(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.)

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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.)

(I am sixteen years old. My parents divorced about ten years ago but are still on good terms. My father owns a relatively small pizzeria and snack bar. My mother works there, too. Every weekend I go with my mother so I can do my homework without being all alone; she doesn’t like the thought of me being alone at home. I go sit in a corner and cover an entire table with my laptop, books, and purse. Everyone who works there knows that I sit there and that they should ignore me mostly. It is a relatively busy delivery day, so no one is upstairs at the moment that we arrive, except for the new hire. There are also no customers in the store. We arrive, but stay behind a bit because my leg hurts. My mother is already in the kitchen, expecting me to just go do my thing. I end up walking into the store about two minutes later than her.)

New Hire: *in a kind of rude tone* “Hello, do you need anything?”

Me: “No, thanks. I’m just going to sit over there.” *point at my table*

(I walk over and take out my laptop.)

New Hire: “Excuse me? You can’t just sit there with all your stuff!! You have to order something!”

Me: “Oh, I forgot to introduce myself! I’m [My Name]. I’m [Father]’s daughter.”

New Hire: “No, you aren’t! His daughter is a baby and lives in Italy!”

(This is kind of true; I have a two-year-old half-sister in Italy.)

Me: *getting that she probably doesn’t know who I am* “Oh, you don’t know who I am? That’s all right. I’ll just get Mom to verify.”

(I stand up to walk to the kitchen, and she suddenly grabs my arm and practically drags me away from the door.)

New Hire: “YOU AREN’T ALLOWED IN THERE! WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO ACHIEVE HERE? YOU WON’T SCAM ME!”

(I have not mentioned getting food or anything, so I don’t know where the scam idea comes from.)

Me: “First of all, let go of me. Second of all, if you’d just let me get my mother, we could clear this whole thing up.”

New Hire: “NO! LEAVE NOW OR I’LL CALL THE POLICE!”

(She then proceeds to try and pick up my laptop.)

Me: “Hey! Leave that alone! I can prove who I am. Calm down.”

(As I try to take my laptop back, the automatic doorbell rings; one of the delivery boys has returned.)

Delivery Boy: “Whoa, what’s going on here?”

New Hire: “[Delivery Boy]! This little brat tried to steal [Father]’s laptop and has stolen money from the register. I just returned from the kitchen and there is money missing!”

Delivery Boy: “What? [My Name], did your father forget to pay your allowance again?”

(My father is forgetful sometimes, and we have a deal that I can take what I’m owed without asking as long as I leave a note saying how much I took.)

Me: “No, I was just about to sit in my corner when she started screeching that I wasn’t allowed to sit there, and then she wouldn’t allow me to get my mother to verify. Also, what is that about missing money?”

New Hire: *to [Delivery Boy]* “Wait, you know her?”

Delivery Boy: “Yes, that’s [Father]’s daughter. Wait, you didn’t know? He explicitly tells every new hire about her so there is no confusion.”

New Hire: *looking sheepish* “Well, this girl looks white, so I thought she couldn’t possibly be his daughter.”

Delivery Boy: “You’ve met his wife! She’s white, so why couldn’t their daughter look like her? Also, yeah. What missing money?”

(My mom has heard the commotion and has come upstairs.)

Mom: “What’s going on here? [New Hire]! Let go of my daughter right now!”

(My mother asked me what happened, and after I told her everything, while being constantly interrupted by the new hire, she called my father. When he got there, it turned out that the new hire had been stealing money and had decided to pin it on some ”stupid brat that put down her stuff like she owned the place.” She got fired on the spot, but we decided to not press charges.)

Related:

Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 12
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 11
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 10

(Some people seem to think that just because they know our store manager, they can bully the staff into doing whatever they want. One lady, in particular, is notorious for demanding free fries.)

Me: “Here’s your order, ma’am. Have a good day!”

Customer: “Excuse you! What the h*** is this?”

(She pulls her box of fries from her bag and throws them all at me.)

Customer: “That box was half empty! Give me a full box of fries. With how much these fries cost I should get a decent amount!”

Me: “Ma’am, that box was full. All the boxes you see over on the rack are full. That is exactly what you paid for. If you don’t want them, I can refund them for you.”

Customer: “No, give me a full box of fries or I’ll call [Store Manager] on you!”

Me: “That’s fine, ma’am. I’ll just call [Store Owner] and tell him you’re bullying us into giving away free food so he can increase the prices again. That way you will be paying for what you get.”

(She did call the store manager and said I was being physically and verbally abusive but the security video proved my innocence. Our store owner no longer takes her calls.)

Related:
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 11
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 10
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 9

(I work the dairy section in a very busy grocery store. On a particularly busy day, I am stocking shelves and am over two hours behind.)

Customer: “Excuse me, dear. I’m looking for the dip.”

Me: “We have separate dips all over the store, so you’ll need to be more specific.”

Customer: “You know… the Jolly Good Dip?”

Me: “Oh, do you mean Helluva Good Dip?”

Customer: *face goes beet red*

Me: “Is everything okay?”

Customer: “How dare you use such vulgar language at me! I demand to speak to your manager!”

(Shocked, I grab the manager, who then says exactly the same thing I did. The customer screeches, throws a carton of eggs at us, grabs the dip, and bolts out of the store.)

Manager: “…”

Me:  “…”

Manager: “You can go on your lunch now.”