I am at the final window of a popular fast food drive-thru in the UK, at the height of the health crisis. I am patiently waiting in my car, and the server has handed my first bag through the window, when I witness one of the most entitled people I have ever seen.

A woman marches through the exit of the drive-thru, in the middle of the road, instead of using the pavement. Around a blind corner. You know the type. No mask, THAT haircut.

Immediately, she ignores that I am at the drive-thru window. She squeezes into the small space between the window and my car. Her a** is literally pressed against the glass. She is brandishing one of the small books that come free with a kids’ meal.

The woman proceeds to knock on the window until she gets someone’s attention.

Customer: “I specifically asked for a toy. This is a book. Not a toy.”

Server: “The kids’ meal promotion at the moment is a small book, not a toy.”

Customer: “I told my son that he was getting a toy.”

Server: “Give me a moment. I can check if we have any left over from last week. Just a moment.”

Customer: “Un-f******-believable.”

The server returns.

Server: “Hello, apologies, but we do not have any toys from the previous promotion and we haven’t received next week’s kids’ meal treat yet. Unfortunately, we only have the books.”

Customer: *Tapping the book against the glass* “It’s your fault that my child is crying! Do something!”

Server: “I’m sorry, but there is nothing I can do.”

The woman slammed both open palms against the window and screamed before marching out of the drive-thru, in the middle of the road again.

I waited a few moments, and the drive-thru gave me my food which had gotten cold at that point. The drive-thru was packed. It was the lunch rush, and I felt bad for the staff who had to take time to deal with the woman, so I just sped away.

As I rounded the corner, I saw the woman in one of the waiting spaces, parked terribly, in a brand new Mercedes. The back door was open and she was consoling her ten-year-old son who was screaming at her.

I didn’t know if he had a learning disability, though I suspect she would have led with that when she spoke to the staff if he did, but I couldn’t believe that someone was so upset about being given a BOOK.

There were plenty of ways to deal with that situation — namely, calling the store from the car park to maintain social distancing — but that was how she chose to deal with it?

It’s a Friday night at 10:30 pm and after being severely understaffed, I stay longer to finish the rest of the put-backs: stuff people dump, return, or change their minds on at the till.

I’m a shift lead but don’t get paid any extra for this role. I do have some authority over decisions made on our Customer Service Desk, however, making me the most senior checkouts colleague working.

There is only one colleague doing the late shift on the checkouts at this time of night. She calls me over the tannoy and I go to find what she needs. As I walk up, I see a pair of black shoes on the customer service desk that have most definitely seen better days.

Colleague: “Hey. Sorry, I know you’re busy and want to go home, but I wanted to ask you about these shoes. The lady has the receipt and wants to return them because they didn’t ‘last long’.”

I look at the receipt. The shoes are £6.50 and the woman bought them about fifty-five days ago. Our clothing return policy is 100 days, but shoes are exempt, at only thirty days. Also, the shoes literally look as if they’ve been run over with a car. There appears to be dog hair all over the inside and the fronts of the shoes have started to peel away slightly.

Whilst we typically use some discretion, it’s pretty obvious that this woman hasn’t taken any care of the shoes and somehow expects a £6.50 pair of shoes to last longer than a month after heavy use. Despite customers’ expectations, there’s a difference between “fit for purpose” and using the products in the manner it was intended.

Me: “There’s no way we’re returning those. She’s out of the refund policy, anyway. Just tell her no.”

I go back to doing put-backs. My colleague puts another call out for me a couple of minutes later. The customer has come back to the desk after finishing her shopping.

Me: “Hi. Can I help?”

Customer: “Yes, this colleague has said you won’t refund my shoes. Look at them! It’s disgusting.”

Me: “My colleague is correct. You’re out of the thirty-day refund policy, I’m afraid. This applies to defective shoes, as well. It’s company policy. I’m sorry, but I cannot override company policy.”

I ended up repeating myself a few more times. I offered to get a manager for her, or the number for head office, but she declined both. In the end, she left the shoes on the desk and we had to throw them away. As she flounced away, she commented that she’d never buy shoes from us again. Considering the way she treats her shoes, I think that’s a good thing!

I work with a woman who is lovely but clearly so fed up with her job that she doesn’t want to be there. She constantly pushes the limits of what she can get away with, doing as little as possible and crying when she’s found out.

It doesn’t bother me to start with, but when I find myself doing her work for her, I am not having it. I complain, but it’s too late; our boss has bought into her many lies and is convinced that she is so busy on so many projects — she just shows up to the meetings — and is even taking work home with her! The work never gets done or is so late that someone else has done it already. I am ignored and actually told I could learn something from her work ethic.

Months pass. Now that I’m forced to work with her every day, I can see how lazy she has become. Everything of hers is way behind or full of really basic errors. Every time I ask for more information on her tasks, she doesn’t know or is “too busy to be bothered by that.”

What annoys me more is that she is never at her desk; she’s always getting coffee or arriving late and leaving early. She disappears for lunch and then takes another lunch at her desk — to show how committed she is. I am rushing around doing her work for her and she spends most of the day on her phone or missing.

It gets to the point where I want to quit, when by chance I spot her ahead of me one day in the shops getting lunch. She hasn’t spotted me make my order or stand behind her, waiting for my food. She pulls out her phone and starts loudly chatting to someone. The topic turns to work and she begins bragging about how she has her manager wrapped around her finger, how she will “just claim discrimination” if he ever disciplines her, and so on.

I take the opportunity and record her on video. I miss a lot, but I catch her actually complaining that she is bored at work and has nothing to do! She says she will probably call in sick after lunch.

I leave before her and head straight back to the office. No surprise, she isn’t there. A while later, my manager brings a stack of folders to my desk.

Manager: “You need to prepare this report today. You’ll probably be working late.”

I have had enough. 

Me: “This is ridiculous. How am I going to do this? This is [Coworker]’s work; I don’t know anything about this.”

Manager: “Well, she has called in sick, really unwell actually. She might not be in the rest of the week.”

Me: *Louder than I mean* “What utter bulls***. She is faking it; I saw her earlier. She’s fine.”

Manager: “You’re on a thin rope here, [My Name]. [Coworker] has been telling me all about how much work you’ve been. How much she’s helped you.”

Me: “She did, did she? Such a good employee, is she? Listen to this.”

I pull out my phone and put the volume to max; the whole office can hear at this point.

My manager listens, says nothing, and goes white. He slowly takes a look at the massive pile of work he has dumped on my desk and seems to tense up.

Manager: “Well, that does change things.”

Me: “I’m sorry but I did tell you this. If you don’t believe me, come to her meetings or ask the others.”

Manager: *Pause* “Yes, I think I will do that.”

Over the next few weeks, our manager suddenly, unannounced, would join the meetings that [Coworker] was so busy in. He would say nothing the whole time. A couple of members of the team mentioned that he was asking questions about [Coworker]’s performance. They all had responses similar to mine.

I had to help her with her work for a few more weeks; she was doing it now but I had to check it before it went out. She kept disappearing and her work never improved. A few weeks after that, our manager announced that she had decided to leave the company.

It has been an extremely busy day at our bar, and I finally get the go-ahead to take a twenty-minute break. We don’t have a staff area to eat lunch in, so I settle down at a free table in the beer garden. I’m busy eating and watching videos on my phone (with headphones on) when an older woman at the next table tries to engage me in small talk. I really, really don’t want to expend any more energy on social interaction right now, but I still do my best to stay polite and keep smiling.

She is quite obviously a little drunk but seems harmless enough, and at some point, I manage to excuse myself from the conversation and get back to my lunch. Five minutes later, she starts up again, this time waving her hand in front of my face to get my attention, and noticeably slurring her words.

Customer: “This garden is disgusting! I used to work here and I would never—” *pokes her finger at me* “—NEVER let it get into this state! You should clean it!”

I look around and, yeah, every table has a bunch of glasses and plates on it.

Me: “I am sorry about that. I do agree it’s a bit of a mess right now, as we’ve been so busy. It’s just me and [Coworker] working today, so we haven’t had a chance to do anything other than serve non-stop. As soon as my break is finished, I’m going to go around and tidy up, though.”

Customer: *Louder* “You need to clean it now!”

Me: *As politely as I can* “As I said, I am on my lunch break right now, but I’ll be done in about ten minutes and I promise you the garden will be my first priority when I get back.”

She huffs and goes inside, and I assume she’s gone to bug my coworker, instead. However, the next time I look up, I see her haphazardly collecting plates and glasses from the empty tables around the garden. Resigning myself to ending my break early, I jump up.

Me: “Ma’am, please, let me take those for you!”

At first she won’t let go, and then she shoves the stack at me angrily, nearly spilling the lot, and I take them inside. On my way back out, I hear a loud crash. The woman had gathered another armful of stuff and dropped a plate of coleslaw and two glasses in the doorway. She locks eyes with me and starts shrieking.

Customer: “There’s glass everywhere! It’s dangerous! How could you just leave it here?! Someone’s going to get hurt!”

I get a dustpan and brush and begin cleaning it up as quickly as I can, while she continues drunkenly running around with more glasses, actively trying to step over me while I’m on my hands and knees in the doorway and almost kicking me in the head. Every time she goes past with more stuff, she leans down at me and says, “YOU’RE WELCOME!

I have a reputation for always smiling and being polite to customers, but now my patience is wearing thin.

Me: “Please, madam, please sit down and let me do my job!”

Customer: “You’re not doing it properly!”

The next few minutes are a blur of me scrambling to bring in every plate and glass in the garden before she can reach it.

Things only get worse after I clear the garden. Seeing that there is nothing left for her to clean outside, she marches into the bar and begins to clear tables inside, going so far as to literally snatch plates from other customers while they’re still trying to eat! I try to stop her and she just screams at me. Everyone is staring, and a table of regular customers look like they want to step in, but they aren’t sure what to do.

In desperation, I run to our manager, who instructs me to stay in the kitchen and make desserts while he deals with the situation. By now, I’m on the verge of a panic attack, but after a few minutes of making sundaes, I start to calm down. The manager returns, looking stressed.

Manager: “Okay, no one serve her any more alcohol!”

Me: “She’s still here?! You didn’t ask her to leave?”

Manager: “She’s promised to just sit outside and not drink anymore. Apparently, someone is coming to pick her up. She can have a normal drink, just no alcohol.”

I join [Coworker] back on the bar, and thankfully, the woman is nowhere to be seen, though some other customers tell me she has sat herself on their table outside, and that they’re keeping an eye on her for me. Normality returns for about an hour, and [Coworker] leaves to take her own lunch break, so I’m serving on my own.

Regular: “Uh-oh, the devil woman is back.”

I turn my head, and there she is, calmly waiting her turn to be served. I swallow my anxiety and try to act normally.

Me: “Hello, what can I get for you?”

Customer: *Slurring* “I want a pint of [Cider].”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, my manager has said we’re not to serve you any more alcohol today. I’ll be happy to get you anything else you may like, such as coffee or any of our sodas, but I can’t—”

Customer: “Who said that? What manager?! What are you talking about? You bring your ‘manager’—” *air quotes* “—out here right now!”

I gladly fetch him, and the woman becomes even more abusive when he repeats that we will not serve her alcohol. Finally, he asks her to leave. She refuses and continues to stand at the end of the bar, ranting and causing a scene. The bar is still packed with people waiting to be served, so I do my best to just let my manager deal with it and continue serving. This seems to make her even madder, and she comes marching back behind the bar, getting right in my face, pointing, and screaming abuse. I genuinely fear that she’s about to hit me, and I freeze with my hands up defensively. The next thing I remember, my manager has put himself between us.

Manager: “Madam, if you do not leave the premises, I will call the police and they will make you leave.”

She retreats back to the other side of the bar but no further.

Customer: “Call them! Go ahead! I’m friends with all the police around here; they know me. Go ahead and call them! You’re all useless! Useless! You’re all s***! And you!” *Points at my manager* “YOU’RE A [GAY SLUR]!”

My manager is a stunningly handsome, very effeminate gay man with buckets and buckets of sass. At this point, he is in the middle of calling the police, but he freezes at her insult. With perfect dramatic flair, he very slowly turns around, eyes narrowed, and fires back.

Manager: “And you are a horrible, homophobic old witch who is now banned for liiiiiife!“

The nearby table of regulars who have been watching with growing excitement all go, “Ooohhh!” like school children, while the woman’s face crumples into something like confusion and fear.

Customer: “You can’t ban me. This is where I live! This is my home!”

At this point, my coworker comes back from her break. The woman sees her and seems to latch onto her in desperation.

Customer: “You! You know me! You know who I am! They can’t do this to me! I helped you!”

[Coworker] glanced at us in confusion. [Manager] made a subtle “get her out of here” motion, and [Coworker] was able to take the woman by the arm and walk her out, back into the garden. She still refused to leave the premises, so the police were still called, but all the venom had drained out of her, and she seemed content to sit and wait for them, seemingly convinced that they’d take her side in all this.

When the police arrived, they took copies of our CCTV, took statements from my manager and me, and arrested the woman for harassment and drunk and disorderly behaviour. The police called us the next day to let us know that they had had to keep her in the cells overnight, and that even after sobering up, she continued to deny everything, going so far as to claim she was never even here, despite all the evidence to the contrary. We suspect she was so drunk that she thought she was at a different pub entirely, as she has never worked for us and certainly doesn’t live in any of the flats above.

If she had just admitted what had happened, she probably would have just gotten away with a warning. However, as she continued to deny everything, the case ended up going to court. Literally minutes before I was due to be called in to give evidence as a witness, she finally admitted everything and ended up with a fine of over £100. Hopefully, we will never see her again.

This story is part of our Not Always Right Most-Epic Stories roundup!

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I bought two pairs of jeans at a well-known charity shop before discovering that they didn’t actually fit, by which time I’d already removed the tags and chucked the receipt. The next week, I take both pairs back to the shop and find a different pair of trousers and a pair of shoes, both of which I try on before going to pay.

Cashier: “Just these?”

Me: “So, I’m buying the flowery trousers and the shoes, but I also have these two pairs of jeans. I bought them here the other week but they don’t fit and they don’t have the tags. Can I just donate them back?”

Cashier: *Going a bit pale* “Uh, do you still maybe have your receipt?”

Me: “No, sorry.”

Cashier: *Visibly terrified* “Well, um I can’t really return them without one.”

Me: “No, no! I don’t need any money back. I just thought maybe I could re-donate them to you? Since I have no use for them.”

Cashier: “Oh! Of course, you can! Thank you so much!”

She processes my payment for the trousers and shoes and puts the two pairs of jeans under the counter.

Cashier: “There you are. Thank you so much for doing that, and for being so nice!”

Me: “It… it’s really no problem.”

I know some people are d**ks about returns when it’s a decent amount of money, but in a charity shop? For jeans that cost less than £2 each, and to a sweet old lady? I hope she gets more nice customers in future!