Lawless In-Law

, , , , , , , , | Legal | September 11, 2018

(A few years ago my brother had a child with a woman from a terrible family. Racist grandmother, drug-addicted mother, brother, sister, and brother-in-law, and a stepfather who claimed to once be a “Hell’s Angel.” Predictably, things went south in the relationship and custody of my niece was in contention in court. Months of court dates had left emotions frayed and everyone on edge. While shopping at a local hardware store I have the unfortunate luck to run into the meth-addict brother-in-law of the family. We happen to end up in the same aisle and he calls out loudly.)

Brother-In-Law: “HEY!”

(I look up and see him with his five-year-old son, say a quick, “nope,” and turn around to walk away. The meth-head brother-in-law starts following me down the aisles of the hardware store. Never one to blink at an opportunity, I pull out my phone and start filming him over my shoulder.)


(This is while his seemingly forgotten son chases to keep up with him. Thankfully there is no physical altercation, but the video is worth its weight in gold. Fast forward through police reports and applying for a restraining order, to the court date. Our case is the last on the docket, so I endure a few hours of meth-head brother-in-law giving his missing-tooth smile, thinking he’s going to get off scot-free. Finally our case is called, and I am asked to present my side of the story. After I explain that I did nothing but turn and walk away while being verbally harassed, the judge then asks for the meth-head brother-in-law’s side.)

Brother-In-Law: “Your Honor, he and his dad chased me down the aisles! And when I held my hand out to shake hands and say hi, he ‘spitted’ on me and yelled at me! I had my son with me, and they yelled at him, too! I would never act that way around my son! Never!”

(No, my dad was not with me that day; I was alone. And yes, he said “spitted.”)

Judge: *to me* “Do you have anything to say to refute Mr. [Brother-In-Law]’s story?”

Me: “Yes, Your Honor; I have video of the incident.”

(I now get to look over at my meth-head brother-in-law with my own smile and see his grin slip off his face. I hand my phone over to the judge and she watches while glancing up at the two of us.)

Judge: “Well, Mr. [Brother-In-Law], not only can I see you and your son in this video, I can see him struggling to keep up with you. I can also hear the threats you’re making to Mr. [My Name] and his family. I am awarding Mr. [My Name] his restraining order and would advise that the next time you end up in court, try not to lie to the judge.”

(Cue an expletive-laden rant from my brother-in-law and the judge suggesting an escort for me to my car.)

Her Rose-Tinted World Is Full Of Thorns

, , , , | Right | September 9, 2018

(I am a sixteen-year-old female, working as a server at a small town cafe. A woman, looking to be her late 20s, wearing rose/pinkish tinted sunglasses and a pink purse, walks in and sits down in a booth. The woman seems already angry about something, but I serve her as I do with all my other customers. She orders a chicken tender meal, which I later bring out to her. I check back in a few minutes later only to find the woman’s face contorted with RAGE and DISGUST.)

Me: “Is everything okay, ma’am?”

Customer: *begins yelling* “How dare you serve these to me? What is f****** wrong with you, you fat b****! Are you trying to kill your customers?!”

Me: “I’m terribly sorry, ma’am? What seems to be the issue with the chicken?”

Customer: “Are you blind? They’re clearly raw!”

(I looked at these thoroughly-cooked chicken tenders, and, not being bold enough to call out the woman’s pink-tinted sunglasses, tried to apologize to get her to calm down. Take into account that the woman was still wearing her sunglasses inside a cafe… at night time. I tried to compensate for the food by offering her a free meal and different food, but nothing seemed to be a good enough offer for her. She became so enraged that she finally took off her sunglasses, and her eyes locked on her “raw” chicken. The light-bulb finally turned on. Her rose/pink tinted sunglasses had made inside of the chicken tender appear raw. She shot a look of pure hate into my eyes before storming out without paying for her meal.)

Paid To Leave

, , , | Right | September 5, 2018

(At my store, we have a policy where if a toy doesn’t have a bag, we have to check the receipt to make sure it was bought. At the time, I was standing at the front of the store for reasons such as this when I see a family of three walking out with a doll that didn’t have a bag.)

Me: “Excuse me! Sorry, but do you mind if I see the receipt for your doll?”

Male Customer: *who had been on the phone until this point* “Look, we bought it, all right? It’s fine.”

Me: “Sorry, sir, but it’s policy that I have to make sure the doll is paid for.”

Female Customer: “Of course. Don’t worry.”

(She is looking for it, but can’t find it. I decide to ask the person at the register through our walkie-talkies. She affirms that it had been bought, but it was in a bag when she sold it.)

Me: “Okay, you’re good—”

Male Customer: “You just accused us of stealing a d*** doll! How dare you! I have the bag right here and everything!” *pulls out a crumpled bag that he had shoved in his pocket*

Me: “You guys can go now; I’m sorry about the hold-up.”

Male Customer: “No! I am not giving you my business anymore!”

(He snatches the doll from his daughter, who begins to cry, and he returns it, and then comes back with my manager.)

Male Customer: “She’s the one who tried to interrogate my daughter about her doll! I demand she is fired right now!”

Manager: “I am not about to fire my employee because you got upset about nothing. Now, if you aren’t going to buy anything else, then leave.”

(The male customer stormed out, still fuming and scolding his daughter for crying. The woman just apologized and left after them.)

He’ll Be Waiter-ing A Long Time

, , , | Right | September 3, 2018

(I am working with my mom one Sunday morning in the coffee shop she owns. It’s kind of old school as you order your food and then go sit down at your table, and when your food is done we call out your number and you come pick it up. There are signs spelling this out when you place your order. My mom and I are cooking and there are no other customers except the one table with a man having coffee. It’s only just after six a.m. and we’ve just recently opened for the day. A man and an older woman come in. He orders and I hear my mom tell him that he is to grab his drinks, sit, and when his order is done we will call his number, and where he can pick up his food. A few minutes later he comes up and complains that it’s too cold. My mom assures him that it will get warmer as we recently opened and the heat hasn’t been on for long. A few minutes later he comes back up and interrupts her taking another couple’s order because he poured cold water into his tea-pot instead of hot and cannot find the hot water spout. My mom takes a second to show him where the hot water spout is; it’s right beside the cold water one. A few minutes later he comes up and loudly complains that his silverware is dirty. The knife has water spots on it and he wants all new cutlery. My mom gets him new cutlery and he goes back to his table grumbling. We are getting busier by this time and the line up is getting longer.)

Me: “Order number 000.”

(The customer looks around at the other people in the restaurant and shrugs.)

Me: “Order number 000.”

(The customer again looks around, says something to the lady with him but ignores me.)

Me: *catching his eye* “Sir, your order is ready.”

Customer: “Okay.”

(He still doesn’t make an effort to get up. We have 40 seats and are 3/4 full by this time. My mom’s still on the till, and I’m cooking and putting the orders up. My dad is in the back kitchen doing dishes and doing the daily baking.)

Me: *waving at the customer, I catch his eye* “Sir! Order number 000 is ready.”

(He just shrugs at me and shakes his head. I see a regular customer lean over and it looks like he’s explaining the way it works. My mom says to me that she will just have to bring his order to him as soon as she is done with the customers at the till. I have to turn back to the grill so I don’t notice that the man has come up and is standing looking over his food.)

Customer: “Is this my order?”

Me: “Yes, sir.”

Customer: “You could have f****** told me I had to be my own f****** waiter!”

Me: “Sorry, you must be a new customer. We try to let everyone know if they aren’t used to the way it goes around here.”

Customer: “No one told me s***! You should have a sign!”

(I point over to the sign that clearly states how to order. He grumbles something and I smile and then turn around as I have eggs on the grill I need to take off. I plate the eggs and turn back around and the guy is still there and looks thoroughly pissed at me.)

Me: “Sir?”

Customer: “I see how it is. You and that old f****** lady over there think you can just get your customers to do your work for you! Well, you know what? I’ve worked at a greasy spoon like this before! I know how it works!”

(He stomps away, leaving his food on the pass through. I’m dumbfounded. I’ve worked in my parent’s diner for seven years and we’ve never encountered any customer like this. We have a line up at the till; I’m swamped with orders and can’t leave to take his order to him. I call out his number again and turn back around to plate and get the other orders ready. I call out the next two orders and the people come up for them. Finally my mom gets a break in people ordering so she comes out to the pass through and grabs the man’s order and takes it to him. I can hear him yelling at her a few seconds later.)

Customer: “That’s right! You have to serve me! I’ve paid good money for this s***! It better not be f****** cold! If it’s cold I’m going to get you both fired! You dumb c***!”

(My mom, who has worked with the public for years, simply smiles at the man and comes back to help me on the grill. A minute later I see the man stomping up to the pass through with his plates in his hands.)

Customer: “This s*** is f****** cold! I want your manager now! You are both going to be f****** fired!”

(He’s pounding his fist on the counter, making the plates jump and the food spill all over. By this time my dad is out of the back and two of our regulars, who are rather large truck drivers, are making their way to where the man is going crazy.)

Dad: “Can I help you?”

Customer: “Are you the manager?”

Dad: “I am one of the owners, yes.”

Customer: “Good! I want to put in official complaint! These two are being f****** lazy! They are making everyone here come and get their food! My food was cold!”

(While he’s complaining to my dad, my mom and I are still cooking and calling out orders. Everyone coming up is chuckling at the guy because he clearly is seeing them come get their food, and no one else is complaining. I can see the woman that he is with grab her coat and purse and wait by the door. She clearly is embarrassed by him.)

Dad: “Sir, I’m going to give you back your money because you clearly aren’t happy with the service you got here.”

Customer: “I got no service! That’s the problem! If they just did their job I’d have no complaints!”

(This is completely untrue since all he’s been doing since he got there was complain about everything! He continues yelling as my dad goes behind the counter and stands at the till. My dad gives him back his money and loudly asks him to leave. Finally he stops yelling and looks around at the other customers.)

Customer: “Why are you all still coming up to get your food? Why are you letting them be so lazy! It’s bull-s***! I’m rich! I’m going to buy this place and turn it into a proper restaurant! Mark my words!”

(He threw up his hands and stomped out of the restaurant.)

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Waiting In Line And Starting To Whine

, , , | Right | September 3, 2018

(I’m a customer. I’m at the grocery store shortly after noon. The queues are long, and the cashier has just announced that she regretfully can’t open another line because there aren’t enough employees. One middle-aged customer a bit behind me has been muttering loudly for a while now.)

Customer: “You have to open another register! I’m on my lunch break; I still want to eat something today!”

Cashier: “I’m sorry, sir, that’s not possible right now.”

Customer: *keeps muttering and complaining*

(Finally a second register is opened and he rushes to be the first and relates his tragic story to the new cashier again… He’s on lunch break; this is an outrage, etc. It’s my turn on the first register and I am fed up.)

Me: “You can stop complaining now. It’s your turn. They said it’s not easily possible to open another register, but they’re obviously working as fast as they can. Please stop harassing them!”

Customer: “I’m not talking to YOU!”

Me: “And thank goodness for that.”

My Cashier: “Thank you. Some people really think we’re robots, apparently.”

(I bid them a good day and walked to my car — and the guy had the gall to follow me and start harassing me about not knowing what it’s like to work. I’m obviously dressed for an office job and clearly old enough to be working. He said that I’m a lazy b**** and need to keep my mouth shut. I told him to leave me alone but he followed me to my car, where I got in quickly and locked it from the inside. Eventually he wandered away, again muttering, and got into a car with a business logo and name printed on the side. Guess who received a rather colorful email the moment I came home?)

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