Room With A Screw

, , , , , , , | Right | August 31, 2018

I am working on reception at a fairly up-market hotel. A female customer comes to check out. She is attractive but looks very tired.

She has been with us for a fortnight and in that time she has never allowed housekeeping into her room. She has requested many new towels, though, leaving the dirty ones outside her door for pick-up.

We have been suspicious about her for a while, thinking she is probably a prostitute. This is against our rules, but the hotel is quite big and people can enter the premises without coming under the nose of reception staff, so it’s hard to catch them out. As long as their customers are discreet and they don’t cause a noise complaint or similar anti-social issue, there’s not much we can do about it.

When I print out the bill, she offers me a wad of cash, many thousands of dollars. We don’t have a credit card imprint, because she checked in with a cash bond, instead. I smile and tell her it will just be a couple of minutes, as we have to check her mini-bar, and dash up to her room.

It is an absolute ruin.

The carpet is dotted with hundreds of burns, where cigarettes have been flicked onto the floor. It’s also stained with food and wine.

The curtains have sweat marks on them. The glass is cracked in the shower. The bed is a wreck, structurally broken at one end and horribly stained across the mattress.

And the whole room stinks of body odour and smoke. It is absolutely overpowering, making me want to retch. We are a non-smoking hotel, and it smells like she was burning tyres in there.

I march back down to reception and let her know we have to repaint the room, replace the carpet and furniture, and charge her for the week it will take to do it. This is a standard charge for room-wreckers, which adds more than $20,000 to her bill.

She pays at once. In cash.

Don’t Do The Crime If You’re In The Wrong Line

, , , , | Right | August 28, 2018

(I work at a popular grocery store chain. A young woman comes up to my ten-items-or-less checkout with a cart full of items.)

Me: *smiling* “I’m sorry, ma’am, but this is a ten-item-only line.”

(I point at the sign above my head, clearly saying, “TEN ITEMS OR LESS,” in huge letters.)

Customer #1: “Oh, come now, honey. It won’t be long, promise!”

(She smiles sweetly, and starts unloading things onto the checkout belt.)

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but this is more than ten items. Please use a different checkout.”

Customer #1: *kindly demeanor instantly drops* “WHY ARE YOU NOT LETTING ME CHECK OUT MY F****** ITEMS, B****?! I WILL GET THESE D*** ITEMS CHECKED OUT AT THIS D*** CHECKOUT!”

(She runs around the checkout booth and pushes me out of the way, slamming me into the wall, and grabbing the register.)


(The entire store has gone silent. Everyone is staring at [Customer #1].)

Me: *holding my hurt arm* “Ma’am, I—”


(My manager walks over, attracted by the commotion, and stops in shock.)


Customer #1: *sweet as sugar again* “Oh, hello there! This cashier won’t let me check out my items, so I, of course, had to try and—”

(My manager has this look in her eye; we jokingly call it the “Death Glare.” You do not want to be on the receiving end. Needless to say, as my manager glares at this woman with the Death Glare, she seems to shrink and go white.)

Manager: *acid in her voice* “Are you trying to tell me that my cashier wouldn’t let you check out your…” *quick count* “…over twenty items in the ten-items-or-less line?

Customer #1: “I… yes…”

Manager: “And when she kindly refused you, you ran around the counter, shoved her out of the way into the wall, and tried to make her teach you how to check out your items?”

Customer #1: “I… I can move…” *tries to move out of the way, but my manager blocks her*

Manager: “No. You’re not going anywhere.” *to my coworker, standing there in shock* “Call the police.”

Customer #1: “N-NO! WAIT! PLEASE DON’T CALL THE COPS!” *breaks down in the fakest tears I have ever seen in my life* “I… I CAN’T GO TO JAIL!

Coworker: “The police are on their way.”

Manager: “Good.”

(Five minutes later, two police officers walk through the door. [Customer #1] immediately stops fake crying, and loses what little color she had regained.)

Customer #1: “NOOOOOO!”

(She shoves my manager out of the way, tries to make a mad dash for the door, but the police officers catch her and take her away, still screaming.)


(The customers start moving again. [Customer #2] comes up to my line. I am shaking.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, I need a moment.”

Customer #2: “That’s fine. I cannot believe someone would freak out like that. Are you okay?”

Me: “Yeah, just a little… shaken up.”

Manager: “Well, I commend you for keeping your cool and staying polite even as that happened.” *grins, pats me on the shoulder, and returns to work*

(I check out [Customer #2], who smiles at me and leaves. My coworker turns to me.)

Coworker: “Did that just happen?”

Me: “Yeah. We’ve got the cart of stuff to prove it!”

(That was the last I heard of [Customer #1].)

Shouldering This Prediction

, , , | Friendly | August 27, 2018

(My husband and I are driving along a fairly busy four-lane highway, in the left-hand lane. We are on our way to look at a furniture sale. He is driving and I am looking through the sales paper at the deals the store is offering that weekend. Suddenly, my husband hit his brakes.)

Husband: “S***!”

Me: *dropping the paper and looking up* “What happened?”

Husband: “Look in front of us! This lady is crazy!”

(A middle-aged woman in an Infinity has just zipped in between our truck and the SUV we were driving behind. She is so close to the SUV, it looks like she’s attached herself to its bumper. Even after hitting the brakes, we are also still incredibly close to her at the moment, too. Keep in mind, we are in my husband’s Ford F-150, and the SUV ahead of us is pretty large, too. If [Husband] hadn’t been paying attention, this lady in her Infinity would have gotten crushed between the two when she suddenly pulled between us like that.)

Me: “She seems to be swerving a little… Maybe we should write down her license plate?”

(As soon as I say this, she suddenly swerves over again into the right-hand lane, then all the way over into the paved shoulder of the road. She then USES THE SHOULDER to pass several people before swerving back into the actual traffic lanes! She continues to do this, even almost hitting a guardrail head-on when she whips back into the shoulder to pass another car in the right-hand lane.)

Me: “Oh, my God! She’s going to kill someone!”

Husband: “Where are all those highway patrol cars we saw out here last weekend? One would be nice right about now. Did you get her license plate?”

Me: “No, I wish I had, though. Seriously, she is going to cause an accident!”

(The lady is soon out of sight. About ten minutes later, we notice traffic slowing down and see a minivan pulling off into the center-median area that separates the east and westbound lanes.)

Husband: “You don’t think she crashed, do you?”

Me: “I’m not sure. We’re about to find out.”

(It wasn’t the Infinity, but another car that had gone into the median and was now straddling the wire fence running down the middle. The person in the mini-van was already out of their car and checking on the person in the Honda. We slowed and pulled into the median to ask if we needed to call 911, but the first person who stopped had already done so, and it seemed like the person who wrecked was shaken up, but not seriously injured. Apparently, “someone” had swerved in front of him and he over-corrected, ending up in the median. The “someone” kept on driving.)

The Biggest Scare Was In The Line

, , , , , , | Right | August 26, 2018

(My husband and I go to an extremely popular haunted house attraction. We are there on a Saturday and the line is massive. We are queued in front of a group of high-school-aged girls and their boyfriends, doing the typical “pretend to be scared” act to pretty much anything that moves near them. They are obnoxiously loud the entire time, and we are annoyed, but the sights and cast as we wait to be allowed in make it worth it. About 25 minutes into the wait, my husband leans down to peck me on the cheek for a kiss. We turn back towards the line, only for me to immediately get punched hard on the back. I turn to face two of the girls:)

Blonde Brat: “Disgusting! Don’t do that s*** in public.”

Brunette Brat: “No one wants to see whales kiss. F****** disgusting.”

(I don’t say anything and turn back around, but immediately start to cry into my jacket. My husband holds my hand, but the entire time we stand there, they keep loudly complaining and telling us to stop. About ten minutes later, one of the girls walks ahead of me to a security guard and loudly begins to complain.)

Blonde Brat: *pointing to us* “Those two won’t stop f****** making out and groping each other. Can you please kick them out?

(I watch the security guard chuckle, but tell her to get back in line. She glares at us the entire time and her group starts taunting the security guard for “liking fatties.” At this point, I am about to leave, but my husband is really excited for the haunt and I stay. When we are at the front of the line, they let a number of people in, so it isn’t a constant line of people throughout the house. I realize we’ll be stuck in there with the girls, so I am about to back out when the security guard from before stops us in line.)

Security Guard: “Can I please ask you to step out?”

(We did as we were told. The group behind us began to cheer, and then walked forward. I started to cry more, hearing them insult us and act like they won. They entered the foyer to the haunt while we waited. The security guard didn’t speak much, and asked us what happened; we explained our side. He stayed silent, but let us back to the front of the line. We were confused, but happy to be allowed back since we had already paid. When we got into the actual building, we saw that same group in a corner with the security guard from before and an actual police officer. They were being asked to leave for assaulting another customer. The guard smiled and waved at us, as we were pushed through to the haunt.)

1 Thumbs

Their Parenting Is A Sinking Kayak

, , , , , , | Related | August 21, 2018

A couple weeks ago a coworker of mine sold two kayaks and paged me from the loading dock to ask if I could help him load them for the customer. “Sure,” I replied, and made my way back to find the customer, his wife, and three screaming young children swarming around a minivan. The van did not have a kayak rack, only the roof rack it came with from the factory.

While my coworker and I manhandled the kayaks onto the roof, the customer assumed the role of “event coordinator.” He wanted them arranged a certain way — the most difficult possible, of course — and was never quite happy with the way we tipped, angled, and flipped the kayaks. Needless to say, my fellow worker and I spent a good 25 minutes with our arms over our heads, trying to steady the kayaks while the customer stood back, pondering his “vision.”

Not long into this ill-fated venture, one of the younger screaming children got out of the van, came over to where we were standing, and started poking at me. It began with a poke in the side. I’m not ticklish or anything, but it just wasn’t a comfortable feeling. I looked down at him and shook my head no. The fact that he was getting to me was intensely gratifying to him, because he escalated to punching me lightly in the side, back, and legs. With each hit, he became more bold and the blows began to pack on more force.

Inside the van, Mom made herself useful by being absorbed in her phone. Dad was too busy trying to craft a kayak Mona Lisa and paid the child no attention, either. After telling the kid, “No,” “Please stop,” and, “Don’t do that,” a half dozen times, I was getting pretty pissed.

Finally, while my attention was fixed upon yet another rearrangement of the kayaks, the kid tried to take my wallet and pocket knife out of the back of my pants. In a lightning-fast move, he then reached around front and gave me a hard sock right in the groin. That was it. I turned, gritted my teeth into the meanest scowl I could imagine and growled, “QUIT IT!”

Naturally, the kid started bawling and ran for the solace of his mother, who snapped out of la-la land and glared at me. Dad also gave me the stink eye, saying, “Thanks, but we’ve got it from here.” I forced myself to say, “Thanks, and you have a nice day,” before walking back inside.

You’ve got to love involved parents.

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