(Wandering around the supermarket, I come across a young woman wearing a shirt that has the same off-green colour as the employees’ shirts. She’s stopped with a trolley and typing steadily on her phone.)

Me: “Excuse me, miss?”

Woman: *doesn’t respond*

Me: “Ma’am, can you please–”

Woman: “Don’t work here. Go away.”

Me: “But–”

Woman: *raising her voice to a shout* “What is wrong with all you people? Are you r*****ed? I said I don’t f****** work here!”

Me: “Awesome, but you’re blocking the [Cereal].”

(The woman actually looked up from her phone, looked behind her, and forcefully pushed her trolley a few meters to the side. She folded her arms and glared at me.)

(My husband and I recently drove to Florida from a northern state. We decide to do some shopping and navigate our way to a mall near where we’re staying. We’re looking for an open spot to park and turn down a one-way lane with parking on both sides. A Volkswagen in front of us stops, so we do, as well, kind of off to the right of the lane. After a moment, the Volkswagen shifts into reverse and starts driving backward toward us; they are going slowly, thankfully, but their back passenger corner hits our front driver corner. We eventually decide the damage is minimal — on a car that runs fine, but the body has a few dings already — and we’re not going to make them fix anything, but not before this conversation happens:)

Volkswagen Driver: “Where did you come from?”

Me: “We’ve been stopped behind you since before you started backing up.”

Volkswagen Driver: “Well, why are you on this side of the road? You should have been in the other lane.”

Husband: “It’s a one-way.”

Volkswagen Driver: “Where do people drive on that side?” *gesturing again to the right side*

Me: “Literally everywhere except England.”

(I think she thought since we were from out of state she could pull the “that’s how we do it here,” but I’m still floored that I was asked why we were driving on the right side of the road.)

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(I work in the office of a regional park that requires vehicle permits. The annual permit option is a sticker that must be affixed to the windshield. I am working in the office by myself when a man comes in to buy a new permit, as his old one has expired.)

Man: “I’m not going to put this on right away. I’m just going to set it on the dash for now, okay? I still have to take the old one off.”

Me: “Actually, it does need to be attached in order to be valid.”

Man: “Okay, I’ll tape it to the windshield.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but it needs to be attached by its own adhesive. We aren’t the ones who enforce it; it’s the deputies, and you risk getting a ticket if it’s not attached.”

Man: “How many deputies are in the park?”

Me: “Um… I’m not sure if there are any here right now; they come through at random times.”

Man: “Do you ever talk to them?”

Me: “Well, they—”

Man: *interrupts me* “Do you ever talk to them?!”

Me: “Sometimes, but—”

Man: “Well, then, tell them there’s a man in a truck who bought a permit and just set it on the dash for now.”

Me: “They don’t always come in here. Sometimes they just drive through. I can’t—”

Man: “I don’t know why you can’t understand this. I bought the permit. I just don’t want to put it on until I take the old one off.”

Me: “I understand, but—”

(He continued interrupting and arguing with me. If he would have stopped and listened, I would have told him that I didn’t know the deputies’ schedules; they stop in when they have a chance, and usually drive through without coming into the office. Occasionally, they stop and chat, but I have no way of knowing if or when they will do so. Even if they do stop in, I can’t really tell them not to give out tickets; I’m just a seasonal park employee. It was the middle of the week, and chances were he’d be fine, but I couldn’t guarantee that, and it IS against county ordinance to be in the park without a valid permit. Also, I had a scraper he could have used to remove the old permit, but he wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise to tell him that, either. Personally, I could not have cared less if he had a valid permit or not. I was just trying to keep the guy from possibly getting an expensive ticket! Sometimes I’m not sure why I bother, other than the fact that if he DID get a ticket, he’d likely come back and blame me for not telling him the permit had to be attached in order to be valid.)

(Houston, Texas has just been hit by Hurricane Harvey, the worst hurricane on record. Entire communities are gone, whole families are being discovered dead in their homes, and the whole city has been completely torn asunder. My store in New Jersey runs pet-based fundraisers several times a year, and our current group has generously told us to cut their fundraiser short in favor of collecting donations for hurricane relief. I’m ringing up a regular customer, who is always brusque, a tad misogynistic, and generally hard to deal with, a few days into the new fundraiser.)

Me: “Okay, and we’re currently collecting donations for Hurricane Har–”

Regular: *impatient and waving his hand in my face* “No, I have my own water problems.”

Me: *livid, but silent*

(Whatever his “water problems” were, I hope they got only worse!)

(I have my own personal Cheers-type bar that I’ve been going to for so long that my friends and I know everyone from the bouncer to the owners, and almost everyone in between. My girl friends and I love going there because they have great drinks and a great atmosphere, and we know we’ll be safe. We’re having a Girls’ Night Out one night, all of us sitting in a horseshoe-shaped booth with me at one end and the rest of my friends scrunched in close so we can hear each other better, when some guy saunters up, drags a chair over from another table, spins it, and straddles it next to me.)

Guy: *grinning* “Heeeeyyyy, ladies.”

(My girlfriends tend to be a bit more shy, my best friend having social anxiety, so they look to me.)

Me: *smiling, trying to be polite* “Hey, we’re kind of having a girls’ night here and, ah, sorry but you don’t qualify, so if you could give us some space, please?”

Guy: *still grinning* “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll stick around.”

Me: *now annoyed and letting him see it* “It’s actually not fine, because I’ve asked you to leave and you’re still here.”

Guy: *STILL with that stupid grin* “Nah, nah, it’s fine. You don’t want me to leave.”

Me: *glaring, voice hard* “Yes, we do, now f*** off.”

Guy: “Nah, you don’t want me to leave.”

(My friends are all nervous and I’m pissed, but this creep is effectively blocking me into the booth. Fortunately, I have the bouncer’s phone number, so I shoot him a quick text letting him know there’s a situation. From where we’re sitting I can see him at the door, and I watch him check his phone and look around for me. When I catch his eye, he points at the guy, who’s still blathering on about who knows what, and I nod. The bouncer pockets his phone and walks over. I should note that the bouncer is rather large, broad-shouldered, and kind of looks like a pirate with his impressive goatee, multiple piercings, and intricate tattoos. He’ll never start a fight, but he will ALWAYS end one. He walks up behind the guy and casually places one very large hand on his shoulder and leans on it. The guy immediately goes silent and stares up at him.)

Bouncer: *very calm* “I believe these ladies asked you to leave. You were just about to, weren’t you?”

Guy: *nervous and squeaking a little* “Yes.”

Bouncer: *still calm* “And you’re going to leave them alone?” *the guy just nods quickly* “Good. Then we don’t have a problem.”

(The bouncer slowly leans back with a smile and the guy scurries off.)

Bouncer: “You okay, girls? He didn’t lay a hand on any of you, or get near your drinks?”

(We assure him that we’re fine and thank him for his assistance.)

Bouncer: “All right, well, you let me know if he or anyone else gives you any trouble, okay? Enjoy your night.”

(He gave me a hug and went back to the door, and my friends and I enjoyed our girls’ night in peace. I love that bar!)