(My mother can definitely be described as cheeky, but she does have her heart in the right place, and she hates bullying and strong people picking on the weak. This happens in her late teens, in the early 80s. My mother sits on a bus, close to an older woman with her leg in a cast. A younger boy — around three or four years old — and his mother step onto the bus and take the seats opposite the older women. The young boy starts kicking his legs, each kick lands on the cast of the older women.)

Old Woman: “Dear, could you please stop doing that? Do you see this cast? I fell and hurt my foot, so when you kick the cast, it hurts.”

(The little boy ignores the woman and keeps kicking.)

Old Woman: *turns to the mother* “Excuse me. Can you make your child stop kicking my cast?”

Boy’s Mother: *turns her nose in the air* “Absolutely not! I believe in a free upbringing.”

(My mother’s blood starts to boil at this point. As the bus is closing in on her stop, she gets up from her seat and taps on the shoulder of the boy’s mother. She looks up, and my mother spits her right in the face.)

My Mother: “I could not help myself… I was raised with a free upbringing.”

(And before anyone had time to react, she got off of the bus.)

(I work at a bed and breakfast. This bed and breakfast has a 24-hour menu available to guests that includes soups, sandwiches, and desserts.)

Guy: “Would it be possible to get a slice of cheesecake and some matches for a candle? It’s my girlfriend’s birthday and we want to celebrate.”

Me: “Sure, give me a few minutes and I’ll have it right out for you.”

(As it is currently later in the evening, the kitchen staff has gone home, so I prepare the cheesecake for them and then grab a pack of matches we have available.)

Me: “Here you are. Happy birthday and I hope you enjoy.”

(The guests proceed to go upstairs and I go about my routine as usual. A short while later they return; he has his arm wrapped in the bottom of his shirt.)

Girlfriend: “We had a bit of an incident and my boyfriend burned his arm. Can you give us directions to the hospital?”

(I can see the burn does look pretty bad, so I grab one of our island map printouts and use a highlighter to draw how to get there. As they are leaving, he stops to say something.)

Guy: “There is a little bit of smoke in the room. Wanted to be sure you knew about it.”

Boss: *after they leave* “We’d better go see what happened up there.”

(We took the elevator up to the floor they were staying on and as soon as we got off we saw smoke in the hall. My boss and I went into the room and we could barely see because of all the smoke. It turns out they had decided that it would be a good idea to use a sparkler for the candle in the small room and it caught the duvet on fire. I had to go grab some fans from our storage across the street and while I was doing that, the smoke tripped the fire alarm, waking everyone up. I learned later that the guest had gotten fourth-degree burns.)

(I am the only cashier on duty on an evening shift. The store is full of customers.)

Customer: “I need a roll of quarters.”

Me: “Sure, just give me a second to pull it from the safe.”

(I exchange the cash and hand her the roll of quarters. She then asks me to ring up some spray cleaner. She walks away and I start to serve the next customer. Suddenly, she flies back to me, screaming at the top of her lungs.)

Customer: “You didn’t give me my roll of quarters! I gave you a ten-dollar bill and you didn’t give me my quarters! That’s theft! You stupid f****** b**** can’t even exchange money! What the f*** is wrong with you?!”

Me: “I’m so sorry, ma’am, but I can’t access the safe without a deposit. I can have my manager count it at the end of the shift and call you—“

Customer: “GIVE ME MY MONEY NOW! I WILL COME IN HERE AND SHOOT THIS PLACE UP! GIVE ME MY GODD*** MONEY!”

Me: “Get out of my store or I am calling the police. NOW.”

(She left, and about ten minutes later, I saw her pull up outside the store but she didn’t come in. I called the police. She got out of the car, and just as she tried to enter the building, the cops showed up and stopped her. She started fighting them and screaming, scratching them with her nails, and kicking. I relayed the story to one officer while she continued to shriek at me for “stealing her f****** money.” Finally, my manager came in and we counted the safe… and it wasn’t over $10. All of that nonsense and felonious assault on an officer, for a scam!)

(I’m working at a haunted house selling the tickets upfront. The manager puts me in charge because he has to make a change run. A young woman who looks like she could be twenty or so and her child who looks like he might be five years old are next in line. We have a rule that no child under seven is allowed inside. Signs are put on the door entrance and on the ticket desk that say this. She puts her money on the table and asks for two tickets.)

Me: “Ma’am, we cannot allow children under the age of seven to enter the haunted house.”

Customer: “He’s fine; don’t worry about it.”

Me: “No, that’s the rule: nobody under seven.”

Customer: “FINE, HE’S SEVEN!”

(It’s already been a long day and I really don’t want to get into it, so I just give her the tickets after taking her money. She snatches the tickets and drags her son into the attraction. The walk in the haunted house usually takes about five minutes. After about two minutes, I hear a child scream and cry very loudly in the house. Shortly after, I see the same lady carrying her son out through the entrance, rushing towards me.)

Customer: “What the f*** is wrong with you people?! You made my f****** kid cry in there! I want my money back, and I’m going to sue this godd*** place for traumatizing a four-year-old!”

(Her ignorance has broken through my tolerance level.)

Me: “Lady, I told you nobody under seven years old! You even said he was seven! If anything, I can call CPS on you for dragging a four-year-old in there!”

Customer: “Stupid b****! How dare you talk to me like that?! Where is your manager? I bet your tone will change once I tell them you’re threatening me!”

Me: “My manager is not here. Right now, I’m in charge. I’m not going to argue on an issue that is clearly your fault. Get out, or I can get security to drag you out!”

(After a few minutes of calling me names and screeching about how she was going to bring her baby-daddy to “f*** me up,” our security guard finally came out of the office after watching the cameras and proceeded to escort her out.)

This story is part of our Haunted Houses roundup!

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(A woman comes in, looks around for a few minutes, and then comes up to the register with a printer she clearly didn’t have before.)

Coworker: *over the radio* “Stall her. I’m coming up to the front after checking the printer stock.”

Me: “Hi, how can I help you?”

Customer: “I want to return this printer. It doesn’t work with my computer.”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Customer: “I mean the d*** thing doesn’t work! The cable doesn’t fit!”

(This printer, like most sold today, doesn’t even come with the cable. My coworker has noticed a missing printer from our display and is on the way up front.)

Me: “Are you talking about the USB cable? The universal printer cable that should work with all printers?”

Customer: “Don’t sass me! I want my store credit!”

Me: “Ma’am, the printer hasn’t even been opened yet.”

Customer: “Well, f*** you if you don’t think I could retape it!”

Me: “It’s the same tape as it was first boxed with. Not to mention you didn’t know about the USB cable, which is both not included with this printer, and standard for every printer and computer for years.”

Customer: “GIVE ME MY F****** MONEY!”

(She took a swing at me and was immediately restrained by my coworker, who she looked to outweigh by about fifty pounds. The police soon arrived and dragged the customer out the door kicking and screaming.)