(A customer approaches me wanting to know the air velocity of a leaf blower we carry. It isn’t specified on the box, so I turn to the Internet. This requires walking away from the customer to our information desk. I begin keying in the model number when another customer walks up and drops two heavy bottles of lawn weed counter on the desk hard enough I worry it might break the glass top.)

Customer: “I have a question for you.”

Me: “Sure, I’ll be right with you; I’m helping that gentleman over there—“ *pointing* “—with a request, and then I’d be happy to answer your question.”

Customer: *looks all around* “Nope, don’t see anybody, so you’re not busy and you’ll answer my question. What’s the dif—“

Me: *cutting in* “Sir, I can page someone over here to help you, or I’ll be just a moment. This gentleman was in line first; all I have to do is go and give him this information and then I’ll be right back.”

Customer: “But… I’m standing right in front of you and there’s nobody else here! Besides, you have glasses!”

Me: “Pardon?”

Customer: “You have glasses. I left mine in the car and I can’t read these bottles!”

(At this juncture, I’ve come from behind the desk and am walking over to give the air velocity customer his information. Mr. Impatient doesn’t seem to get that the time he has wasted demanding to be helped first would have more than allowed me to help the other customer, come back, and already be well on my way to helping him. He follows close beside me.)

Customer: “Just let me see your glasses for a second.”

Me: “What?”

Customer: “Just let me use them long enough to read the label on this weed killer and I’ll give them right back.”

Me: “Sir, I’m not going to give you my glasses. If you’ll just wait two seconds…”

Customer: “Just give me the glasses for a second. I’ll give them right back to you; I promise!”

(He reaches over as we’re walking and makes a swipe at trying to grab my glasses from my head.)

Me: *backing up several steps* “BACK OFF! DO NOT TOUCH ME, SIR! I told you it would be just a moment and I would help you. I even offered to page someone to help you, but I must draw the line at you trying to put your hands on me. If you continue to do so I’ll be forced to defend myself.”

(The store isn’t terribly busy, and sound carries, so three or four other customers, plus my original one, have now turned to see what’s going on.)

Customer: “This is f****** bulls***! You refused to help me, and then you threatened me! I’m going to call the manager and have you fired!”

Me: “I’ll make it easy for you. I’m the manager.”

Customer: “Then, I’m going to call your… boss… head office, district manager, WHATEVER!”

Me: *calmly* “Absolutely.” *lists the number as he punches it into his phone* “And here is the extension for the person you need to talk to.”

(The man storms off, but not before having a heated conversation with our cashier. When he leaves and I have taken care of my customer, I call our corporate office and relay what happened, and then approach my cashier.)

Me: “What did he say on his way out?”

Cashier: “He said he asked for help reading something and you refused. When he asked again he said you threatened him and then took a swing at him.”

Me: “So, his version is that I refused service and went straight to taking a swing?” *laughing* “I must have really had it in for the guy to go from calm chat to full-on bar brawl just like that! All this over a bottle of freaking weed killer? Remind me again why I’m in retail?”

Other Car: *driving at 30 in right lane*

Me: *slows down, prepares to pass on left*

Other Car: *drifts into shoulder then overcorrects hard into my lane*

Me: *slam on brakes, thinking I’m going to hit them*

Other Car: *front bumper flies off into the shoulder, with obvious damage from before*

Me: *thinking* “This guy has no business out here.”

(I contact the Highway Patrol number listed on the signs for emergencies on the highway and stay on the car, trying to get the plate number. I am placed on hold. Stunned, I wait, forgetting the plate number as I realize the police have put me on hold. After waiting five minutes, I finally get a dispatcher.)

Dispatcher: “Highway Patrol.”

Me: “Yeah, hi, I’m driving on [Highway], passing mile marker [number]—“

Operator: “So, you’re on [Highway in this part of the state]? Stand by, we will transfer you to that troop.”

Me: “Hey, this is urge—“

Hold Music: *plays*

Me: “What the f***?”

Hold Music: *continues to play*

Other Car: *continues driving erratic and slow*

(We’ve passed a pair of mile markers now, with me still on this car’s tail.)

Me: “Hello? What is this?”

(By this point, we had approached a part of the highway where three lanes feed into one, and since I was trying to tail them from a non-obvious distance, this allowed other cars to merge in and prevent me from getting their plate. I pulled over and waited for a response from the state troopers. After another ten minutes of hold music, I gave up.)

This is actually my dad’s story. He’s had a rather interesting life, and one of many interesting things he did when he was young was pack up and travel with the circus as a roustabout. This was back in the 70s, so the atmosphere was… colorful.

One of the people my dad remembers vividly was another roustabout known only as “Spin.” Spin was a Hell’s Angel biker type and was absolutely terrifying. But he liked my dad, insomuch as he only beat him up a couple of times, and never bad enough to need a hospital visit.

The best example of how terrifying this guy was one time when somehow, he and my dad wound up being held up at gunpoint. They were both unarmed. Spin simply glared the assailant down and stated tersely, “You can shoot… but you can only get one of us.”

The gun was already pointed at my dad. The gunman would have had to switch targets in order to hit Spin first. He considered his options… then turned tail and ran.

And that’s how my dad was saved from being shot simply because the guy he was with was that f****** scary.

(I stop in at a local, extremely popular pizza place for a couple of slices. The place is pretty empty at the moment, but there are stacks of pizzas being prepped for delivery or awaiting pickup because the first US football game of the season is underway. While I’m waiting, a woman comes barging in and storms up to the counter.)

Woman: “WHERE ARE MY PIZZAS?!”

Cashier: “How long ago did you order them?”

Woman: “It’s been over an hour! I’m sick of waiting!”

Cashier: “Oh, wow, I’m so sorry. What phone number did you call it in under? What did you order?”

(The woman nearly screams everything at her, but by the time she’s done the girl isn’t even typing anything. She turns around, grabs a ticket from the rack, and turns back.)

Cashier: “Thirty-five minutes.”

Woman: “What?”

Cashier: “All our order tickets are time-stamped, and this one was printed thirty-five minutes ago, not an hour. Also, I told you it would be ‘between a half-hour and forty-five minutes’ because of how busy we are. Also, the delivery driver just left with them; you probably passed him coming in.”

(The woman instantly begins freaking out, screaming, and — for “revenge,” I suppose — knocks over their little holder of take-out menus before storming back out. I bend down and help them pick up the menus while my slices are getting taken out of the oven.)

Cashier: “Thanks for the help.”

Me: “No problem. I don’t always get dinner and a show! But did she really think she was going to get a pizza with this much of a rush in under a half-hour?”

Cashier: “Some folks still think it’s the mid-80s and that ‘thirty minutes or it’s free’ still applies, even to places that never advertised it.”

(I work at a popular movie theater in a mall. This is my first job and throughout eight years, I have made my way up the chain, getting trained in all the different departments, then getting trained as a manager in all the departments. It is my first weekend in charge of a certain department and I am already nervous because I want to do a good job and impress my boss. It is opening weekend for a popular kids’ movie and is now our busiest time of the day. Almost every showtime for this kids’ movie is sold out, so every auditorium is at about maximum capacity. I get a call on my walkie-talkie from an employee about five minutes after we start seating for a sold-out showtime for the kids’ movie.)

Employee: “Hey, Mr. [My Last Name], I have a customer concern in theater nine. Can you please come down here?”

Me: “Sure, I’ll be right there.”

(I arrive in the theater and find the employee and the customer.)

Me: “Hi. How can I help you?”

Customer #1: “Yes, hi. I was one of the first people here, and I and my kids all sat down and took up five seats. I had my husband and one of my sons wait here in the theater while I and my other son and daughter went to the bathroom and to get some snacks. We left our coats on the seats that we were saving and told my husband to make sure no one took them. While we were gone, a man came over with his wife and daughter and took our seats. My husband tried to tell them they were saved, but they threw our coats on the floor and sat down, anyway. I came back in a few seconds later and saw what happened. I asked nicely if the man would move and he refused. I told him I was going to get the manager if he didn’t move and he flipped me off.”

(I know this woman is in the right. Even if their coats hadn’t been on the seats, she is allowed to save them until the movie starts, which is still in previews. I have her lead me up to where she was sitting and where her husband is still waiting, and I address the family that took the seats.)

Me: “Hi there. My name’s [My Name], and I’m the manager here. I was informed you took this family’s seats. I’m going to have to ask you to—“

Customer #2: “I’m not going anywhere. That b**** is lying. We were here first, and I’m not moving just because she doesn’t want to sit front row!”

(I’m looking around at other customers who are making gestures, like shaking their heads and doing the “get him out” gesture, which informs me that this man is obviously lying. Plus, huge hole in his story: the other family’s coats are still on the ground by this man and his family’s feet.)

Me: “But sir, are these your family’s coats or—“

Customer #2: “Look, man. I’m not moving. I don’t care what that b**** told you. I was here first. Goodbye.”

(I can see that he isn’t going to budge. I grab the coats, make my way out of the middle of the aisle, and tell the husband to join me as it looks like he might try to fight this guy if I leave them both alone. I take them outside the entrance of the theater.)

Me: “Look. If you guys want him to move, I will make him move. I know you’re telling the truth. Or I can refund your tickets, let you in free to see the next show time in 45 minutes, and refill your popcorn and drinks at that time so they’re fresh for you.”

Customer #1’s Husband: “We got here early so that we could sit in our favorite seats, and this guy has the nerve to take them! If we go to the next show, he’ll just pull this crap with someone else next time he comes to the show. I say kick him out.”

(Every weekend, Friday and Saturday night, we have a police officer stationed near the lobby of the theater. This is done in case of emergencies, and we have needed to utilize the officer on a couple of occasions. I go get him and lead him to the theater. I have him wait outside the theater and tell him I am going to calmly ask the customer to leave and hope that he won’t cause a scene. I go back up to the customer.)

Me: “Hello, sir, I apologize, but I’m going to have to escort you outside the theater. I know the other group was here first and you took their seats. I can refund your tickets and concessions.”

Customer #2: “I already told you I’m not leaving. I’ve given this theater a lot of money over the years.”

Me: “And we appreciate that, sir. If you’re willing to work with me, I can see if there’s another place in the theater where we can seat you.”

Customer #2: “Where? There’s nowhere left to sit.”

(I take a quick look around the theater.)

Me: “There are three seats together in the front row.”

Customer #2: “I’m not sitting in the front row.”

Me: “Well, the only other option is for you to split up. I can seat two of you in those two empty seats about halfway down. There’s another seat directly behind those where I can seat the third person.”

Customer #2: “F*** that! For the last time, I. AM. NOT. MOVING. You can’t make me, so just save your breath and go.”

Me: “Sir, I’ve tried to reason with you, but you’ve left me no other choice. If you do not leave right now, I’m going to get security.”

Customer #2: “I f****** dare you to bring them in here. If you do—“

Me: “Okay. Be right back.”

(I go grab the cop and bring him into the theater and point out the customer to him. The customer sees the cop and goes into a fit of rage, screaming and swearing at the top his lungs. Mind you, this is a KIDS’ MOVIE and the theater is SOLD OUT. All these parents and kids are having to listen to this guy.)

Customer #1: *pops us behind me* “Okay, this is ridiculous. We can just get our money back and leave. I don’t want him to cause more of a scene.”

Me: “No, ma’am. I promised you I would get those seats for you, and I will. He does not deserve to watch this movie, not after what he did. Please just give us another minute and you will be sitting down watching the movie when it starts.”

(The cop tried to escort the customer out of the theater but the customer threw his popcorn bucket at the cop and ran, leaving his wife and daughter behind. The customer and cop ran past me. The wife and daughter followed soon after. I got the original five customers situated back in their seats and told them I would be waiting outside the theater after the movie to give them some free passes to make up for all the headache. I then went out to the lobby and saw the cop, along with three mall security guards, on top of the customer holding him down. The customer was screaming that he didn’t do anything wrong. I found out that he’d actually punched the cop in the jaw. His wife was at the box office getting their tickets refunded while his little daughter was sitting on the ground crying. He left the theater in handcuffs. I found out that he was booked into jail that night. A few months later, he sent an apology letter to us. And to top it all off, this story was in the newspaper the next day. Fun training weekend for me! My boss was very happy with how I handled the situation.)