I care for three small children; the eldest is a three-year-old boy. One day, I take them for a walk around a local park, and the eldest becomes fascinated by the people fishing along the river for the opening weekend of the fishing season. As he asks excited questions, some of the fishers turn to answer him and let him see their catches and do things like hold their nets.

As we continue, the eldest asks if we can go fishing, too, and I tell him he can only pretend to fish today. To go fishing for real, he needs to talk to his parents and they will have to get a bunch of stuff.

Boy: “Like what?”

Me: “Oh, a fishing pole and hook, you’ll need bait, and you’ll have to get a fishing license…”

A man on the shore screams a curse, turns, and charges at us.

Man: “That’s bulls***! Don’t listen to that. Why would you need permission? Fishing licenses are just bureaucratic bulls***. Why the h*** do you think you need to get anyone’s permission to go out in the world? Do you really believe all that?”

The rant continues, but at no point is it directed at me; he is screaming at the three-year-old. The kid is startled and tries to hide behind me, but the man rounds me and tries to get closer, spitting without a mask.

Me: “Okay… I was just talking to him. We are on a walk. Could you back up?”

The man ignores me, still getting closer, yelling at the preschooler about government overstepping and his personal viewpoints.

Man: “There’s no one who can take my right to take fish from where God put them for me. They don’t need to track my name! They don’t own me; they don’t own you!”

There was definitely something unhinged about him, and as he got angrier and louder, he was scaring all three children, and the babies started to cry. I scooped up the boy and started pushing the stroller with the other children away, telling the man to please leave us alone. It was slow going between carrying the squirming kid one-handed and pushing the double stroller.

It’s at this moment that one of the oldest fishermen suddenly appeared beside me, whispered that he was a retired policeman, and asked if he could take over pushing the stroller. At the same time, two other fishermen stepped between the yelling man and us. They were trying to distract or placate him, but he was literally yelling over them at us.

Thankfully, with the help of the retired policeman, we got some space between us, but I now found myself on the far side of the river from my car. The policeman told me he wasn’t comfortable allowing me back toward the yelling man, as he was obviously unwell and had a holstered weapon. Instead, I took the kids and hid inside a locked public restroom until he gave me the all-clear.

Apparently, the cops were called to diffuse the situation, and they ultimately got the yelling man to leave because, unsurprisingly, he was fishing without a license. Still, I got an escort back to my car, and the policeman pointed out that it was a man-made river that was stocked with fish… by the government.

I’m working at the jewelry counter of a big box store when I hear a noise from the purses, which are nearby. I then hear someone yell, “F*** this place!” and then stomp off. There is a customer browsing, and we give each other a look.

Me: “Sounds like someone is having a tantrum.”

Customer: “Yep.”

Me: “I should probably go check that out.”

I walk over to the aisle and see purses all over the floor. I walk out into the main aisle and see the supervisor and the manager standing there. I can tell by the looks on their faces that the customer had just stormed past them.

Me: “That customer just threw my purses all over the floor.”

My supervisor later told me that the customer was upset because the service desk wouldn’t take back her return, and on her way out of the store, she swept her arm across a clothing table and knocked all the clothes all over the floor. My supervisor also told me that the manager had said if the customer came back, she would be removed from the store.

I work in a coffee shop on the till. I can hear a commotion behind me, so I turn around.

A lady bought a bunch of food and was planning on paying with her gift card she got but my coworker swiped it and it said that it was inactive. 

Customer: “I got it as a gift a few days ago; I even have the receipt.”

She shows us the receipt and it’s the debit card receipt for something completely different. She starts freaking out. We’re all being super nice trying to figure it out but she isn’t having it. 

My supervisor comes along to try and diffuse the situation, and she says to call the number on the back of the gift card. 

This doesn’t fly with her, so she throws it at my supervisor.

Supervisor: “I’m trying to help you; I’m being as nice as I can.”

Customer: “SO AM I!”

She tossed 20$ at my supervisor, who was being super nice to her and trying to get her stuff together. The customer was still shouting and being rude as she took her food and stormed out.

I am taking a bus home from college. It is around a four-hour trip, and unfortunately, the bus is both late at night and has some short plastic chairs, rather than the big soft chairs you see on some buses. So, I have to just lean my back against the window and try to get as comfortable as I can to try and sleep a bit.

The bus has started moving, and I am just starting to doze off when I feel a sudden sharp pain in my ear. I jerk awake and flail a bit, hitting the source of the pain: a young kid who is standing up on his mom’s lap in the seats behind me, and who had leaned forward to BITE MY EAR.

Naturally, the kid starts bawling after getting hit by my flailing arm, and the mom starts screeching.

Mom: “How dare you hit my—”

I’m not really paying attention, instead reaching up to touch my ear, and when I pull my finger away, it is slick with blood. I hold up my bloody fingertips.

Me: “What the h***?!”

Mom: “You can’t just—”

Me: “Why weren’t you—”

We are both shouting over each other at that point, and most of the people on the bus have turned to look. I start to stand up, aiming to stumble up to the front and see about using the first aid kit I’d seen next to the driver. The lady lunges forward, I guess to try and grab me, and I end up batting her hand away and then winding up a punch. At that point, she lifts up her still-bawling kid, apparently to use him as a human shield.

I don’t punch, just grab my bag and stumble to the front amid quite a few glares from some of the other passengers. I get to the front just as the driver finishes pulling over due to the commotion, and the lights come on as he puts the bus in park.

Bus Driver: “What’s going on back here?”

I raise my voice a bit over the woman’s attempts to shout out her version of events. 

Me: “Her kid bit me.”

I tilted my head to show him, and he actually recoiled, because it turns out that the kid had managed to actually tear the top of my earlobe when he bit down and I jerked away. He headed past me to talk to the woman, and an older lady ended up pulling me to sit by her as she used the first aid supplies to fix up my ear as best she could. The lady was still screaming, but most of my focus was stolen by the pain from the antiseptic wipes.

In the end, the driver walked back up past me and started up the bus. The kid kept crying for a good section of the trip but eventually quieted down. I kept glancing back occasionally, and of course, the woman was glaring at me each time, so once the trip finally ended, I hurried to be the first off the bus. I got down and got my luggage from the compartment underneath, and I was turning to go try to find my parents in the parking lot when I spotted something moving toward me out of the corner of my eye.

It was the kid, charging headlong toward me. I jumped back, which meant that when he went to kick my shin, he ended up falling on his butt, instead. Naturally, his mother was right there to start screaming again, so I turned and booked it. I basically dove into my parent’s van when I saw them in the parking lot, and we drove off.

I didn’t end up telling them about what had happened until we were already home; it was dark enough that they hadn’t seen the bandage on my ear. They were both ready to drive back down and see if they could find the woman, and they gave me an earful about how I should have gotten contact details from the driver and such and talked to the police to make sure my side was on record. I ended up spending most of that break paranoid that the lady would show up with the cops to arrest me for hitting her kid or something. Thankfully, they weren’t on my return bus, and I never saw them again.

CONTENT WARNING: SELF-HARM

I work as a security guard, screening passengers at the airport.

A lady is pulled over for a bag check because a knife is seen on the X-ray of her carry-on luggage. The knife in question turns out to be a pâté knife. For those readers who are unaccustomed to fine food, there are two kinds of pâté knife: a blunt one and one with a sharpened edge for slicing cold meats.

I pull the knife out of her bag, and guess which type it is?

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, but this is sharp so you can’t take it.”

Passenger: “It’s not sharp!”

Me: “No, it’s definitely sharp, so you can’t take it, sorry.”

At this point, like lightning, the lady reaches over the counter and snatches the knife.

Passenger: “IT’S! NOT! SHAAARP!”

She punctuated each screamed word by slashing at her wrist with the knife. On the third stroke, she sliced her wrist deeply.

The knife was confiscated.

I’m certain that she’ll have a nice scar to remind her to behave better in future, especially since she refused any treatment, opting instead for a wad of paper towel which quickly got soaked.