(I’ve submitted my notice on December 1 that my last day will be December 21st. On the 21st, I come by to turn in my uniform and collect my paycheck. As I do so, I happen to glance at the work schedule for the next week.)

Me: “Hey, [Boss], why do you have me scheduled to work Christmas Eve? And Christmas Day? And…” *flips page* “…New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day?!”

Boss: “You didn’t ask off!”

Me: “You’re right, I didn’t. Because I quit.”

Boss: “Hey, if you don’t want to work a holiday, you have to submit your off-time requests EARLY. You KNOW this.”

Me: “No I don’t… because I don’t work here anymore.”

Boss: “Look, if you don’t want to work your shifts, you need to find someone to cover for you!”

Me: “Or what? You’ll fire me?”

Boss: “You bet your butt!”

Me: “I DO NOT WORK HERE ANYMORE!”

Boss: “Find someone to cover your shifts if you want to skip work on a holiday. Good luck!”

(I turn to a customer who has been listening.)

Me: “Excuse me, sir, will you cover my shift on Christmas Eve?”

Boss: “He doesn’t work here!”

Me: “NEITHER DO I!”

(I then left. She called me, furious, each and every day I was supposed to work, and she ended up forcing one of her assistant managers to work the store alone on New Year’s Eve, promising I would be there. The assistant manager called me in tears and begged me to come in. That three hours of work screwed up my taxes for two years because the store manager reported it wrong.)

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(I am cashier at a pet store. I see a man walk into the store, pick up a large and expensive coffee table book on show dogs, and get in my line. My manager has warned me, and shown me a picture of this man. He tries to convince cashiers to give him a refund for items he has just stolen. I immediately page my manager, who, unbeknownst to me, is tied up with a minor medical emergency in the back of the store.)

Thief: “I want to return this item.”

Me: “Do you have a receipt?”

Thief: “No.”

Me: “I’m very sorry, sir. Without a receipt, I cannot give you a refund.”

Thief: “Give me a refund.”

Me: “Sir, I watched you pick that book up when you came in. I know you did not buy it.”

Thief: “Give me the f****** money, or I’ll kick your a**.”

(Most of the customers in my line start backing away.)

Me: “Sir, I cannot give you any money, and if you leave with that item I will call the police. Please leave the store.”

Thief: “You little a**-hole!”

(The thief grabs the front of my shirt, and rears his arm back to punch me. I throw my arms up to shield my face. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of movement. The next thing I see is a spatter of blood on my counter, and the man out cold on the floor with a bloody nose. My manager, with a paramedic from the earlier emergency, walks up.)

Manager: “What just happened?”

(As I tell my story, an assistant manager calls the police, opens another line, and checks out the waiting customers. The paramedic starts checking on the man, who has a clearly broken nose. The man slowly regains consciousness, and points to me.)

Thief: “She assaulted me! I’m going to sue!”

(I talk to the police.)

Me: “He grabbed me, but I never hit him. I don’t know how he got hurt!”

(The man, a known criminal, is handcuffed and put in the police car. The officers and my manager go to review the security cameras. About ten minutes later, I get called to come back to the office.)

Manager: “You have got to watch this!”

(The camera footage clearly showed the man getting the book, getting in line, arguing with me, and then grabbing my shirt. At that moment, the customer in line after him, a tiny, middle-aged Asian woman, leaped up, grabbed the hair on the back of his head, slammed his face into my counter, and then calmly stepped back to where she had been standing. She did it so quickly that we have to run the footage back on slow to see exactly what she had done. After the thief was out cold, she walked over to the new line that the assistant manager opened, bought her bag of cat food with cash, and left without a word. Apparently, the other customers either didn’t see what she did, or decided to keep their mouths shut. We have no idea who she was, and we never saw her again. The thief was charged with assault on me, and arrested. Wherever you are, lady, thanks! You’re my personal superhero!)

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(I work at an amusement park. They are very strict about the money, and I am the head cashier. It’s about 100 degrees out, and there’s a long line of about 100 people waiting to place an order. A customer rudely cuts everyone in line, and starts talking to me.)

Rude Customer: “Hey, bud, can you give me four quarters for a dollar?”

Customer #2: “Hey, I was in line!”

Rude Customer: “Relax, I’ll only be a second.”

(The customer ignores the rest of the customers complaints.)

Me: “No, sir. I’m sorry; we’re not allowed to open the register.”

Rude Customer: “Aw, come on, man! I just need four quarters.”

Me: “Well, if you want change, you can go to the customer service desk at the front of the park.”

Rude Customer: “Are you f****** serious!? It’s 100 f****** degrees outside; I am not going to the other side of the d*** park, you a**-wipe!”

Customer #2: “Dude, no need to be a jack-a**. Plus, you cut in line, anyway.”

Rude Customer: “Mind your own business, you old lady. Dude, seriously, give me my f****** change for a dollar!”

(My manager overhears.)

Manager: “What seems to be the problem here?”

Rude Customer: “I need change for this f****** dollar, and your stupid-a** cashier won’t do it.”

Manager: “I’m sorry, sir. We’re not allowed to make change for a dollar. You need to go to the front of the park and go to customer service. They’ll do i—”

Rude Customer: “I was already f****** told that! And I already said, I am not walking all the f****** way over there!”

Customer #3: “Dude, shut the f*** up already! We’re waiting in line for food, and clearly you’re not getting your change!”

Rude Customer: “Mind your own d*** business! I need it ’cause my girlfriend is on her f****** period!”

Customer #4: “Here’s a stupid quarter, you a**-wipe!”

([Customer #4] proceeds to throw quarters at [Rude Customer], who proceeds to pick up the quarters. My manager bends over the counter and looks down at the man.)

Manager: “You have 10 minutes to get your girlfriend her tampon, and out of my park, before I call security!”

(The customers in line started clapping as he ran away, with no girlfriend in sight!)

(I am 21 years old. Five years earlier, I was in hospital for operations to remove tumors, but I lost 11 lbs. in the process. Since then, I have had special medicine to make me put on weight, but despite this, I am still underweight. Note: I am in a very light t-shirt.)

Me: “Can I have the [Popular Meal]?”

Waitress: “No.”

Me: “Isn’t there any left?”

Waitress: “No. I just don’t want to serve you.”

Me: “…Why?”

Waitress: “Because people like you just WASTE this restaurant’s money…”

(The waitress leans in so close to my face that she spits in it.)

Waitress: “You think you will get thin by throwing up so you can get in [Fashion Magazine] and people will want to have sex with you? Well, let me get this into your trampy brain — you look terrible! Your skeleton is showing, you’re covered in freckles, and you have stupid marks all over your body.”

Me: *almost in tears* “They’re scars—”

Waitress: “Oh, so you want to self-harm yourself as well? Being ungrateful and throwing up isn’t enough for you? But now, because people don’t like you, because you’re so ugly no matter how hard you vomit, you hurt yourself? Well, listen to me, you b****: YOU DESERVE IT!”

(By now, the whole restaurant is watching us. The waitress continues berating me. By this point, I can no longer control myself and am in tears.)

Waitress: “You want to make yourself pretty?! Well, you’ve failed! Get out of here and spend less time making yourself look pretty to have sex, and more time on your exams! How old are you, 16?”

Me: “21… but I was in—”

Waitress: “Yeah, go on! Cry! You deserve it! I hate your kind!”

(The manager comes up.)

Manager: “[Waitress], I have TOLD you about insulting customers! Go and get your stuff and get out.”

(I finally summon up enough courage to respond with a parting shot to the waitress.)

Me: “I was in the hospital!”

(I got a 70% discount for the waitress’ insults. By the way, I’m getting better!)

(I work at a design firm. A few of our designers have special design achievements that are abbreviated in initials in a smaller script after their name on their business card. I am working in our showroom when a customer comes up to me with a question.)

Customer: “Excuse me. I am looking for the young man I was talking to earlier.”

Me: “Sure, we have several male designers here. Do you remember his name?”

Customer: “No, but he gave me his business card.”

(She looks around confused for a moment, then her face lights up when she remembers something.)

Customer: “He has really small nipples!”

Me: “Excuse me!”

Customer: “Nipples.”

Me: “Uhm… anything more descriptive?”

(A look of horror crosses her face as she realizes what she has said.)

Customer: “Initials! After his name on his card, he has really small initials.”

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