My local supermarket is inside a larger shopping centre. As I enter the centre, a bunch of teens are messing around on the stairs — jumping off, kicking things down it, and getting in people’s way.

I push my way through when they try to stop me but I can see others are intimidated by them, and my words do nothing.

I see the supermarket’s customer service desk and go over.

Me: “Hey, could you get security over to the stairs? A bunch of kids are being a nuisance.”

Worker: “Well, those aren’t owned by [Supermarket]; they are managed by [Shopping Centre].”

Me: “Yeah, but I’m guessing you have the ability to contact them?”

Worker: *Suddenly full of attitude* “Well, yeah, I guess. But it’s not my job.”

Me: “Your customers are being harassed, and you don’t feel bothered enough to make a phone call?! Is there someone else I can talk to?”

Worker: “Fine, whatever, I’ll do it.”

I stand and wait. She doesn’t move. Realising that I’m not going anywhere, she picks up the phone next to her, and without saying anything, she shortly puts down the phone.

Worker: “They’re coming.”

Me: “Great, I will wait.”

She huffs and picks up the phone again, pushes a button, and talks to someone. I can hear her describe what’s going on.

Worker: “Yeah, some kids or something.” *Pauses* “The stairs.” *Pauses* “Yeah, whenever. Don’t run down here.” *Pauses* “Yeah, someone is complaining.” 

She hangs up and turns to me.

Worker: *To me* “Happy now?”

Me: “Ecstatic, thank you.”

I did my shopping and exited by the stairs. I saw the same bunch of kids being seen to by a first-aider. Looks like one of their jumps landed badly. If only there was some way of preventing it.

“Midnight Sun,” a new Twilight novel, has just come out. We are selling the books so fast that we have to call ahead to restock. I have just sold our last copy of the day to a teenage girl, and there is another teenage girl behind her.

Teenage Girl #2: “Where are your Midnight Sun copies?”

Me: “Sorry, I just sold the last one. But we should be getting more tomorrow.”

Teenage Girl #2: *Turns tomato red* “NO, NO, NO! YOU CAN’T BE OUT! WHO HAS THE LAST COPY? THAT B**** OVER THERE? HEY, YOU BLACK B****! GIVE ME YOUR BOOK!”

At this, the first teenage girl looks terrified and takes off. The second teenage girl runs after her, and I immediately page my manager to prevent a fight.

Seconds later, the second teenage girl runs back in with the book she stole and brings it up to the counter.

Teenage Girl #2: “I’d like to buy this book, please!”

Me: “Um, did you just take that from the other girl?”

Teenage Girl #2: “So what? I’m Stephenie Meyer’s biggest fan! I deserve this book more! Now ring it up for me!”

I take the book from her and put it behind the counter.

Me: “Please leave. I told you, we will have more books tomorrow. You can purchase a copy then.”

She screams like a banshee, tries to grab my shirt, fails, and is pulled back by a woman in her forties.

Woman: “I did not raise you like this! I saw what you did out there! Disgraceful! Unbelievable! You are going to march right back out there and apologize to that girl! And you’re not driving the car for four months!”

Teenage Girl #2: *In tears* “But Mom—”

Woman: “No, don’t bother.” *Turns to me* “I’m so sorry, sir. This isn’t like her, I swear.”

She forced the girl to apologize to the other girl when she came back in for some water, and she put a few dollars in our charity box. I haven’t seen the second teen girl since, although I have seen her mother come in a few times. Whenever she sees me, she apologizes again for her daughter’s behavior. I also see the first girl come in occasionally, although I’ve seen her carry pepper spray on her keychain now.

Related:
The Twilight Of Our Youth, Part 9
The Twilight Of Our Youth, Part 8
The Twilight Of Our Youth, Part 7
The Twilight Of Our Youth, Part 6

I’m a shift manager for a retail drug store chain. One day, another shift manager sees two girls, both about fourteen or fifteen years old, walk into the women’s bathroom with a pregnancy test. She knows they haven’t paid for it, so both of us go into the bathroom to confront the girls.

When we walk in, we catch [Girl #1] handing [Girl #2] a pregnancy test underneath the stall door. The following conversation happens.

Me: “You need to pay for that.”

Girl #1: “Can’t we use it then pay for it?”

Me: “No! Buy it, then use it.”

[Girl #1] knocks on the stall.

Girl #1: “[Girl #2], I need some money.”

[Girl #2] hands [Girl #1] her wallet.

Me: *To [Girl #1]* “Go with [Other Manager], please.”

I step outside the bathroom; that way, I can guard the bathroom door and see the cash register at the same time. Once I see the transaction end, I leave my post.

We keep our eyes on the two until they leave.

That night, I come home and tell my boyfriend about the potential theft. My boyfriend starts to chuckle.

Boyfriend: “Can you imagine the parents if you had called them? Your teen has been caught stealing, and she might be pregnant. Which is more unsettling?”

I work as an usher for a large chain cinema. Any horror film rated age fifteen is like a magnet to kids who often get people to buy them tickets and are shocked when they are ID’ed by an usher. Another issue is that kids that age are too young for driver’s licences and often genuinely don’t have any ID. I find that asking for their date of birth is surprisingly effective in weeding out people who are genuinely underage.

A group of about six fairly young-looking boys and girls line up to get their tickets torn, and surprisingly, some have ID showing that they are actually fifteen. I have this conversation with one of the girls.

Me: “Hi, can I see your ID, please?”

Girl: “Oh, hi! I don’t actually have any ID, but I’m fifteen today; we’re out for my birthday.”

Me: “Oh, hey, that’s great. Happy birthday. What’s your date of birth?”

Girl: “Uh, ummm… it’s today’s date and the year is… ummm…”

Her Friend: “Just take fifteen away from today’s date!”

Me: “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure you can appreciate that this isn’t exactly convincing, can’t you? If you return to the lobby, they’ll be happy to exchange your tickets for any film rated under fifteen or refund you if you prefer.”

The group walks off looking a bit dejected. I phone the lobby to explain what happened. About fifteen minutes later, the group reappears and the girl stands at the end of the hall and glares at me before declaring:

Girl: “I don’t like you! You’re not very nice! I hate you!”

Then, she turned around and stomped off.

My son and I were on the last row of an airline flight. Three teens were in the seats across the aisle. They seemed quiet during the flight and I really didn’t pay attention to them. Then, it happened. They jumped up from their seats before the plane came to a stop at the gate.

Teen #1: “Let’s get out of here!”

There was no way in h*** I was going to let them rush to the front of the plane, so I stepped out into the aisle to block them.

Teen #2: “We’re late for our connecting flight!”

Me: “No, you’re not. The plane landed fifteen minutes early.”

Teen #3: *Shouting* “We’re diplomats!”

Me: “All three of you?”

Teens: “Yes, we’re diplomats!”

Me: “You mean you have a parent who is a diplomat?”

Teens: “No, we’re diplomats! We need to get to our connecting flight!”

Me: “You need to wait your turn like everyone else.”

Teen #3: *Shouting* “You’re being racist because we have brown skin!”

Me: “No, you’re in the back of the plane and need to wait like the rest of us.”

Teens: “BUT WE’RE DIPLOMATS! YOU’RE BEING RACIST!”

The teens then started crawling over the tops of all the seats, over people’s heads, toward the front of the plane. At some point, I lost track of them because my son and I had to gather our belongings. When we finally made it into the terminal, several airport staff, including security, had detained the teens and were explaining to them that they could not possibly be late for their connecting flight because we arrived early. One of the teens spotted me and started pointing vigorously at me.

Teen #3: “There she is! She wouldn’t let us pass! She’s being racist because we have brown skin! WE’RE DIPLOMATS!”

I explained the whole situation to security. They asked me if I wanted to press charges. Since none of the teens had actually touched me, I declined and went on my way.

A few minutes later, my son and I were sitting near our connecting gate, and guess who came laughing, scampering, and skipping through the terminal without a care in the world? The teens saw me and one took out a camera phone and started filming me. I just sat there, bemused. 

Teen #3: “Ooo, you’re in trouble now!”

I checked social media for a few days after that and never saw a viral story about some old white lady being racist. Go figure.