Our school district assigns numbers to the bus routes to differentiate them from each other. While most of our students are fine, if not great, we do have a few that make our jobs as bus drivers difficult. Several happen to be on one route, and the driver is currently on an extended leave. We other drivers have been covering her shifts, and we have been talking a lot about them.

Bus Driver #1: “Oh, my word, have you driven [Absent Driver]’s route? The kids won’t stay in their seats, and they yell the whole time!”

Bus Driver #2: “Yes! I did her route yesterday, and my ears are still ringing.”

Me: “I had to pull over three times to remind them to stay in their seats — once on the shoulder of the freeway.”

Bus Driver #3: “That’s route 333, isn’t it?”

Bus Driver #1: *Checking the route sheet* “Um, yes. 333.”

Me: “How did you remember the route number so easily? Did you drive it recently?”

Bus Driver #3: “Not for a while, no. But if you double the route number… Well, it just makes sense.”

I work at a twenty-four-hour fast food place during high school that’s literally across the street from a college campus. The students take full advantage of our late hours.

One night, this group of four very drunk college guys come into the lobby and annoyingly take forever to order and eat. In all the ways you can be an annoyingly drunk, they are. I’m trying to be respectful and ignore them while I’m serving other college students (who are probably also drunk but not as obnoxious). Finally, the loudest one in the group of four spills his drink all over the floor, at least a five-foot-by-five-foot area.

I say excuse me to the person whose order I’m taking, walk to the back, and come back up front with a mop. Without saying a word, I look this kid in the eyes and hold the mop straight out to him. After a few seconds of staring at me through his drunken stupor, he must realize I am fed up; he takes it and drunkenly mops it all up himself.

At some point, we all snap a little bit.

CONTENT WARNING: Severe Eye Injury To A Child

I was working in a popular department store in a mall on a busy Saturday afternoon when a man, a woman, and at least seven rambunctious children came into the store.

The man and woman — parents? — ignored their children who ran wild throughout the store breaking things, running into customers, and generally causing chaos. Various staff members repeatedly told both the children and the couple to stop because of safety, courtesy, and store policy concerns and were either ignored or sworn at.

Eventually, store security, store management, and mall security were all involved due to the incredibly dangerous behavior of the children playing, and the family was banned from the mall property itself for life. The family was refusing to leave and police were called in.

Unfortunately, the kids were still running wild. As the “father” of the bunch was being handcuffed, I heard two sounds I will never forget. The first was a not-too-loud, odd-sounding pop, followed by the most blood-curdling scream of pain and terror I had ever and — hopefully — will ever hear in my life.

The youngest son in the group had been playing with coat hangers and running; he knocked into something while holding a coat hanger and destroyed his left eye. Unfortunately for the poor child, the family did not have insurance, and they couldn’t sue the department store due to the countless testimonies of witnesses saying it was basically all the family’s negligence that caused it.

I work in a twenty-four-hour chain diner. One night, a group of frat bros from one of the colleges comes in around 2:00 am, in the middle of the late-night rush. They are the WORST; they order food and leave, come back, switch seats, change orders, etc. They very obviously keep filling their cups with booze from flasks, they stand on the tables, and of course, they all want twelve separate checks. I end up with $3.35 in tips, and half the d****ebags are still there!

One of my regulars is a really sweet off-duty cop who comes in after his shift. When I go to check on him at one point, his hands are flat on the table and his face is red. I ask him what’s up, and he replies through gritting teeth.

Officer: “One of those little b*****ds called me a pig under his breath when he walked by.”

I smile with sweet revenge.

Me: “I don’t know if this helps, but those kids are drunk, and most of them are underage.”

Officer: “Really?”

The cop called his precinct and quietly got a sobriety checkpoint set up outside. SO MANY arrests. SO MANY angry parents picking up cars.

Related:
When Parking In An Emergency Area Meets “Oh, No, The Consequences Of My Actions”

Back in the older cell phone days, a woman is causing a scene and yelling about her Nextel phone having liquid damage. She gets angry and throws her phone at me, missing completely, and… it hits her toddler in the head. The toddler is dazed a little but seems fine and continues their rampage of misbehavior. (The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.)

Two other customers are watching this exchange and I overhear one say to the other:

Other Customer: “If that were a Nokia, that child would be dead.”