My grandfather worked in Human Resources for forty years and freely shared his stories about his work. As a result, by the time I’m about ten, I have a visceral loathing of all Human Resources workers and am fully convinced their sole job is to f*** over good, hard-working employees. 

I make it very clear to my manager when I am hired that I will never, ever speak to Human Resources about anything unless TWO other witnesses — preferably managers — are present. If HR wants to contact me about something that isn’t life-threatening, they can send me an email. 

Most of HR is cool with that, but one HR person views it as the worst insult possible. They demand an in-person meeting. I tell them it will be held in my manager’s office. 

My manager, another manager, and I are waiting for the crazy HR person. 

HR Person: “Why do you insist on us sending you emails? It’s so much easier to talk!”

Me: “Emails leave a written record. You can’t mishear an email.”

HR Person: “But it’s so much work to type out an email!”

My Manager: “For the length of a typical work email, it takes one minute to type.”

HR Person: “But I’m used to just talking!”

Manager #2: “You’ll get used to typing really soon.”

[HR Person] stood up and kicked a hole in the wall. [Manager #2] typed a quick email and snapped a photo of the damage. [HR Person] was escorted out of the building ten minutes later. My opinion about HR being psychotic, evil scumbags was confirmed.

I work in a hotel. Our property regularly hosts phlebotomy training classes. The star of this story is one of the trainees attending a class here. We’ll call her Linda.

On this lovely morning, I get a phone call asking if we accept pets. I inform the caller that we are not a pet-friendly facility, but the hotel right next door certainly is. The caller thanks me and hangs up. No problem, right? Wrong.

Sometime around 2:00 pm, Linda and her son, who looks to be around twelve years old — arrive for check-in. No big deal; check-in is at 3:00, but the room is ready. As soon as I start speaking with them, I realize that Linda is the guest who called earlier asking about pets… and then her son goes out to their vehicle and comes back in with a purse puppy on a leash.

Me: “Ma’am, is that a service dog required for a disability?”

Linda: “No, it isn’t. But she’s going to be staying with my brother who lives in town.”

So, why aren’t you staying with him, then?

Me: “Okay, ma’am, just checking as we are not a pet-friendly facility.”

The boy takes the dog back out to the vehicle, and check-in proceeds as normal.

Flash forward to breakfast the next morning. I’m chatting with the breakfast manager when, lo and behold, I see Linda come off the elevators with the PURSE PUPPY IN HER ARMS. She makes it out the front doors before I can get over to her, so I wait at the desk for her to come back inside.

She does, and before I can even say anything, she rushes by, hollering:

Linda: “We got her registered last night so that she can stay, thank yooou!”

I am confused.

I immediately call the general manager to clarify what Linda was talking about. (Did she get a letter from her doctor stating the dog is an emotional support animal [ESA]? Are we making an exception for her and I didn’t get the memo?) The manager confirms that we are not making an exception for Linda; even if the dog is an ESA, it cannot stay on the property with her. (Our property does not accept ESAs unless the guest is staying for thirty days or longer). Then, the manager gives me the go-ahead to give Linda an ultimatum: either the dog leaves or she does.

I try to ring the room to speak with Linda, and of course, I get the voicemail because she’s snuck back downstairs to the meeting room for the phlebotomy classes.

After a few hours, I see her when the classes break for lunch. I stop her at the front desk.

Me: “Ma’am, I need you to clarify what you meant earlier when you said that you had ‘registered the dog so she could stay with you’.”

Linda: “Yeah, I had her registered late last night.”

Me: “Ma’am, do you mean you registered her as an emotional support animal?”

Linda: “No, she’s a true service dog.”

Me: *Pauses* “Ma’am, that is not how that works. There is no registry for service animals.”

Linda: “Oh, yes, there is. I’ll show you my paperwork and letters right now!”

She proceeds to pull out her phone.

Me: “That’s not necessary. There is no registry or paperwork required for service animals and their handlers. Whatever you are about to show me is false documentation, and if you have paid any amount of money for this ‘registration’, you have unfortunately been scammed. As it stands, the decision from my general manager is as follows: the dog cannot stay on the property, and if we see it anywhere on the premises again, you will be asked to leave, as well.”

She proceeds to argue with me for several minutes, but as a long-time front desk agent, I know the ADA laws like the back of my hand, and I have zero intention of playing her game. At one point, she asks:

Linda: “If we check out, will we get our money back for last night?”

Me: “Absolutely not. We can cancel your remaining nights, but you will not be refunded for the night you stayed.”

Eventually, she realizes I am not going to give in to her demands and turns to leave. Just before exiting the front doors, she turns back around.

Linda: “You could say thank you! There’s no reason to be hateful!”

Me: “Thank you for what, ma’am? You blatantly disregarded our no-pets policy and snuck your dog in, and now you are lying about its status as a service animal after telling me yesterday that it is not.”

Linda: “But we’re taking her out, so you could say thank you!”

I just stare at her, stone-faced.

Linda: *Imitating my voice* “Thank you, Mrs. Linda!”

I continue to stare at her as she turns again and walks out.

Not even an hour later, I get a call from corporate.

Corporate Agent: “There is a guest checking in today who has been told that we do not accept service animals in any capacity?”

I ask for confirmation of the guest’s name, and it’s LINDA! I correct the agent and give them the hotel’s version of events, and that is the end of that — or so I think.

The next couple of days go by normally, and I’m working at the desk with another front desk agent, showing her how to fix something on the computer, when Linda strolls through the lobby with her son and stops at the front doors. I glance up and say, “Have a wonderful day!” as I always do when folks are headed out the door.

Linda: “And [My Name]? The next time I come back here, I will beat the f*** out of you!”

Cue an instant energy shift in the lobby. I take a single step in her direction.

Me: “Excuse me? What did you just say to me?”

Linda: “I SAID, the next time I come here, I will beat the f*** out of you!”

Me: “You don’t have to worry about that, because you will not be allowed back here again.”

Linda: “Oh, so do you want to meet me outside, then? We can take care of this right now!”

Me: “I suggest that you turn around and leave before I call the police and have you removed.”

Linda: “Go ahead and call them, then!”

I pick up my phone and begin to dial. Linda grabs her son and runs out the door.

Coworker: “Did that seriously just happen? Did I just witness that?”

Me: “Yup. Welcome to Auda City, population: that b****. Aaaand welcome to our Do Not Rent list!”

Our wonderful general manager also contacted the phlebotomy class training coordinator about Linda’s conduct, and as far as I’m aware, Linda is no longer employed with the hospital that sent her for training.

Needless to say, if you are in the HEALTHCARE career industry, you should know better than most how incredibly difficult, costly, and time-consuming it is to obtain a legitimate service animal and have it trained. You should know better than most how faking a service dog can be harmful to true service dog handlers and teams and how it makes it harder for them to get the access that they genuinely need.

CONTENT WARNING: Bloody Injury

We’re a tax office. We have a special stapler that was originally designed to staple corrugated cardboard sheets together, but we’ve repurposed it to staple particularly large tax returns together.

One day, I’m working on some clients’ taxes. The clients have brought their thirteen-year-old boy with them. The boy is a little rambunctious and, eventually, asks permission to leave the office and wander around outside, which his parents grant.

A little later, we hear a very loud scream.

We walk out to see that the boy has used our massive stapler to drive a staple through the back of his hand.

The clients grab their son and leave for the hospital pretty much immediately, but that leaves us with quite a lot of blood to clean up.

After that, we set up a locking cage around the massive stapler.

We later come to an agreement with the clients: they won’t attempt to sue us for medical expenses from their son’s stupidity, and we won’t attempt to sue them for the expenses associated with shutting down the office and hiring an emergency cleaning company to clean up the blood. 

Honestly, I make it seem more dire than it was. They didn’t blame us, and they were actually more worried about us suing them for cleanup expenses than anything else, which we didn’t plan on doing in the first place.

It’s around 2003 or 2004. I am working in the toy section at a huge big-box store doing shelf stocking. Around Black Friday, we happen to have this doll on sale for $19.99; Toys “R” Us has the same doll for $79.99.

People know about this and are lined up outside five hours before we open. They’re not just your regular bargain shoppers but a bunch of middle-aged women who have been standing in the cold for five hours for this… doll. Of course, there are a few normal bargain shoppers in the mix, also.

Fifteen minutes before opening, we start hearing this loud bang, so a few of us go to see what’s happening.

They’re ramming the door! Two-hundred cold people are trying to take down the gate to the kingdom! Five minutes later, there is the inevitable SNAP! Yup… they’ve broken through the doors! Everybody rushes into the store even though it’s not open yet and nobody is at their cash register.

It doesn’t matter; people think it’s okay to go in through the door that popped off its hinges. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve worked retail for almost ten years in total now.

First, we have to call an ambulance, as one of our elderly customers (a very nice, old man who always makes people smile) was near the front entrance, in the front line of the battle of the bargains (barbarians). He fell to the floor and got run over by countless people. Nobody stopped to help; he just got stepped on.

At the same time this is happening, I head over to the toys section where the three pallets of these dolls are sitting. And what do I see? A crazy woman swinging her cane violently, claiming the whole lot of them! She’s screaming things like:

Crazy Customer: “I’ve been here for eight hours! I brought $5,000 and I’m getting them all! If you want some, you are going to have to buy them from me!”

She hits two employees along with many customers. Our security guard is there, though. She’s small but she is built. She goes up to the front of the crowd and addresses the violent woman.

Security Guard: “This is strike two. I want you to leave now or else I’m having you removed.”

Crazy Customer: “Bring it on; you can’t take me!”

The guard slowly walked up to her, put her hands in her pockets, and threw three or four bouncy balls on the floor. The crazy lady was a little thrown off and looked at the balls. The guard snapped the cane out of her hands. The cops showed up a few minutes later.

We sold out of dolls in minutes, with a limit of one per customer.

CONTENT WARNING: Injury

I am working on Black Friday in the clothes department at a big grocery store in a small town. For two straight hours before the sale begins, people hover over the pallets. The alarm goes off and the swarm just goes insane.

There are two women in particular on opposite sides, tossing clothes back and forth to each other. I don’t know what their system is because half the stuff they are just catching and tossing aside.

A little teenager — a petite, tiny girl — intercepts a pair of jeans being tossed and the women just go f****** insane. They elbow her in the face — instant blood. The little girl is so shocked she just stands there shaking and crying. The women act like that was a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

I pull the girl out of the crowd and start to walk her to get her cleaned up when the sheriff appears out of nowhere. (I recognize him; it’s a small town.)

It turns out the teenager is his kid, and the women are arrested on the spot.

When the girl came back for more shopping, she told me that the women had to post bail and pay full price for their s***ty jeans.