An irate customer calls the store, demanding to speak to a manager. I am that lucky manager.

Me: “Thank you for holding; this is [My Name]—”

Caller: “Now look—” *butchers my name* “—I am not going to listen to you give me the run-around. Do you understand?”

Me: “Okay.”

Caller: “I bought this DVD player from you guys and it didn’t even work. I want my money back. Now.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll be happy to refund you. Just bring the DVD player and the receipt back to us and I—”

Caller: “No! I am never setting foot in your store again!”

Me: “Umm. I’m sorry, sir, but unless you go through the manufacturer, returning the item to the store is the only other way to get a refund.”

Caller: *Stubbornly* “I’m not coming in. You can’t make me.”

Me: “I can’t make you come in; that is true. But if you want your money back, you can either go through the manufacturer or bring it to the store.”

Caller: “No.”

Me: “I… What’s wrong with the DVD player?”

Caller: “My son wanted to play [Xbox Game] and it didn’t work!”

Me: “Ah. Well, an Xbox is not the same as a DVD player.”

Caller: “Yes, it is. They’re both disks.”

Me: “Sir, could you play a VHS in a cassette player?”

Caller: “Oh, my God, kids today are so stupid. They’re completely different things!”

Me: “DVDs and game disks are different, too.”

Caller: “No, they’re not!”

Me: *Sighs* “Okay, sir. I will refund your DVD player—”

Caller: “Good! Finally!”

Me: “In store. I’m here until 7:00. Have a nice night.”

I hung up. He didn’t come in that night, but he did come by the next evening when I was working and claimed he spoke to a “foreign guy” — I am neither foreign nor a guy — who said he could exchange his $50 DVD player for an XBox console with two free games for his trouble.

When I identified myself as the manager he spoke with, he threw the DVD player on the ground, stomped on it a few times, and stared at me. 

Definitely no refund. 

Related:
Unable To Think Outside The XBox

I come from a large family, and we don’t get together very often. A table-full of us are gathered at a nephew’s wedding.

[Brother #4], who is not present, as it happens, is famous — notorious, actually — in our extended clan for being an adrenaline junkie with poor decision-making skills.

Seriously — about twenty years ago, as a result of a miscalculation on a bungee jump, he was featured on an episode of the Discovery Channel show called “Real Life Medical Miracles.” For his fortieth birthday, he told his wife he wanted to try cage boxing.

One of us is telling a long and complicated story about him, three dogs, and a skunk, and a niece is shaking her head in disbelief.

Me: “It’s true. You know that little voice that we all have in the back of our brains? The one that tells you not to do dumb stuff like stick a fork in the wall socket?”

Niece: “Are you saying Uncle [Brother #4] doesn’t listen to his little voice?”

Me: “I’m saying his little voice was dropped on its head as a child.”

My family — my husband, our three-year-old son, and me — are flying across Canada to visit extended family. We were able to upgrade our seats to first-class for a really reasonable rate at the last minute. We’ve got a big bag of stuff to keep our son entertained on the flight. We know; babies and little kids are not always the best travellers.

We get settled in and another family boards right after us. The parents are in their fifties or so, and their three kids are in their twenties. They take one look at my son, who’s sitting quietly while I read him a book, and start complaining. Loudly. They’re saying things like, “Oh, great! I thought this was supposed to be first-class!” They’re trying to engage the other first-class passengers, who are mostly looking uncomfortable that we can clearly hear these people complaining about us.

As soon as the plane takes off, this other family starts ordering drinks. And more drinks. First, they start talking and joking in increasingly loud voices. Then, they start bickering, shouting across the aisles at each other. They are the noisiest passengers I’ve ever been stuck with. 

Our three-year-old son, meanwhile, was quiet and calm the whole flight. He watched cartoons, ate snacks, and played with his toys. Model flyer.

This story has been included in our June 2020 roundup as one of that month’s most memorable stories!

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Here are some of the reasons I had to quit teaching. I was a pre-K teacher in an urban school. Kudos to those who are still sticking it out!

Parent: “I don’t discipline my child.”

Her child constantly attacked his classmates and would not follow directions. He ended up head-butting me in the face. I legit celebrated when I got back from sick leave to hear he had been pulled.

Another incident:

After writing out a child’s name on my welcome board, a parent screams at me that the M in the middle of the name should be capitalized.

The name was given to me in all caps.

Another incident:

Principal: “You need to get all of your kids to [end of kindergarten assessment level] by the end of the year!”

Me: “Uh, they are coming to me at a deficit and I only expect half of them to be testing at a kindergarten-ready level.”

I explain the rest of the assessment tool.

Principal: “All of them should be at the highest level of the assessment;why else would they include it?”

The principal repeated this idiocy for months and didn’t seem to understand rubrics. Then, she proceeded to give my team the least amount of planning time, refused to alter her own weekly training schedule, refused to give us substitutes to assess our kids, and still insisted the kids should test at end-of-kindergarten levels.

Another incident:

I have to chase one child who has run away from me on the playground and drag him back before he runs into the street. A white lady dragging a screaming African-American kid is NOT A GOOD LOOK.

Another incident:

One of my student’s personalities flips in January; he destroys my room once a week and I have to teach in the hallway while other teachers have to calm him down.

He later proceeds to trip my paraeducator, who falls and cracks her pelvis. That is the only time I’ve ever seen a pre-kindergartener suspended.

In the last week of school, I told his dad he might need some father-son time. Dad got the hint and didn’t bring him back.

Another incident:

I taught twenty-one four-year-olds by myself for a year since my paraeducator had to teach third grade, because teachers kept quitting.

This story is part of the Teacher Appreciation 2023 roundup!

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This takes place years ago when my brother is in high school. My brother has always loved building — often rather destructive — things, including but not limited to an impressive array of potato cannons. He is in the garage assembling a new one and he has just glued the starter into place and decides to test it.

In the kitchen, I hear a bang, a yelp, and then a crash before my brother opens the door, now eyebrow-less and a bit singed.

Brother: “So, it turns out that glue is flammable before it dries.”