(I am a cashier in a large retail store. I have a line of three people come up all at once.)

Me: “Hi! How can I help you today?”

Customer #1: “Price check this dress.”

Me: “Sure thing!” *I price check it, which takes less than a minute* “Alrighty, this dress is $22.”

Customer: “Okay. Also, there was a white dress just like this one right next to it but it had a belt; this one doesn’t.”

Me: “Oh! Perhaps it got removed when someone was trying it on and got left behind by accident. It may still be in a dressing room, or maybe they brought it to accessories.”

Customer #1: “Um, so go get it?”

Me: “Well… I have a few other people in line behind you. My manager would chew me out if I just left people at the register and didn’t help them. I could call someone over to help you if you’d like!”

Customer #1: “Ugh. Never f****** mind. You guys are all so f****** lazy.” *she throws the dress down and stomps away*

(The next customer steps up.)

Customer #2: *loud enough so [Customer #1] can hear her* “Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to waste your time to go get something for me if I could easily do it myself!”

CONTENT WARNING: Violent Death Of A Dog

(I work at a pet shop as a dog groomer. This exchange happens between me and an unpleasant customer one afternoon.)

Me: “How can I help you, ma’am?”

Customer: “I had my dog groomed here, and you charged $3 extra for her haircut. I want to know why.”

(I look her up.)

Me: “After looking at her info, I see she got a special coat treatment and was charged extra.”

Customer: “I know she got special treatment. What I want to know is why I was charged extra for it. I only wanted it on one part of her body.”

Me: “Well, ma’am, we charge for extras. It even says so on our board, and we just can’t treat just one spot, so the groomer charged you.”

(The customer started screaming about how incompetent we all were and how she wanted a full refund for upsetting her. She grabbed some scissors on the desk and threatened to slash her dog’s throat if we didn’t do as she said. I yelled at my coworkers to call 911 because she had flipped and was scaring everyone in the shop. She ran out the door and drove off before the cops showed up. About two weeks later, I was walking across the parking lot of the vet next door to our shop when I heard a car start up. It was the customer, driving towards me, sticking her head out of the car, and shrieking. She drove right at me, and I had to jump out of the way before I got hit! She was screaming about how I owed her $3! I called the cops and gave them her name. When they entered her home later, they found that she had gutted her home and booby-trapped the inside so that “they couldn’t get to her.” She had binoculars trained at all the windows, watching her neighborhood. And she killed her poor dog. She got locked up for a very long time.)

(I’m a woman, and I’m in the feminine product aisle. I hear a loud noise behind me.)

Old Woman: “AHEM! Where are your [items]?”

Me: “I dunno. Try [the section likely to have said item].”

(I turn back, still trying find my preferred item.)

Old Woman: “EXCUSE ME! I ASKED YOU WHERE [ITEM] WAS!”

Me: “And I told you that I don’t know. Here’s a pro tip. Go find it yourself, or go ask someone who actually works here.”

(It is worth it to note that I am wearing a black shirt with [horned Disney Villain] on it. It is very much NOT a uniform employees would be allowed to wear. I find my necessary package of product and put it into the basket on my arm, before turning around and walking away. I’ve moved on three more aisles when an enraged-looking manager suddenly looms over me.)

Manager: “What the f*** did you think you were doing?”

Me: “Beg pardon?”

Manager: “What. The f***. Did. You. Think. You. Were. Doing?”

Me: “I would appreciate some context, please?”

(While this is delivered in the most non-sarcastic, genuinely confused tone of voice I can muster, it sets him off.)

Manager: “Maybe you’re new to this, but the Christmas season? You know, the time when we have a bunch of customers pouring in to buy presents for their kids? Yeah, that’s happening right now, and you’re sitting here f****** around with your g**d*** baby wipes! And a customer who asked you an honest question doesn’t need your attitude.”

(I look to him, then the basket in my hand, then at my black [Disney villain] shirt, and back to him.)

Me: “I don’t—”

Manager: “I don’t care what you think!”

(He gets really close to me at this point, and actually backs me into a corner.)

Manager: “You need to work on your customer service skills!”

(I try to say my side, that I don’t work at this business, and that I’m trying to shop, and all that gets an explosion before I get two words out.)

Manager: “I’M NOT HERE TALKING TO YOU SO YOU CAN ARGUE BACK! YOU WILL LEARN RESPECT! YOU WILL SHUT UP AND ACTUALLY LISTEN TO ME! YOU WILL NOT ACT LIKE A SPOILED F****** BRAT TO CUSTOMERS—”

Me: “I didn-“

Manager: “STOP. TALKING. I DON’T WANT TO F****** HEAR IT. SHUT! UP! NOW! YOU’RE A WASTE OF SPACE! YOU’RE GOING TO GET YOUR F****** A** INTO MY OFFICE!”

Security Guard: “Excuse me. Just what the h*** is going on over here?!”

(This situation looks bad from every angle. I’m a woman, backed into a corner by a much taller, screaming man. I have this man in my face, screaming obscenities and abuse. Tears streaming down my face, I look at the security guard and scream hysterically:)

Me: “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, GET HIM AWAY FROM ME!”

(Somewhere in my hysterics, I vaguely recall reality had apparently snapped back into the manager’s brain, as he jumped back from me and spluttered something that sounded vaguely apologetic and explanatory. I have flashes of a lady leading me away from the scene, flashes of the security guard planted between myself and my assailant, and a single, crystal clear image of a box of tissues getting pressed into my hands. It took quite a bit of time to get me back into a position of “functioning human” and away from “blubbering, traumatized mess.” By the time I was stable again, police were very much involved. Statements were taken, and yes, I wanted to press charges against this psychopath. This couldn’t possibly be his first incident, after all. The company got in contact with me right away, doing a frantic dance of appeasement, apology, and PR rescue… but regardless, I don’t think I want to shop there again for a long while.)

(I work in a call center. Outside is a break room where people go to smoke. Sitting across from me is a guy sullenly eating a pizza. His phone starts to chime, and he hits a button to silence it. Again it happens, and then again.)

Coworker: “Hey, buddy! I’m on break! Can you shut off your—”

(He hasn’t finished the sentence when the guy stands up and throws his cell phone hard, past the smoking area, where it crashes hard into the pavement, shattering and splintering into pieces.)

Sullen Guy: “IT’S OFF NOW!” *walks inside without a word*

I am about three years old, and my little brother is around two. Up until this time, we’ve both been very easy kids, and we’ve never licked, bitten, or eaten random things like most toddlers do.

One day, my mom runs inside to go to the bathroom, leaving us happily playing outside on the porch. As soon as she leaves, I tell my brother to drink some of the gasoline that’s in a closed container for the car nearby. At this point in time, he idolizes me and does everything I say, so he agrees and drinks some gasoline. As soon as my mom comes back outside — a couple minutes at most — she sees what’s going on and frantically calls poison control. They tell her it’s probably fine since he didn’t consume much, but to watch him for symptoms.

A few days later, we’re on a walk with our cousins and parents. My brother looks at a bush with suspicious berries and says something about “green blueberries!” before putting one in his mouth. My seven-year-old cousin, who knows what not to eat by that point, tells my mom, who immediately calls poison control again, who tell her again that it’s probably okay, and to just watch him for symptoms.

A few days later, my mom walks into the bathroom to see my brother squeezing toothpaste into his mouth. He’s managed to empty almost the entire tube. Again, my mom calls poison control, but they tell her since it is fluoride-free he’ll be fine, but to watch him for symptoms, anyway.

That same week, when my parents aren’t looking. I manage to eat almost an entire bottle of teething tablets I found that were for my brother a while back. My mom has to call poison control again, and yet again they said I should be fine but watch for symptoms.

My parents are scared all those calls to poison control will get CPS called on us, but luckily that doesn’t happen. My brother and I never eat something we shouldn’t ever again after that. Just one terrifying week for our parents. It’s like we decided to condense all the scary moments into one!