At my supermarket, we occasionally sold books. This time, it was the fifth book from the Harry Potter series. People could preorder it until four weeks before the release date, and we would put those books in a bag with the name and information on it. We had huge posters with the deadline and information on them, and a colleague and I even made banners covering those with the text, “Preorder not possible anymore,” after the deadline.

We had separate displays for the books that hadn’t been preordered. They could only get the preordered books at the service counter. We had two locked drawers with all the preorders, and only shift supervisors and managers had a key.

I had the delight of working the opening shift on the day of release as the supervisor. The supermarket opened at 8:00. I was in the store by 7:30 to get the registers ready, give the other cashiers the rundown for the morning, and tell them to prepare for the absolute crapstorm that was to come.

Problems started at 7:30 when the manager tried to open the doors for me and some other cashiers. A lot of people had already gathered, and they tried getting in. [Manager] doesn’t take crap from anyone and managed to shout at the customers who were already there that they couldn’t get their books without the registers being ready and people being there to man them. So, we got everything ready, and [Manager] and I got the displays with the non-preordered books ready to go.

Eight o’clock arrived, the door opened, and the herd of customers swarmed in. Chaos ensued around the displays and around my service counter. People were yelling and screaming that they wanted their books, wanting to pay, and basically pushing others aside. Holy crap.

[Manager] came, and I asked if he could find things like tickets with numbers so that we could deal with this in a somewhat orderly fashion.

Three hours later, the displays were empty and about half of the preorders were gone. Three hours of working non-stop to get people their book fixes.

Then, the problems started. The displays were empty and the only books in our possession were preorders. The time limit on those was three days; the books could be picked up on three dates, and afterward, they would be sold. People who didn’t preorder and couldn’t buy a book as we were out of stock started to throw hissy fits because “No” was apparently the wrong answer.

It all came to a head when I told one particularly entitled woman no, and she tried to complain to my manager… who told her to cut the crap after explaining the situation to her AGAIN. This woman then went to do her shopping. At the register, she kept throwing me dirty looks and mumbling something.

Then, a regular customer came in with her son to pick up her preorder. She gave me her name and address, and I turned around, unlocked the drawer, and grabbed the book before locking the drawer again. Unfortunately for me, [Woman] had heard [Regular] asking for the book and came to take a closer look.

Woman: “WHY ARE YOU GIVING HER A BOOK?! YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE OUT OF BOOKS!”

Me: “This is a preorder. We are out of the ones that weren’t preordered.”

Woman: “LIAR! I DEMAND YOU GIVE ME THAT BOOK NOW! I WAS HERE FIRST!”

Me: “The manager told you the same thing. This book is preordered by this woman. You can’t have this book unless she decides to part with it.”

Surprise: [Regular] didn’t do that.

[Woman] continued to screech and curse while I completed the transaction.

Then, it happened. The moment I tried to hand the book to [Regular]’s kid, [Woman] came up to me in the workspace behind the service counter, and she got waaaaayyy into my personal space and grabbed my shoulder. The kid was fast and had the book before [Woman] could grab it, and he booked it. (Smart kid.)

But that’s not all. Nope. [Woman] saw her prize in the hands of the running kid and started to try and open the locked drawers. When that didn’t work, she proceeded to let me know she was very unhappy. She didn’t touch me, but she was screaming so loud and she had me backed into a corner.

In the meantime, the poor mother had called for help and I had pressed the emergency button. [Regular] couldn’t interfere physically as she had a neckbrace on. Our emergency button made sure that cops were called and extra cameras were turned on to catch everything on video.

[Manager] finally managed to wrestle [Woman] away from me. The cops came and she was taken away. Statements were taken, and [Woman] was banned from the store.

She did come back once, but when she was discovered by a colleague, she booked it. The fun part about it? My colleague let out a scream, yelled at her, and she ran, tried jumping over the “Closed” sign on a chain at a closed register, and fell flat on her face. She got up and ran out of the store right past me, holding her face. I couldn’t help but say, “Have a nice weekend!”

I don’t know what happened with [Woman] after that. Frankly, I don’t care. I was seventeen at the time, and I never had to go to court. She got banned and I never had to deal with her again.

I go to a sub-sandwich shop that’s just around the corner from me. They have a soda fountain and a tea fountain thingy. I pay for my food and turn to the drink fountains while the employee who helped me rounds a corner and goes into the back of the shop out of eyesight. I’m in the mood for iced tea, so I walk up to the iced tea fountain.

At the top are some buttons, while there’s a traditional spout at the bottom. I don’t notice that the spout has a little switch you lift to dispense the tea since it’s all matte-black and kind of blends together. Without thinking, I place my cup down and press and hold the most obvious top button, assuming it will dispense tea. I am suddenly greeted by an immediate hissing sound and steam. I quickly realize the button is used to brew tea and let go. About five seconds later, hot water/tea begins to overflow and lightly spray from the top of the machine since it was presumably already full.

I go into a panic and start mashing buttons to stop it. This does nothing as more water/tea flows out. I grab my cup and back up. The employee hears the commotion, comes out, sees what’s happening… and literally leaps over the counter. He runs up to the machine and pulls it forward, spilling more tea and making the top come loose, and manages to wrestle it and shut it off somehow about ten seconds later.

The employee backs up and turns, totally covered in VERY hot tea. He begins to try and pull his shirt forward to cool down while letting out little “Ehhh!” and “Uhhh!” noises. He looks back and forth, not sure what to do, darts around the counter, and runs into the back again while pulling his shirt off.

I stand there, flabbergasted. About fifteen seconds later, another employee — a woman — comes out, looking very confused. She sees me holding a sub and an empty cup, sees the iced tea machine, which is completely pulled out and emitting large volumes of steam, and sees the soda fountain counter and floor completely covered with tea. She looks dumbfounded.

Employee: *Turning to me, wide-eyed* “Wha… what happened?!”

Being a rational man in my thirties, I did the only thing I could think of: I dropped my sub and cup on the floor, closed my eyes in embarrassment, and darted out the door behind me like a scared child.

And that was the last time I visited that particular sub shop for about four years until I was pretty sure that either they had forgotten or new employees were working.

CONTENT WARNING: Child Abuse

I am the supervisor on shift today. Around seven, one of my cashiers answers the phone. I can only hear a bit of what she’s saying, but before long, she puts them on hold and comes to me, looking incredibly confused.

Cashier: “So… I have a man on the line that… said something about having punched a baby? I can’t… I don’t understand what he wants.”

Ooh, boy. I pick up the line and give my greeting, prepared for the worst.

Me: “Hi, my name is [My Name]; I’m the supervisor on shift. My cashier tells me that you… had issues with a child you hit?”

Caller: “Yeah, so, a couple of days ago, I came in and ended up punching a baby, but like, I just wanted to call and make sure I wasn’t in any trouble or whatever else, just to call and ask about it.”

At this point, I’m pretty sure he’s either lying or calling the wrong store because, even if I hadn’t been on shift, someone punching a baby is absolutely something I would have ended up hearing about.

Me: “Okay, well, I am not the person you’d need to talk to about something like this. If you’d like to call back and speak to our store manager in the morning—”

Caller: “No, I’m not calling back! I just need you to absolve me of responsibility!”

Me: “Well, like I said, I’m not the person you need to talk to. You have to speak with my store manager about the incident—”

Caller: “Aw, come on. You know how it goes! I was just in line, and this freaking kid just starts crying and the mom was standing there not doing nothing, and the kid wouldn’t shut up, so I just hit them, and that shut them up real fast, but the mom didn’t seem to care, so I just left. I just wanted to absolve myself of responsibility by calling and telling you.”

We’re fairly slow, so my cashier is listening to my half of the conversation curiously. I’m leaning closer and closer to either prank or lie.

Me: “Um… well… I am still not the person to speak to. You need to call back—”

Caller: “I am not calling back! You need to absolve me of responsibility! I called and told you, so you need to absolve me!”

I have no idea why this is his go-to phrase.

Me: “Sir, I am not the one who can do that. You need to—”

Caller: “If you hang up this phone, you absolve me of all responsibility!”

Me: “Sir, I—”

Caller: “I am absolved if you disconnect. I called and told you, which means I’m absolved!”

This continues another three or four times, with me attempting to explain and him repeating, “If you hang up, I’m absolved of all responsibility.” Eventually, I get annoyed, and we have real customers to take care of, so instead of hanging up, I just put him back on hold and tell my cashier to leave him there. If he wants to disconnect himself, he can.

My cashier starts laughing when I tell her about it.

Cashier: “You told him it wasn’t your call seven or eight times! I was counting!”

It took at least five minutes of being on hold for him to finally hang up. I still have no idea what that was about. I wrote up an incident report just in case — also to give my morning shift a bit of a laugh when they came in.

My children are two and four. We have recently moved into a new house. My husband and I are having a “discussion” in our bedroom. My four-year-old daughter knocks on the door. I open it.

Me: “Darling, gives us some privacy. We’ll be with you soon.”

Daughter: “But…”

Me: “Courtesy, please.”

I close the door.

A few moments later, there’s another knock on the door.

Me: “Daughter, is there blood or sirens?”

Daughter: “No, but…”

Me: “Courtesy, please.”

I close the door.

Shortly after, the phone rings.

Neighbor: “Were you aware that [Two-Year-Old Son] is doing laps naked around your house?”

I rush out of the bedroom.

Daughter: “No blood or sirens, but I thought you should know.”

CONTENT WARNING: Child Abuse

A customer comes into my bank one day in mid-August and tries to cash a check. Said check looks like it was written by a four-year-old. We go through the protocol as mandated by our organization, calling the issuer and verifying all data.

While we are going through this procedure, the woman goes off on a tantrum. She’s ripping the little pens with chains from the little desks, throwing deposit slips around, demanding to speak to the president of the bank, and verbally abusing all the employees. Likewise, she looks to have done enough speed to stay up for a week straight.

We are finally able to get ahold of the issuer of the check, and lo and behold, it’s a good check!

We cash it and thank her for her patience.

As she’s storming out cursing, two officers walk in. She has her car keys in her hand.

Officer: “Are you the owner of the [color] [Car] in the parking lot?”

Customer: “Yes? So what?”

Officer: “There’s a small child in your car. They don’t look older than two. They’ve been locked inside for more than twenty minutes — in August.”

Customer: “I… I’m on my way to him now!”

Officer: “Too late. Some good people called us, broke your car window, and rescued your kid. You’re under arrest.”

I hope to God that that little kid has found a new home or that their mom has cleaned up her act.