My little sister was (and is) a sweet angel as a child who absolutely could not stand to see me unhappy. If she had something, I had to have it, as well.

Here’s a good example. We were at a carnival and someone gave us balloons. As we were walking along, mine suddenly popped. I was slightly bummed, but old enough not to start crying over it. My sister kept asking if I wanted hers, but I said that was okay. I noticed on her face that it suddenly looked like she wasn’t having fun anymore. A few moments later, she pulled her balloon down, pulled out a pencil from her little fanny pack, and popped it!

Then, on another occasion, we were on an outing, and my dad had become annoyed with my bratty behavior. He gave my sister an ice cream from a nearby stand but didn’t give me one as a punishment for my bad attitude. My sister kept asking him to give me one more chance, but he held firm. She took a few more licks of her ice cream bar and then looked like she’d suddenly lost her appetite and handed it back to him saying, “I don’t want it anymore.”

However, my fondest memory was when I carelessly stepped out into oncoming traffic. My mother yanked me back and rightfully scolded me.

Mom: “If you’re not careful, I’ll be telling people I have only one child here and the other child in Heaven!”

Sister: “No, you’ll have both kids in Heaven, because I’ll stand in front of the next car after him!”

She’s twenty-two years old as of this writing, and unsurprisingly, she is well known for her generosity and selflessness, making her primary goal in life about helping other people. I literally was too afraid to tell her I had lost my job due to the health crisis out of fear she might give me her own rent and food money!

I’m still relatively new. At one of our self-checkouts, the bill acceptor isn’t working. Due to customers not paying attention, more and more signs have been added to the register saying, “Cards only, NO CASH,” with a sign on the acceptor which is slightly off to the side, the top of the screen, the bottom of the screen, and the countertop next to the scanner, in addition to the programmed message that explains this as well and makes you to press “Okay” before continuing. So there are five warnings in all.

Customer: “I didn’t know this thing didn’t take cash. I didn’t see the sign all the way over there. You should put the sign right there instead.”

She’s pointing right at the sign on the bottom of the screen.

Me: “Ma’am, there is. And up there and down there. And I saw you press ‘Okay’ on the screen that explained that it was card only when you started.”

She silently moved over to the next register with her purchase as I canceled the transaction on the first one and came to the realization that no amount of signs and warnings will ever be enough for some customers.

Stores are just starting to open back up. I am a manager, so I am the one to deal with customers against our mask policy, which is that masks are required to be worn in the store at all times. We have signs posted on all our doors of said policy. We also have a letter from the legal department stating the policy. We have a door greeter to monitor capacity and mask enforcement. The greeter has a walkie to communicate with the manager if assistance is needed.

I get a call over the walkie that I am needed, so I head to the front door.

Team Member: “Ma’am, here is my manager.”

Customer: *To me* “I don’t believe your mask policy. You can’t force everyone to wear a mask; that goes against the ADA!”

Me: “Ma’am, this policy was set by corporate. If you refuse to wear a mask, I cannot let you inside and I have to ask you to leave.”

Customer: “Fine!”

The customer leaves. Not even five minutes later, the phone rings and I answer, doing our standard spiel.

Me: “Thank you for calling [Business]. This is [My Name]; how may I help you?”

Customer: “Hi. I was just in your store and I was denied service because I refused to wear a mask, and I just wanted to verify your store policy for masks.”

Oh, it’s this lady again.

Me: “Yes, ma’am, masks are required to be worn in the store at all times. As a non-essential business, we—”

Customer: “Well, that is against the ADA, and I’m going to get you shut down!”

Me: “Ma’am, if you would just give me a minute to—”

Customer: *Click*

Related:
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 16
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 15
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 14
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 13
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 12

I am a manager at a resale shop that is donation-focused for the items we sell. The shop has a rewards card; for every dollar you spend, you get a point. When you get 100 points, you get a virtual coupon that you can use for $5 off a future purchase. The coupon takes a certain amount off of each item to total up to $5.

We have a no returns or exchanges policy in effect. I can do returns, but only if the reason is the fault of the store. This story does not count as a fault of the store. We do have signs that say, “Items may have faults that are not apparent at time of purchase.”

I’m cashiering as there is a long line.

Customer: “I want to return this CD. The disc inside does not match the case.”

Me: “I’m terribly sorry, but all sales are final. We do not do returns or exchanges anymore.”

Customer: “That’s ridiculous. I do not want this. Give me my money back!”

Me: “Sir, again, I’m sorry, but that’s not possible. All sales are final. The only option for you if you do not want the CD anymore is to donate it. You can use that as a tax deduction.”

Customer: “No. I want my money back! I want the manager!”

Me: “I am the manager tonight.”

Customer: “Get your supervisor, now!”

I page for the production manager, who also happened to be the store manager, to call the wireless phone I have. Not even two minutes pass while we wait.

Customer: “What’s taking so long?!”

Me: “I’m sorry. He must be on a phone call or in a meeting.”

A minute later, the phone rings and I answer. It’s the production manager.

Production Manager: “What’s up?”

Me: “I have a customer who wants to return a CD because the disc doesn’t match the cover. I already explained about the policy that all sales are final. He does not accept that.”

Production Manager: “Okay, do a return, but only for store credit.”

Me: “Okay.” *To the customer* “I spoke with the other manager, and they approved a return, but only for store credit. Do you have your receipt?”

The customer thrusts the receipt at me.

I scan the receipt and go through the process of the return. Before I print the receipt, I always tell the customer the total.

Me: “Your total return will be sixty-five cents.”

Customer: “Why is it sixty-five cents?! It cost ninety-nine cents!”

Me: “On the purchase, you used your rewards coupon, which took $5 off your entire purchase. The way the system does that is it takes a certain percentage off of each item to add up to $5, so that is why your total is only sixty-five cents.”

Customer: “No. I paid ninety-nine cents for this, and I want my full amount back!”

Me: “Sir, there is no way for me to return this item for full value when you used the coupon.”

Customer: “Cancel this and get that supervisor up here!”

I cancel the return and page for the production manager to come to my register. We are waiting for maybe twenty seconds before this exchange.

Customer: “You know what?! Forget it! I’ll just keep it.”

I return his purchase receipt to him while we wait maybe another twenty seconds for the manager.

Customer: “Ugh! I don’t have time for this! Just give me the d*** store credit!”

Me: “Of course. May I see your receipt one more time?”

I process the return and hand him back all his receipts. He says he’s never going to come back and leaves. After he leaves, I head to the office to talk with the manager.

Production Manager: “Sorry I couldn’t come up. I was on a phone call. What was that all about?”

Me: “He was mad that he only got sixty-five cents back since he used a coupon, didn’t accept my explanation as to why, and then didn’t want to wait for you. Can I take a five-minute break?

Production Manager: “Sure. You deserve it after that guy. I can cover for you.”

Good thing that was near the end of my shift! I haven’t seen him since.

Related:
The Couponator 28: Panic Attack!
The Couponator 27: Red Friday
The Couponator 26: Father’s Day
The Couponator 25: The Cheese Explosion
The Couponator 24: My Funds, My Rules

I have been playing baseball since I was about eight years old and this story takes place when I am eleven, in 1991.

There are a couple of league rules for our age group and the most important one is no cleating. For anyone unaware, this means that when you slide into base, you are not allowed to put your foot in the air with the spikes/cleats on the bottom of your shoe into the person guarding the base. You have to keep your feet down when sliding. Anyone that cleats will be kicked out of the game and suspended for other games or kicked from the league, depending on the infraction.

The season has just started, we’re only a few games in, and everyone is having fun. Today is the day my mom is volunteering at the concession stand, so she’s not down by the field watching my game. She can see us playing from where she’s at, but she can’t pay attention to all of the game since she’s helping people. My dad is working; he can’t be at the game at the start and will be around about halfway through.

The game is still pretty early, just starting the third inning. I’m put in to replace the pitcher. I take over the mound and there is a runner on third. The runner is the biggest kid in our league. He’s in sixth grade, but he’s already a good foot taller than most of us and weighs a good sixty pounds more than most of us, too. 

I strike out the first batter I go up against. Two more outs to end this inning.

The next batter hits a pop fly out to shallow right-center field. The outfielder comes in and makes the catch, and the runner on third tags up on the base and starts to run to home plate, but he holds up as the outfielder throws the ball to the catcher. Unfortunately, the throw from the outfielder is wide and the ball goes behind the catcher and rolls to the backstop. My job now is to help cover home plate. The catcher runs back to the ball, turns, and tosses to me. Because the throw to home plate was bad, the runner on third runs home in an attempt to score.

I’m now straddling the side of home plate, waiting for the ball to come to me so I can attempt to tag the runner out. I catch the ball and swing my glove down to make the tag, but the runner slides into home and cleats me. He ends up cleating my left arm, kicking my arm out of the way, and forcing me to drop the ball. At the time, it doesn’t hurt, and I turn around to take a few steps to where the ball landed. I go to scoop the ball off the ground with my glove, and when I try to turn my arm, that’s when the pain strikes me. I drop to the ground in agony, clenching my left arm.

One of the other parents runs up to the concession stand and gets my mom. She comes over with a bag of ice and we end up leaving for the ER to get x-rays.

About thirty minutes after my mom and I leave, my dad shows up and he sits in the bleachers and starts watching the game. After about fifteen minutes, he notices that he doesn’t see me on the field and asks one of the moms sitting near him where I am. The lady tells him what happened and that I left to go to the ER.

My dad looks at the lady, with a deadpan face, and asks, “Did he make the out?”

The lady is so upset with my dad’s lack of concern — because she doesn’t understand that he’s joking — that she punches him in the arm, actually leaving a bruise, and tells him he should be ashamed of himself. My dad tries to tell her he was joking, but she wants nothing more to do with him.

The kid that cleated me broke my arm, and he is never kicked out of the game or suspended for cleating. In fact, he never receives any kind of disciplinary action against him… probably because he is the kid of one of the coaches. The kid develops a bad habit of cleating others until someone gets tired of it and cleats the kid back.

X-rays show a fractured ulna, and because some strain is put on the ulna when you twist your forearm, I can’t just have a short cast put on. I have to have a full arm cast — from my hand to my bicep — for six weeks.

I spend the summer being unable to do most things — playing ball, hitting up the pool with friends, and wrestling. The upside is that my mom feels so bad for me that she takes my younger brother and me to an amusement park. I can ride some of the roller coasters, and as we stand in line for a ride, one of the employees sees me and asks why I am waiting in line and not using the accessible entrance. He says I should be using that entrance and gives us a pass to use them. We get to bypass the long lines and I have a blast that day.