(It is daytime during New Year’s Eve, and I go to buy some supplies for my brother. When I walk through the door, I see a balloon stand with lovely New Year’s Eve-themed balloons, so I pick one out. Soon I notice a middle-aged customer, an angry-looking woman, who is intentionally following me when I walk around. Suddenly, she grabs me violently by the shoulder, forcing me to stop.)

Me: “Uh, excuse me, what are you doing?”

Customer: “You can’t do that!”

Me: “Do what exactly?”

Customer: “Walk around in the store with a balloon with you like that!”

Me: “I took this from the balloon stand by the door, and I intend to pay for it before leaving, if that is what you mean.”

Customer: “NOOO! I mean, you can’t just strut around looking all snobby and important with that balloon, showing it off like, ‘Look what I’m getting for my kids’! It makes me look like an a**hole!”

(I’m only 22 and have no kids, so I tell her that I’m getting it for my grandma since she’s hosting a dinner for my family tonight.)

Customer: “See! That’s even worse! Why can’t ordinary people just walk around the store without feeling obligated to buy stuff like that for others who certainly don’t need it?”

(At this point, I’m so confused that I go completely silent, but the woman just keeps repeating herself, with her voice going higher and louder each time. I just stand there dumbfounded, when mall security suddenly appears.)

Security: “What’s going on here?”

Customer: “This woman is basically forcing me to buy a balloon for my kids even though I don’t want to!”

Security: *to me* “Did you do this?”

Me: “No, there has to be some mistake here. I never spoke to her or even looked at her before she came up to me and grabbed me by the shoulder. I was just walking around with this balloon that I picked up by the balloon stand while collecting other items.”

(The woman goes totally crazy and starts grabbing me by my hair. The mall security officer steps in and firmly holds her away from me.)

Security: “Finish up your shopping and meet me by the cashiers, and we’ll go have a look at the tapes. I’ll keep an eye on this woman in the meantime.”

(I went to pay for my items, including the balloon, and then I followed him to the room with all the security tape screens. He saw exactly what happened on the tape, and he let me go. While I was walking to my car, I could still hear the woman screaming in protest. I guess her problem was having a bad conscience!)

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(The founder of my taekwondo club has two children, both of whom are also taekwondo practitioners. The oldest daughter, who is ten, is polite and well-behaved, but the youngest son, who is six, is one of the worst spoiled brats I’ve ever met. He is always acting like he owns the place, doing whatever he pleases, and, when he was younger, throwing huge tantrums whenever he didn’t get his way. I’ve always disliked him because of this, but felt bad about it on account of his young age. I haven’t talked about it with others because nobody else seems bothered by him and might consider a talking-to interfering with parenting. This evening, I and one of the other taekwondo teachers are instructing the more experienced kids, and the son is among them.)

Teacher: *brings out a rope ladder* “Okay, time for warm-ups! To start with, run across this ladder as fast as you can and take two steps in every gap!”

Son: “No! One step!”

Teacher: “[Son], please just do as I say.”

Son: “NO! I only wanna do one step!”

Teacher: “[Son], just listen to me and do these warm-ups.”

(The son tries to protest a bit more, but eventually gives up. The rest of the warm-ups go off without a hitch, and real training session can begin. The kids are divided into pairs, we hand out the focus mitts to them, and they start practicing. Once the groups are done, they sit down onto the floor. The son, however, sits on his pair of mitts, which we aren’t allowed to do as they break faster.)

Teacher: “[Son], get off those mitts. You can’t sit on them.”

Son: “NO! I want to sit on them!”

Teacher: *getting fed up* “[Son], get off those mitts right now, or do 10 pushups!”

Son: *smugly* “You can’t tell me what to do, because [Founder] is the best one here. I can do whatever I want here, and you can’t stop me.”

(The other teacher reacts to this by essentially throwing his arms up in the air and checking on the other students. Overhearing this, I actually get pretty angry, so I walk up to the son.)

Me: “[Son], if you sit on the mitts, they break! And when they break, you won’t have anything left to kick on, and that’s not much fun, is it?!”

Son: *pouts* “Fiiiine!”

(He didn’t sit on the mitts for the rest of the evening, but I felt a little less bad about disliking him since. I’ve realized that this has reached a point where we actually have to talk to his parents, as I shudder to think of what’ll happen once he actually starts school…)

(I’m eight months pregnant with twins and am massive. My weight has gone up to 13st and my belly is stretched beyond belief. I’m with my eldest daughter getting the last minute shopping as I’m being induced in a fortnight. I can’t move very fast and am having terrible mood swings. I’m pushing the trolley and my daughter is doing all the running around for me.)

Me: “Okay, nearly done. I need a rest.”

(I feel a trolley pushing in to me from the back and turn to see an elderly man.)

Customer: “C’mon, fatty, get out of my way.”

Me: “Excuse me!”

Customer: “You heard. You should be ashamed of yourself. Making her do all the work just ’cause you’re too lazy to bother.”

Me: “Um, I’m pregnant, not fat and lazy. And please don’t push your trolley into me.”

Customer: “I’ll do as I see fit. I’m 70 years old and can still get my own shopping. I didn’t fight in the war just to watch fat slobs like you work your kids to the bone.”

(He then pushes the trolley into my thigh and hip.)

Me: “That’s it! Listen to me you miserable old b******. First of all, if you’re 70 you didn’t fight in any war. WWII ended in 1945; you would’ve been a baby. Secondly, I am obviously heavily pregnant and my daughter is helping as I can’t reach up or bend down. Thirdly, if you ram me with that trolley again I will do it back to you. Just because you’re old it doesn’t give you the right to be an a**-hole!”

Customer: “How dare you talk to me like that! I fought in the war; I could have died for our country!”

(He tried to push my trolley into me, but my daughter moved it. I’d had enough by then and decided to do it back to him. I pushed his trolley into him as he was holding onto it and backed him up to a display and trapped him there. Several people stop to look.)

Me: “Come on, then, you cantankerous old f***er! Not so tough now that the whole shop can see you. Still want to yell at the pregnant lady for being fat and lazy? Still want to ram a trolley into me while I’m carrying twins? I didn’t think so. See, I know you didn’t fight in a war. You’re a miserable, lonely old coward who can only feel better about themselves when they’re making others feel bad. Didn’t work on me, did it? What’s wrong, old man? Forgotten all the horrible things you said to me? Nothing mean to say now that I’m not some meek little woman?”

(I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn, still quite angry.)

Security Guard: “Maybe we can let him go now, ma’am. I think he’s been told off enough. My colleague will escort the gentleman out. May I suggest a complimentary drink and cake from our café?”

Me: *as sweet as sugar again* “Ooh, cake. That’s very kind. He was extremely rude.”

Security Guard: “I know, another customer told us and we could see everything on CCTV. How far along are you?”

Me: “I’m being induced in a fortnight. I have two 7lb-ers in here and I’ve had enough.”

Security Guard: “My wife had twins last year. The last trimester was the worst two and a half months of my life and I WAS in a war! I would’ve gladly gone back to Afghanistan to get away from her at times!”

(The elderly man was asked to leave and I and my (very embarrassed) daughter had a lovely piece of cake. And no, I didn’t feel bad about talking to a pensioner that way. Just because you’ve lived a long time, doesn’t mean you can be rude.)

(I am eight years old, and I am walking with a friend to a candy shop that just opened. The shop has pictures of various types of candy painted on the window. Unfortunately, I don’t have any money.)

Me: “Aww, I wish I had some money for candy.”

Friend: “I’ll give you $5.00 if you lick the lollipop on the window.”

Me: “Okay.”

(I lick the lollipop and then see a large piece of it is missing. I realize afterward that it was painted on the outside of the window. A man inside the store, who I assume is the owner, has noticed.)

Owner: “Hey, what did you do?

Me: “He paid me to lick it!”

Owner: “Oh, my God, come inside right now!”

(The owner took me into his office and immediately called poison control. Luckily, the paint was non-toxic. Thirty years after this happened, I visited my hometown and went to the candy shop. It was exactly the same except for a handmade sign which said, “Don’t lick the window.”)

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(In the summer, our major theme park chain has employee movie nights after the park closes. The person in charge of the event posts a list of what we can and cannot do while watching the movies, the most prominent being: “No talking, acting up, or trashing the theater.”

All employees look at the list of movies showing for the summer to plan on what we want to see. When we see “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” a third of the way down the list, a coworker and I go to the person in charge of the event.)

Coworker: “[Supervisor], we want to inform you that there is a movie scheduled on [date] that will violate most if not every rule of the code of conduct list for the movies.”

Supervisor: *looking at the list* “Oh, that movie! It’s a cute musical. It is harmless.”

Me: “[Supervisor], this movie is a cult classic; we guarantee you that people are going to get on stage and act along with the movie, sing along, throw food, etc. You don’t want to be showing this movie.”

Supervisor: “You are lying. No one will do that during the movie, and you are all adults, not children. I have watched this at home many times and have not seen that happen during the movie.”

Coworker: “Have you been to any theater that shows this?”

Supervisor: “No, I don’t go to theaters to watch movies. I wait for them to get released and then watch them at home, as theaters get too noisy to enjoy the movie.”

Me: “Precisely! Things are going to get rowdy during the Rocky Horror Show!”

Supervisor: “No, it won’t. I will not hear any more about this. You are all adults and know how to sit quietly and watch the movie.”

Me & Coworker: “It’s your funeral.”

(The day after the movie, notices are posted all over the backstage areas of the park.)

Notice: “Due to employees getting rowdy last night and trashing the theater during the Rocky Horror Show, we are permanently cancelling the employee movie nights because people can’t behave like adults, and act like children, instead.”

Coworker:  *looks at me* “Called it!”

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