I work at a gift shop in downtown Austin. We’re not exactly a huge business, but Austin’s got a lot of people in it, so there’s pretty much always enough revenue coming in to keep the place up and running. Plus, though I don’t mean to brag, a lot of the customers do talk about how nice and friendly an employee I am and how good I am at customer service.

However, my coworker is not as nice, friendly, or good at customer service. He often goes around playing pranks on the customers, scaring the children with stories, and behaving like an overall jerk to everyone who comes in the store. He is even pretty mean to the other employees, which is why most of us tend to dislike him, as well.

The manager is out sick, so [Coworker] is being more of an a**hole than usual and getting on everybody’s nerves. Apparently, his favorite hobbies when the boss isn’t around are blowing air horns in our ears at random intervals, lying to customers about where to find stuff, and doing whatever else he can think of to make us hate him more than we already do.

At one point, I am restocking shelves when I notice a little boy, seemingly about seven or eight years old, at the other end of the aisle. He doesn’t seem lost, considering he isn’t really yelling out for his parents or anything, but it also seems a little off that he would be in the glassware section of the store and not the children’s section, especially without anyone else around.

I begin to walk up to him and ask him if he is lost, when [Coworker] pops up seemingly out of nowhere and begins talking to him before I can.

Coworker: “Hey, little guy. What’s your name?”

Boy: “My name is [Boy].”

Coworker: “Well, [Boy], are you lost or anything?”

Boy: “A little. I think my mom is still in the store, but I can’t find her.”

Coworker: “That’s unfortunate. Do you know what we do with little children that get lost here?”

“Oh no,” I think. [Coworker] isn’t going to help this kid out at all.

Boy: “N-no. What?”

Coworker: “We grab ’em by the feet…”

He picks [Boy] up by his legs, at which point the boy begins screaming.

Coworker: “…and then we take ’em to the ’employees only’ part of the store and feed ’em to the hungry crocodiles!”

The boy is now really beginning to shriek, undoubtedly alerting the whole store to his presence. I, of course, have finally had my fill of [Coworker]’s d*****baggery, and I begin walking up to him to give him a piece of my mind.

Out of nowhere, a lady’s voice suddenly shouts.

Lady: “FREEZE!”

[Coworker] quickly turns his head around to his side, where he sees an armed officer pointing her gun in his direction.

Lady: “DROP THE BOY AND PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!”

[Coworker], of course, complied immediately and put the boy on the floor. The boy shouted, “Mommy!” The officer then put her gun back in its holster and hugged the boy tightly. I, of course, was absolutely stunned.

Of all the kids [Coworker] picked out to pick on, he chose a boy who just happened to be the son of a Dallas police officer. Honestly, I thought it was pretty incredible Karma that had taken place that day.

Long story short, while [Coworker] did manage to avoid getting arrested, the manager unsurprisingly found out about the incident and fired him from the gift shop the following day. I’m still in awe over the incident, and honestly, I think I may never be able to forget that day when the kindergarten bully in a grown man’s body got taken down by local law enforcement.

I got my first “real” job when I was fifteen. My mom was a transcriber in medical records and her boss needed a gopher. Mom knew I was looking, so she suggested I apply. I got the job and started the summer before my junior year in high school.

Once school started, I came in every day after school — walked about fifteen blocks, uphill from school to the hospital — did the run to all the wards collecting charts, got the filing caught up, and got off the same time as my mom to ride home. I came in on Saturdays for a half-day and did the ward run and did filing and any other work left by my boss.

I worked full-time the following summer as we were transferring very old files to microfiche. I helped the file crew in the mornings and then did my regular work in the afternoon. My family went on vacation that summer and I stayed at home (with friends) and worked.

Over the summer, my mom applied for and was accepted to nursing school. She gave our boss two weeks’ notice to coincide with the beginning of school. My mom was one of the fastest typists and my boss was not happy to lose her. So, the Friday before high school started, I had this conversation with my boss.

Me: “Hey, [Boss], will I be going back to my part-time schedule when school starts next week?”

Boss: “You know, this isn’t really working. I’m not going to need you anymore.”

I went home crying my eyes out. I was sixteen and had just gotten fired from my first job. I got home and told my parents, and they assured me that it wasn’t because of anything I’d done but because Mom had resigned.

I finally calmed down and stayed up late because I didn’t have to get up early for work on Saturday for the first time in a year and a half.

The next morning at about 8:30, my mom came in and woke me up.

Mom: “[My Name], [Boss] is on the phone. She wants to know why you’re not at work.”

Me: *Totally confused* “Because I got fired.”

Mom walked back to the phone and then came back.

Mom: “You must have misunderstood; she says she didn’t fire you.”

After my mom made a few more trips back and forth between me and the phone, I finally told her to tell my boss I quit.

This was the same boss that came upstairs one day, threw open the door where we were working on the old charts, and screamed at everyone in the room, “You will work and you will not enjoy it!”

Anyway, that was the only job I ever got to quit after I got fired.

I’m a young woman who has recently purchased a used car that is magnitudes better than my old one, an inherited junker that sat undriven on a driveway for a solid five years before it came to me. I put the old car up for sale through a third-party site.

One day, I get a phone call from an unknown number.

Me: “Hello?”

Caller #1: “You want to sell your car?”

Me: “Um, yes? I have a car to sell.”

Caller #1: “I’m [Caller #1]. Does it run?”

Me: “Yes, it runs. Like I put on the site, it’s got some issues—”

Caller #1: “What do you want for it?”

Me: “Something in the $200 range.”

Caller #1: “Can I see pictures?”

Me: “Yes, I can send you some.”

Caller #1: “Good. Send me pictures and we’ll see what we can do.”

The call ends. I send pictures. A few minutes pass, and I get a call from another unknown number.

Caller #2: “Hi, I’m [Caller #2]. You talked to [Caller #1]. When can I see the car?”

Me: “Um… what are your hours?”

Caller #2: “Can I see it today? It’s raining, so I need you to come to me.”

Me: “And where is that?”

Caller #2: I am at [Location thirty or forty minutes away].”

Me: “Sorry, no. That’s a long round-trip for a weeknight. Other people I’ve talked to have offered to tow it, so I think I’ll go with one of them.”

Caller #2: “Fine, I’ll come to you. What’s your address?”

Me: “I’d rather meet at [Nearby Coffee Shop].”

Caller #2: *Getting irritated* “You won’t meet me here, and you won’t meet me at your place? What’s the deal?”

Me: “I don’t know you, sir.”

Caller #2: “Oh. All right, I’ll meet you there.”

Me: “And is this an appraisal, or to buy it?”

Caller #2: “Oh, to buy it, for sure. I’ve got cash in hand.”

Me: “Okay.”

In a very strange turn of events, my roommate’s boyfriend shows up, hears I’m selling the car, and offers me $350 for it, instead, so he can take it to his shop and fix it up. I feel pretty guilty about accepting when the other man is already on his way, so I tell him I at least have to talk to the man and give him a shot at matching it before I take his offer. 

I meet up with the buyer in the parking lot, and he starts eyeing the car.

Caller #2: “Hmmm… It’s in pretty bad condition.”

He shuffles around, shaking his head at almost everything he sees.

Caller #2: “You know, the seats have to be in perfect condition to have any resale value. And this engine isn’t really in demand. It’s gonna be tough to get my money back for this. I can maybe do $100.”

Me: *Lighting up* “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. If it’s gonna be that hard for you, I should probably sell it to someone else.”

Caller #2: *Clearly taken aback* “What? No, no. We said $200; I can do $200.”

Me: “Well, I’d hate for it to be so hard for you. And I’ve gotten an offer for $350. You probably can’t match that, right?”

Caller #2: “This is insane! I drove all this way!”

Me: “I know, sorry. But I think this other offer is a better fit.”

He calls his boss, the first man I spoke to, and puts him on speakerphone.

Caller #1: “Do you have any idea how many resources we wasted driving down there for you to break our deal?”

Me: “I know it’s a long way; that’s why I said I didn’t want to do it. You offered. And I wasn’t aware we had a deal.”

Caller #1: “Yeah, we did, for $200!”

Me: “That wasn’t really communicated to me. I am sorry for your lost time, but I did come to meet him and he tried to offer me $100.”

Caller #1: *Pissed off* “I am an excellent communicator! Excellent! This is what I do, all day, every day. Do you know how many deals I work on in a day? And for you to tell me—”

Me: “Sir, I don’t know what you hope to accomplish by ranting at me. I’m not going to sell you my car.”

The buyer looked mildly embarrassed and took his phone back with his boss still raging on speakerphone. I headed home to get a cool, drama-free $350.

I work in a Mexican restaurant.

Customer: “I can’t eat onions, garlic, or any kind of peppers. Spicy food is right out. And I hate salads.”

This happens in math class.

Teacher: “Okay, guys, here’s today’s assignment! Take your time.”

Me: *Thinking* “Whew! Normally, we have to finish it in, like, thirty minutes.”

I work hard and quietly for about forty-five minutes, getting toward the end of class. I am only about three-quarters done, and the teacher comes by to check our work. She stops at my desk.

Teacher: “[My Name], why are you not done?! It’s an easy assignment!”

Me: “Oh… I’m just slow at math. And you said we could take our time, so I didn’t try to rush.”

Teacher: “So you have questions on how to do it? You should have just asked me!”

Me: “Um… No, that’s not what I said. I understand the math; I’m just slow at it. Okay?”

Teacher: “Talking back now?”

Me: “…”

Teacher: “You’d better be done in five minutes.”

Me: “You can threaten me all you want, but that doesn’t magically make me faster at math.”

I didn’t finish during class and got in trouble for “talking back” and “disrupting the class.”