeds to grab a nearby loaf of bread and start HUMPING IT without breaking eye contact with the dude. She’s still screaming. The bread bursts open and starts falling out onto the floor, and she starts grabbing fistfuls of it and rubbing it on her chest, stuffing bread down her pants, and cramming bread into her mouth and spitting it out while still screaming.

Tall Dude freaks out and runs. Fast Food Girl starts beating her chest like Tarzan. My scratch-off customer and I just stare in shock.

The second the door closes behind Tall Dude, Fast Food Girl straightens her hair and clothes out.

Fast Food Girl: “Can I have a broom to clean this up, please? And I’ll pay for the bread.”

Scratch-Off Dude is cracking up now that the craziness is over, and he helps kick some of the bread from under the shelf so she can clean it up.

Fast Food Girl: “That dude is a daily regular at [Fast Food Place], and his favorite pastime is to abuse staff both on the clock and off in the parking lot. He even followed me here! Threateningly humping a loaf of bread at him was much more cathartic than punching him in the throat.”

So far, she hasn’t seen him since, so I guess it was more effective, too.

One day in Highschool a friend and I went to a fast-food burger place inside of a large department store. This friend had an issue with one of his knees, a lasting injury from a nasty fall he had taken last year. Due to the issue with his knee he needed to brace himself when sitting down, this included using the crossbars in most Handicap stalls in public bathrooms.

He and I both go to the bathroom; he takes the stall but I am just there to wash my hands when an elderly gentleman comes in in a wheelchair. He isn’t too pleased that the stall is occupied and keeps hammering on the door with his fist and swearing.

Me: “Hey! Knock it off, he’ll be out when he’s out.”

Man: “He shouldn’t be in there; this is a handicap stall!”

Me: “You don’t even know who is in there, how do you know they don’t have a disability?”

Man: “Tell him to get the f*** out!”

Me: “Wait your d*** turn!”

The door opens and my friend steps out.

Friend: “You’re very rude.”

Man: “SEE! YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN IN THERE! MOVE!”

He tries to ram himself through the door even though my friend is still in the way but he pushes him back with the stall door.

Friend: “The f*** is wrong with you!?”

Man: “Get the f*** OUT OF MY WAY!”

Friend: “Let me get out of the stall first!”

Man: “You shouldn’t be in there in the first place!”

Friend: “I NEED to use this stall, I have a knee injury!”

Me: “Not all disabilities are visible.”

Man: “Bull-s***!”

He attempts to ram my friend again but he pushes back once more.

Friend: “You f****** touch me again and we’re going to have a problem, buddy!”

Me: “Dude, just let him out of the stall”

Man: “Fine, but hurry up!”

My friend steps out of the stall and pulls up his pants leg, displaying the deep, pitted scarring on his knee, it looks like a centipede on his skin.

Friend: “You see this? Huh!? You see this!?”

Man: “…”

Friend: “Yeah! That’s what I thought! F*** you.”

He storms out of the bathroom and I follow him.

Me: “You alright?”

Friend: “I’m sick and tired of this. Why does everyone assume just because I am young I can’t have a lasting injury or disability? This is the fourth or fifth time I’ve had to deal with some angry jack-a** in a bathroom.”

Me: “I dunno man, just… look older I guess.?”

We shared a laugh and went to sit down.

I live in an apartment building. I call the elevator to go up to my floor. Heading in before me is a girl around seven years old, and coming in right behind me is a rough-looking dude with a rottweiler dog. The moment the man enters the elevator, the little girl screams and frantically grabs my arm.

Me: “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Girl: *Stammering and near panic* “D-dog!”

The dog is well-behaved and just sits there patiently, so there is no real danger, but I have an irrational fear of spiders, so I get it. I place myself between the man with the dog and the girl and give her a reassuring smile

Me: “No dog here is going to hurt you. I’m right in between.”

Suddenly, the man speaks up rather aggressively.

Man: “Don’t do that! My dog ain’t bit anyone, ever, and you’re just encouraging her to be afraid of dogs!”

Me: “I’m just trying to not scare a little girl and to keep her comfortable, sir.” 

He mumbles something about bratty kids and exits the elevator on the third floor. I have to go up to the fifth and the girl on the seventh, so I’m left behind with her for a second.

Me: “Are you all right now?”

The girl nodded shyly but still seemed shaken. I got off and wished her a good day. I found out later that she was part of a refugee family that had just moved here from Syria. Her fear of dogs and aggressive men is now somewhat explained, and I hope she doesn’t run into the man again.