I work at a hotel in a theme park and we’re are almost booked solid for the entire year. A guest comes back from the parks wet and steaming mad.

Me: “Hello! I see you encountered Florida’s unpredictable weather today.”

Guest: “Are you f****** kidding me?”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Guest: “We paid over ten grand to come here this year and it has rained every g**-d***ed day!”

Me: “Well, ma’am, Florida is known for very unpredictable weather. Shall I suggest carrying a rain poncho or an umbrella?”

Guest: “That doesn’t f****** help me now, now does it? [Park] is not supposed to have rain! They have a dome they fly over on rainy days! I know this! I’m going to sue them for everything that f****** mouse owns!”

Me: “Ma’am, there is no such thing as a [Park] dome. That is just not possible. Also, I’m going to have to ask you to please refrain from shouting and cursing while in the hotel lobby.”

Guest: “F*** you! And f*** all your [Park] s***! This place should sink into the ground and disappear. I wouldn’t be the least bit unhappy if someone flew a plane into that castle!”

Me: “Ma’am, I need you to either go to your room or please exit my lobby with that kind of language.”

Guest: “Fine! I’ll just go contact the terrorists and send them over here, right after I check out in ten minutes!”

Thirty more minutes passed, and she came down with her luggage, throwing the keys on the desk and walking out the door. Another guest alerted me that she was outside telling guests that the terrorists were running the hotel and that they planned to launch planes into [Park]. We called the police and they came to escort her to jail for a terrorist threat.

I’m a customer, watching all this happen in a single visit of barely an hour.

My family and I enter a fairly busy fast food restaurant and start placing our order at the kiosk.

The door bangs open and a woman in a pink camo shirt carrying a to-go bag storms up to the cashier. [Cashier] is a tiny, soft-spoken Hispanic woman most customers adore. The woman proceeds to upend said bag on the counter and throws her receipt at [Cashier]. I can’t understand much of what is said, aside from swear words and “wrong” over and over, due to her screaming and her heavy, unidentifiable — to me — accent.

To her credit, the cashier apologizes calmly, fixes the order, and delivers it without so much as batting an eye.

We sit down to wait for our order to come out. A few minutes pass, and another woman, also wearing pink — this time a pullover — suddenly starts hollering across the dining area about how her table never got their coffees and, “What the f*** are y’all doing back there?” Again, this crazy lady and her humiliated-looking daughters are placated with minimal trouble.

My family’s order arrives, and we eat in relative silence, only giving each other weirded-out looks and making “holy crap” comments.

As we prepare to leave… you guessed it… another lady, this one decked in pink from head to toe, comes in. She starts screeching about how dumb they were yesterday for screwing up her order, how she should get a refund and a replacement, how all the “d*** Mexicans” should stop f****** over our society, etc. Every other word out of her mouth is an expletive, and she starts banging on the counter and kiosks.

The exit we need is past her, and as violent as she is becoming, we think it better to stay put and well clear.

The manager, a very large black man, comes out and tells the woman that she is being refused service and banned, and she goes berserk. Luckily, a quick call to the cops has her hightailing it.

I don’t know why pink was suddenly the color of choice for crazy, but it definitely swore me off wearing the color myself for a bit.

Related:
Not So Pretty In Pink, Part 5
Not So Pretty In Pink, Part 4
Not So Pretty In Pink, Part 3
Not So Pretty In Pink, Part 2
Not So Pretty In Pink

In our restaurant, we have a sign where you walk in that says, “Please take a number.” It’s fairly large; everyone usually sees it.

Customer: “When can I order?”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you have to take a number first.”

I point to the machine.

Customer: “But I’ve been standing here for ten minutes! Why can’t you just take my order?!”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, you have to take a number. It’s the store rules.”

Customer: “RUDE B****!”

She then pulled the plastic machine off the pole that held it and tossed it at me, but it became lodged in the rectangular hole in the glass. Unsatisfied, she came and proceeded to grab a number, only to pull and pull until most of the roll of numbers was out. Then, she kept pulling out of the store and drove off STILL holding the numbers.

Related:
Rage Against The Machine, Part 7
Rage Against The Machine, Part 6
Rage Against The Machine, Part 5
Rage Against The Machine, Part 4
Rage Against The Machine, Part 3

A man comes in and orders fives sides of tartar with his food. Usually, we have little plastic cups for tartar, but we are out. I ask the kitchen for the tartar and they put it in a nugget box like we usually do when we run out of little plastic cups. I put the box at the bottom of the bag and give the guy his food.

Me: “Here you go, sir. Your tartar is in the nugget box.”

Customer: “That’s fine. Thank you.”

Maybe fifteen minutes later, he comes back to the counter with fries and nugget box in hand and practically shoves the box of tartar in my face.

Customer: “I am livid. Does this look acceptable to you?”

I look to make sure the box isn’t falling apart or anything and see no issues with the box.

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. What seems to be the problem?” 

Customer: “This! Why is my tartar sauce in a box? How hard is it to put it in d*** cups?!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re out of sauce cups and that’s the best way to package it without them.”

Customer: “What the f*** is wrong with you?!”

He slammed the full, open box of tartar sauce onto the counter and it splattered all over me and my counter, and then he dumped his entire container of fries on the floor. He ran out of the store and flipped me off once he was outside the door while every customer and all my coworkers stood and watched this happen.

Related:
Getting To The Sauce Of The Problem, Part 2
Getting To The Sauce Of The Problem

I am the night auditor for my hotel. I work from 11:00 pm to 7:00 am Sunday to Friday. A guest walks in with multiple people. They are all drunk and being very loud. I look at the clock and it’s 2:00 am.

Me: “Sir, could I please ask you and your group to be a little quieter? I have guests who are trying to sleep on this floor.”

Guest: “I’m f****** famous! I don’t have to care about these people because I make more money than them. Aren’t I more important?!”

Me: “Sir… everyone is equal under this roof.”

Guest: “Oh, go f*** yourself.” 

Ten minutes pass, and I hear screaming and crying and someone running through the halls. The phones begin to ring off the hook. Upstairs, the shouting gets louder.

Guest: “You dumb f****** b****! You’re no good without me!”

I watch the guest from earlier start to hit his girlfriend and scream at her and force her into a chair. I instantly call the police. Ten mins later, the police show up and I explain to them that these men from… a very trashy TV show… are staying at the hotel getting wasted and being super rude.

Guest: “Look, man, I’m famous. I’m on TV. I can’t get in trouble. Look, I’ll do you favors if you let me go.”

After the cops calm him down and get his girlfriend to leave, they all walk up to my desk and ask me if I want to talk to the irate guest. I say yes. 

Me: “Sir, I cannot have you disrespecting my guests, as well as me, and disturbing the atmosphere. If you continue to act like this, I will call these fellas back out here to escort you out.”

Literally moments after the police left, this guy started running through the halls to look for his girlfriend. He even had a friend of his help him search for her, and when they found her, as I watched on the camera, she looked like she was going to throw up out of fear. In the morning, I told the owner of the hotel what happened. He not only banned them for life, but he also charged them full price for the damages they caused. After all, they are famous; they can afford it.