(We’re not too busy at the grocery store this night, but we still have a decent amount of customers. I have just finished a transaction for Customer #1, a lady no more then 5 feet tall who is carrying a small infant, when I notice that she has left her baby’s bottle on the counter.)

Me: “Oh, Miss! Your baby bottle!”

(My coworker, a young man, picks up the bottle and politely walks the few feet to give it to the woman.)

Customer #1: “Thank you both so much!” *takes the bottle*

(Out of nowhere, Customer #2, a man about six feet tall, starts screaming.)

Customer #2: “Why the f*** are you catering to her! You’re a man! She is just a fat lazy b****!”

(My coworker, a few other customers, and I stand in shock. Customer #1, however, calmly puts her grocery bag on the floor, places her infant in my coworker’s arms, and walks right up to Customer #2. With amazing speed, her hand shoots out and grabs his collar bone, and he drops to the floor in obvious pain.)

Customer #1: “You wanna go?! Come on! This fat, lazy b**** will kick your a** all over this d*** store!”

Customer #2: *meekly raises his arms in surrender*

Customer #1: “Smart decision!” *picks up her grocery bag, takes back her baby, and merrily goes on her way*

(I work at a walk-in clinic. A new patient has come in and I am gathering his information for his file at the front desk. He has blond hair, blue eyes, and is thirty. He has been otherwise polite to this point. Another patient is standing in line behind him.)

Me: “So, that’s almost it. Last question: who’s your next of kin?”

Patient: “Am I Mexican?! What kind of racist question is that? I ain’t no Mexican freak, you racist b****!”

Me: “Sir, I didn’t ask if you were Mexican. I asked for your next of kin.”

Patient: “What the f*** is a ‘next of kin?’ You are just trying to make things up to cover up your racism!”

Other Patient: “‘Next of kin’ is your emergency contact, moron.”

Patient: “Oh, in that case, my mom. Her contact info is the same. I still live at home.”

Other Patient: “That explains so, so much…”

(I’m a regular at a game supply store. All the managers and employees know me, and often ask me to help with customers. A customer and her young son walk into store.)

Employee #1: “Hello and welcome to [Game Supply Store], where we sell and trade used games. My name is [Employee Name]. Is there anything I can help you with?”

Customer: “Oh, yes… I was looking for a game for my son. I think it’s called [extremely outdated game].”

Employee #1: “I’m sorry, we haven’t had any games for [extremely outdated console] in over four years. We could help you with finding another game from an up-to-date console if you would like.”

Customer: “NO! I want that game for my son to play! He played it at the local pizza place on one of their arcade boxes, or whatever they’re called!”

Employee #1: “Again, ma’am, we do not have [extremely outdated game], but we can surely help you find another game if you would like.”

Customer: “Yeah? Then what about THIS one?!”

(Suddenly, the customer grabs a brand-new game off the shelf and smashes it with her heels.)

Employee #1: “Ma’am, you are gonna have to pay for that. Please stop or I’m gonna have to get management out here.”

Customer: “Fine, go ahead! I don’t f***ing care! I want to talk to the motherf***ing management!”

(The manager comes over.)

Manager: “Ma’am, is everything okay?”

Customer: “No, it’s not f***ing okay! My son wants [extremely outdated game], and he wants it NOW!”

(At this point, the customer’s child finally speaks up.)

Customer’s Son: “Mommy, it’s okay. We can just get the game from [website].”

Customer: “No, no, no, no! We are getting you this game from this store, TODAY! This happened because of your f***ing s****y employee not helping me!”

Manager: “Ma’am, we just can’t have people coming in and smashing our games just whenever they get mad. Again, you are going to have to pay for that, and then please leave the building.”

Customer: “What do you mean, LEAVE the building?! I shouldn’t have to! I’m the customer! I’M ALWAYS RIGHT!”

(With that, the customer loses all control and ATTACKS the manager and the employee #1. Employee #2 and I manage to get her on the ground while employee #1 calls the police. Surprisingly, her son remains completely calm during the entire situation.)

Me: “Little boy, how are you just so calm in all this?”

Customer’s Son: “This isn’t the first time this has happened. Last time, she kicked someone where it hurts a lot, ’cause he fell over crying and stuff.”

Me: “Oh, well, do you have any other parents at home?”

Customer’s Son: “Yeah, just call this number…”

(He proceeds to take a folded piece of paper with delicately written numbers on it. I call the number. Before I can even explain the situation, the man on the other end of the line already seems to know what has happened.)

Me: “Yes, hello?

Man: “Oh, God… don’t tell me she did it again!”

Me: “Yeeeeeeeeep.”

Man: “Yeah, I’ll be over. Which store is it at this time?”

(I give the man our store’s location. About twenty minutes later a big man enters the store. During this time, the police have arrived, are filing the report, and interviewing everyone. I have just been interviewed when he comes up and talks to me.)

Man: “Where is she?”

Me: *points at cruiser*

Man: “Thank God.”

(After the big man leaves with the son, employees #1, #2, and the manager come up to me.)

Employee #1: “Who was that?”

Me: “I don’t know, but it sounds like tonight’s gonna be a good one for him.”

(We later found out that the customer was the man’s wife, and the son was later moved to a different home. The son eventually would often spend days at the gaming supply store talking with the employees. Great kid, I’ll tell you that!)

(It’s Christmas time, and the parking lot has completely filled at the mall where I work. A shuttle is actually taking customers from a stadium across the highway where they are letting us overflow traffic. We’re busy at work when we hear a loud crash outside. An SUV has jumped the curb, onto the sidewalk and slammed into a willow reindeer in front of our window. We all rush out, to see if anyone was hurt, in time to see a woman getting out of the driver’s seat.)

Manager: “Are you alright?!”

Woman: “The only thing not alright here is your godd*** parking lot. There’s no f***ing parking anywhere!”

(Cursing up a storm, she yanks two kids out of the backseat and starts walking away.)

Manager: “Hey, you can’t leave your car here!”

Woman: “The h*** I can’t! There’s no other godd*** place to park!”

(Right after she leaves, security arrives. Our store’s door is partially blocked for an hour while they tow the car, and we fill out paperwork with her description and the police are called to assess the damages. Just before close, the woman and her kids, all laden with shopping bags, come storming into our store. She notices her car is missing and begins screaming and yelling. I run to telephone security.)

Manager: “Mall security towed your car because—”

Woman: “The h*** they did! You took the car!”

Manager: “I took it?”

Woman: “You and your little girlies over there must have pushed it somewhere! Where is it?!”

(She barges past the manager, through the store, and into the backroom. A moment later, we hear screams and something smash. I get off the phone with security and rush back to find she has smashed our employee coffee pot and is knocking over boxes. Seeing me, she shoves back onto the selling floor, and starts knocking over fixtures and mannequins. The manager has rushed all other customers to the fitting rooms for their safety. Grabbing her kids, the woman heads for the door and is literally tackled by mall security. She not only ends up arrested for property damage and assault charges, but they find shoplifted items in her bags. The clincher? She wrote in to corporate later, complaining about our customer service and demanding a free gift card!)

(I volunteer at a rather unusual Renaissance faire that showcases a number of home-built medieval weapons for competition. Prizes are awarded for authenticity, construction, and most importantly, use. My job at this point is to keep guests from wandering into anywhere dangerous. Currently, I’m stationed at the edge of a crossbow and arquebus live-fire zone.)

Guest #1: “What’s going on here?”

Me: “Stay back, please. This is the crossbow and arquebus live fire zone. The contestants are going to be shooting homemade weapons in the next few minutes.”

Guest #1: “At people?”

Me: “No sir, at targets. These are real weapons that shoot real arrows and bullets.”

Guest #1: “That sounds awesome! I’m going to stick around for that.”

Guest #2: *overhearing us talk* “Do they let visitors shoot?”

Me: “No sir, sorry. The weapons are extremely dangerous and all our participants are licensed and trained.”

Guest #1: “Aw man, I hunt all the time. Can’t I?”

Guest #2: “I’m also experienced with firearms.”

Me: “Sorry guys, no one’s allowed in without a competitor badge. What you can do is talk to the competitors after the event about getting a guest pass. They’re allowed to bring people with them, and I know they’ve invited people they’ve met at shows in the past who’ve demonstrated interest. But the show’s about to start, so I recommend trying to get some good seats.”

(The show begins, and many of the competitors are wearing period dress. When the arquebus presentation begins, my supervisor calls out the codeword for missing weapon on the radio. Before I can even start to call the police, there’s a sudden explosion, and a man awkwardly wearing a page’s shirt and a plate helmet falls over backward. He removes his helmet, revealing Guest #1’s face. Before he can get far, Guest #2 tackles him.)

Guest #1: *to Guest #2* “Hey! You can’t do that! You don’t even work here!”

Guest #2: “The lady said you need a badge to enter the field. Well, buddy, I’ve got one of those!”

(Sure enough, Guest #2 did have a badge—a police badge!)