People Tell Us How They Dealt With These Choosing Beggars
18. Karen's Outburst At The Auto Shop: A Price Gouging Showdown
“I work in an auto repair shop in the U.S. The shop at which I currently work is very busy with a 4.8-star rating on Google, and we averaged $600K – $750K per month in sales pre–health crisis.
Like most businesses at the height of the health crisis, we lost work and staff, and we had to implement protocols for the safety of our staff. This story starts around November 2020.
At the time, we provided customers with free estimates on any repairs they might want done.
Most body shops do. One of the protocols we had implemented for the health crisis was that customers weren’t allowed to sit inside the shop. If they needed to use the restroom, we still had to check their temperatures and they were required to wear face masks.
Otherwise, they had to call the front office to drop off a vehicle for repairs or to get an estimate. We had three estimators (including me) at the time, and our receptionist would notify us when a customer called for us.
When Karen called in and said she was outside for an estimate, I came out to meet her and found that she was already upset.
“I’m here for an estimate. How long is it going to take?” I told her that it would take about 15 minutes, including the photos I would need to take of her vehicle (four corners, VIN, damage, mileage).
“That’s too long. Why can’t I sit inside and wait?” I explained that we cannot allow customers inside to just sit because we were still practicing social distancing.
“Well, I have other things to do. Can’t you just write my estimate and email it to me, please?” I told her that I didn’t mind doing that for her, got her contact information, and even gave her a business card I kept in my pocket.
Karen had a 2020 Jeep Cherokee that was damaged on the left front side; she said she hit the garage backing out. She firmly stated that she was not going to get repairs done through her insurance. I confirmed her email address, she left, and before I left work that day, I emailed her a copy of the estimate.
Replace the front bumper, replace the headlight and mirror, and repair the front door and fender. All told, I estimated about $3600 for the repairs.
A couple of days later, the receptionist came to my office and said she had a very upset customer who wanted to speak with me.
I thought it was odd that she didn’t direct the call to our GM or the assistant, but of course I took the call. It was Karen. “I was looking over this estimate for my Jeep and your repair cost is way too high!”
I reviewed the estimate with her on the phone.
Parts alone were around $1000 altogether, and the rest was paint and body labor. “That is an outright lie! I went to another shop and they quoted me $1400. AND they can get the parts for $400. You’re clearly price gouging.”
I told her that I doubted that quote on the parts was accurate, and told her that her estimate would show I wrote for OEM parts straight from the local dealership.
Karen, obviously, didn’t care. Long story short, we went back and forth for 40 minutes about the other shop’s quote. Karen said several times, “I know your shop is highly recommended online and I would rather use your shop, but I could get it done cheaper elsewhere.” Even though our shop was doing worse than it was before the health crisis (around $300K – $400K per month), I let Karen know that she had a right to choose that other shop and that I would not be able to budge on our prices.
That should have been it, but nooooooooooo. Not Karen. Maybe Karen was feeling extra jolly, but a few more days later, she came to the shop and started knocking on the locked shop door. Since we had started locking the main door, our receptionist had dealt with a number of people who knocked on the door, and her response was the same every time.
The receptionist walked up to the door, calmly unlocked it from the inside, and used her body to keep the door only ajar. After talking to Karen, the receptionist came to get me so that I could address Karen.
I walked out to Karen’s still-damaged Jeep.
“I know you said you won’t budge on the price of that estimate, but I need my Jeep fixed as soon as possible. The other shops I’ve talked to can’t get me in until January and this is a brand-new Jeep looking like this. I need it fixed as soon as possible and I can pay $1400.
How soon can y’all take it?”
I told Karen that it would cost at least $3600 and that we would be able to take in her Jeep as soon as the parts arrived at our shop, so her repairs wouldn’t take long. “Y’all don’t have the parts already here?” I told her, “No.”
“So how long does THAT take? I’m going out of town for Christmas and New Year’s, and I want my car to look brand new again.” I told her that we would have to paint the bumper, fender, and door, and that it would take three days.
“THREE DAYS?! NO. That’s unreasonable. First you want to charge me more than double what the other guy would, then you don’t have the parts, and now you’re keeping my brand new car for three days?? Are you the manager?” I told her, “No, but I will get him for you.”
My GM has more years of experience in body shops than I’ve been alive. He’s dealt with all types of customers and situations. So when I told him about Karen’s situation, he calmly asked for a copy of the estimate, put on his face mask and gloves, and went outside to meet her.
They talked very quietly for almost another hour. When Karen left, she was clearly furious from the way she slammed her damaged door and peeled out of our parking lot.
The GM told me before I clocked out that day that he confirmed everything I had told Karen and that he wouldn’t discount the repair cost even if she were his own wife.
When he told Karen that it would be three days of repair time, Karen demanded a loaner vehicle. The GM told her that we don’t provide loaners and she would have to pay for that out of pocket as well. The GM said that he told Karen that if she didn’t want to pay the cost or go through her insurance, there would be nothing further we could do.
After that incident, the GM instituted a new policy of charging an estimated writing fee. It’s around the going hourly labor rate for our state and serves as a deterrent for future Karens. It’s also a great way for customers to pay a deposit for repairs upfront.
Thankfully, Karen didn’t leave us a negative review online anywhere about her experience.”
17. Heartfelt Christmas Gift Turned Sour: A Nurse’s Generosity Met With Ingratitude
“I’m a nurse, a single mom, with 2 boys (9 & 7), one of whom has special needs, for which I pay a considerable amount for services. I’m in a single-income family and work hard and save for everything.
My kids get an allowance for chores and have their own savings accounts.
I work in the NICU, and that means many are not prepared to be there with their newborn or premie. As a side note, my oldest was in the NICU, so I know how tough this can be.
This year, I’ve seen and heard more hardships than I have in my total 8 years previously. I decided that this year, rather than receive my $100 Christmas bonus, I would ask if I could sponsor a family and provide items they needed. I had a particular family in mind.
I was given permission. My boys and I proceeded to buy things the family had previously mentioned not having, things they had asked friends and family for but were told were too expensive, and even a “wish list” the father provided me.
I showed up to work last night super excited about bringing these items to the mom and dad.
A few things: They do not know my situation or that by providing for them, my kids are receiving less (however, they gained a lot through the experience, and that is worth more than any toy, book, or monetary thing), and I didn’t mention that the money for said items came from me, and my 7-year-old even donated some of his savings from his allowance.
I explained to my kids what we were doing with my bonus, and as a family, we had a great time picking out the items. My sons were super happy to be giving to another family. There were a few things that, even with me adding money, we weren’t able to buy, so my 7-year-old told me to take it out of his allowance savings that he had been saving for 9 months (that’s a long time for a 7-year-old, especially for those without children).
I showed up to work, presents wrapped, and excited. Again, these were all items I had either overheard the mom say were lacking, as well as a wish list of newborn/premie items the father provided. I went over my bonus, added money of my own, as well as used my son’s savings.
I didn’t expect anything, but I was hoping that by gifting these items, the family would have a great Christmas as well as fewer hardships.
I brought the items to the parents. The mom looked and asked what it was. I told her it was an early Christmas for her and her family.
She opened each item and got more agitated with each one. She made comments like, “Oh great, another thing for the baby, or oh great, a coffee card that someone probably got for free,” (it was a $30 gift card to the place she always has coffee from, the place she always asks people to bring her coffee from, and most definitely not free).
She’s been using a breast pump at the hospital, so I splurged and bought her one, as this was an item many had told her they couldn’t afford, couldn’t afford to rent, and she plans to continue to pump once she gets home.
At the end, she looked at me and said, “This is terrible. No one thought of the older kids or me. Where’s the gift receipt? I’d rather have the cash. This kid wasn’t planned anyway. (They) won’t even know if (they) don’t have these things.” It’s true I didn’t buy gifts for the older kids, as the father told me they were covered by a charity.
I bought essentials for taking the baby home and things that will make the remaining hospital stay easier. These were all things she didn’t have to safely have the baby at home, as well as a few splurges of things she wouldn’t have had from the previous children.”
Another User Comments:
“Oh Jesus, Paramedic here and I did such a cynical dark chuckle because it’s just so true. I care and give and it is so so hard not to get cynical and burned out when you’re dealing with so many ungrateful people under stressful, risky circumstances.
These people know nothing but handouts and taking from the system, and see you as part of that system, and probably come from a long line of the same. BUT for all my bad experiences, I have 10 that never leave me. The cuddle from a pensioner with no family when I arranged home care and came back with groceries for the week.
Taking a palliative care patient to get a slushie and his face lit up like a sunbeam, received a thank you letter I got a year on from someone’s life-changing spinal injury…. you made life better for your son and for a little baby who has some pretty crummy, indifferent parents.
The next time you do this, you might change that person’s life forever. Don’t let the scumbags steal your sparkle because there’s good people out there who need it.” furleaves
16. Extra Legroom Mayhem: A Budget Flight With An Annoying Passenger
“Last night I took a midnight flight from Australia to New Zealand on an airline service named similar to “PlaneSun”.
For anyone who lives in or around Aus, you’ll probably know this is your bottom-of-the-barrel budget airline, so while it’s cheap, let’s be real, you can’t expect to be travelling in luxury. Therefore, due to my long legs, I did what any rational person does and booked extra leg room in the emergency exit row aisle seat.
I boarded, I sat, the plane took off. No typical Karen trying to steal my seat, as most of these plane posts seem to go.
About thirty minutes into the flight, as everyone is trying to get some sleep, the person behind me in standard seating starts kicking my chair and swearing under his breath.
The space is small, it sucks, I get it. After he settles down, I rest my back against my chair again. A moment later, I feel a foot kicking my aisle-side arm rest and the following is heard:
Man: “Can’t you move your seat? You’re taking up so much freaking room.
I have no space!!”
Me: “Mate, the seat is literally welded to the floor. I’m sorry, but I can’t move my seat…”
The man kicked the arm rest again and (I believe?) turned to his sleeping(?) companion and said: “This stupid person won’t give me any space for freaking’s sake; my legs are squashed. I’m freaking tired, I want some freaking sleep, but I won’t get any because of this irritating fellow.”
Thinking back, I probably should have called the steward at that point, but I’m flawed; what can I say?
Swearing is a pretty normal thing here, but heck.
A couple of minutes of silence later, and he’s back at it again. Kicking the back of my seat like a toddler, punching the headrest, shining his phone light on my sleeping face to wake me up and yell at me, swearing his complaints using every sort of insulting term.
You get the picture.
At one stage, I turn around to him and yell: “Can you stop harassing me, for God’s sake? I literally CANNOT MOVE THIS CHAIR!!”
No response.
I was at the stage where I kept saying to myself, “Next time he does it, I’m pressing the call button.” Fortunately, or unfortunately for me, the man presses the call button.
A stewardess comes.
Man: “Either tell this person to move her seat or get her off the plane! I’m trying to sleep and she won’t give me any freaking leg room!”
Stewardess: “Well, we can’t move her seat, but we can move you to the back where there are fewer people?”
Man: “Just give me a chair with more freaking leg room, this is ridiculous! Give me her seat!”
Stewardess: “There are some seats in the back, follow me.”
As the stewardess walks down the aisle, the man gets out of his seat, punches the back of my chair, grabs my ponytail, and yanks it before walking off to follow the lady.
By the time I turn around to yell at him about what the actual heck he thinks he’s doing, he’s quite a way down.
While I didn’t see him again after that incident, I do know he didn’t get a better seat because I booked the last extra leg room seat on the plane.
The only other thing that happened was when the plane landed and I tried to get off, the man’s companion tried to body block me from getting out of my seat, but I was working on 30 minutes of sleep at this stage and just pushed her aside.
I was too tired for that crap.”
Another User Comments:
“When he grabbed your ponytail, you should have spoken up to call the stewardess and tell her what he had just done, and that you’d like to file a report of the incident. Others on the plane may have been willing to vouch for the problems he had been causing you, which could have resulted in his being told that if he displays such behavior again, he might find himself being removed from the plane, as well as banned from using their services anymore.
Would have helped to knock his ego down a peg or two.” Fangs_McWolf
15. Craigslist Tutoring Gone Wrong: A $20 Project Scam
“Years ago, I used to do a lot of tutoring, advertising on a few sites, including Craigslist. $25/hr was already below the average for a college graduate, tutoring college-level math to college students.
Not surprisingly, people still tried to talk me down in price all the time, and I’d remind them they were welcome to seek help elsewhere, and that was usually that. Almost everyone I actually met in person had no problem paying what we had agreed on at the end of the session.
But after my first encounter with a choosing beggar, detailed below, I also learned that for even the most seemingly reasonable person, I should demand cash up front every time.
This guy in his early 20s messages me saying he has a final project for his statistics class.
He says he already understands everything and is acing this class, but just wants to be sure he’s doing the big assignment properly to secure his grade. After a few questions, I tell him we can probably get it done in 2 hours if he is as prepared as he sounds.
I tell him to bring his textbook, the assignment prompt, and his graphing calculator. I remind him of my fee and that the total would be $50 if we are able to complete it in the estimated time. He says that’s all completely fine and we agree on a coffee shop to meet and get the project done.
So far so good. I’ve had several successful sessions like this with other students. No red flags so far.
We meet and his first comment is that I’m younger than he expected. Weird but okay. I get that a lot. I ask for the prompt which he fishes out of his backpack in a crumpled mess.
Disorganized, but still okay. I ask him to bring out his graphing calculator, which is still unopened.
Me: Oh, wow! You haven’t used your calculator all semester? You’ve been doing all the calculations on tests by hand and you’re still getting an A? You must really know your stuff!
CB: Yeah, I guess I just use a different method. I don’t know what you needed the calculator for.
Me: So then he hasn’t made you calculate the p-value? Because on this assignment, he’s asking you to compare p-values.
CB: What’s a p-value?
Needless to say, a few agonizing minutes into our conversation, I realize there’s no way he has been getting a good grade in this class because he has no grasp of the concepts necessary to do this assignment.
We are maybe 15 minutes in when I have put this together.
Me: I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can teach you an entire semester of statistics and walk you through this assignment in just two hours.
CB: Then why would you tell me you could???
Me: I really thought you had the basics down well enough to speed through this.
CB: Can’t you just tell me which formulas to use and what buttons to push to just get this assignment done? Please??
Me: Well… While I could do that, it would be more like me doing the assignment for you than you actually learning anything.
And then when you got to your next class, you would have no idea what you were doing. I really don’t feel comfortable basically doing your homework that’s worth 30% of your final grade.
CB: But this is my last class! I just have to finish this class before I graduate and then I have no more classes.
Let’s just stay as long as it takes to get this thing done and I can pay you for the whole thing. I just need this done to graduate. Please, it’s my last project and I can get my degree. Please.
I think about it and reluctantly agree to walk him through it, reminding him that it’s going to take longer than I had estimated, since I’m going to have to explain some things along the way and there are a lot of calculations.
He agrees, “of course, of course” and seems genuine, but how foolish I was, I didn’t confirm that he even had extra cash on him, let alone make him hand it over before we got started. We sat there for 4 hours as he seemed to be paying attention and following all my directions.
Me: Okay, great, all the calculations are done. All you have to do is write the summary of what all this math means. You can probably finish that up on your own, right? Since we’re at 4 hours already, I’m sure you don’t want to pay me to tell you how to write a few paragraphs about all this stuff we’ve been talking about.
(Said with a smile, no cattiness.)
CB: Can’t you just write it for me and email it to me then if you don’t want to stay? (Total attitude shift now that the session is coming to a close.)
Me: It really isn’t so complicated; you just explain that because this number is smaller than this number, we reject this hypothesis, and then on this one–
CB: If it isn’t that complicated, why can’t you just do it for me or write it down right now so I can take it home and type it?
Me: Okay, I’m sorry if I was mistaken, we can totally stay and talk about this part if you want to keep paying me to finish up this conclusion with you.
I just thought since we were already at a hundred dollars, maybe you wanted to get home for dinner, but I can stay a little longer.
CB: A HUNDRED DOLLARS??? WHERE DO YOU GET THAT FROM???
Me: We agreed on $25 an hour, and we’ve been here over 4 hours.
That’s not even counting the first 15 minutes of figuring out the assignment.
CB: Your ad said $20!
Me: (Still not realizing he is intentionally being a jerk and isn’t simply confused, because again, I’m stupid and trusting) No, we talked about this over email and again right here when we agreed it was going to take longer than the 2 hours I had estimated.
CB: Your ad said $20! Why would I pay you more than $20 for this when it took you twice as long to do this as you said it would? Do you even know what you’re doing? I had to sit here twice as long as you promised!
That’s on you!
At this point, he gets up from the table and starts to reach for his wallet. I’m finally putting the pieces together that his plan from the get-go was to get someone to do his project for him and that he never intended to pay me the agreed-upon fee.
CB: Here is the payment we agreed on. (Condescendingly puts $20 on the table while he leans over me.) You can go ahead and email me the rest of the project you told me you’d have done over 2 hours ago. I hope you know what you’re doing.
I silently take the $20 and put it in my pocket as I get up to leave (better than nothing, right?). He starts putting on his jacket and gathering his paperwork and I resign myself to looking like I’ve really been put in my place and put my notebook (which contains his entire project) in my bag.
CB: What are you doing? I need that, right?
Me: I thought you wanted me to write the conclusion? I’ll just scan it and send you the whole thing.
CB: Oh… yeah, okay. Hey, nice working with you.
Me: You too, have a great day!
When I got home, I deleted all my online ads. Luckily, I used a separate email address just for Craigslist, so his hundred follow-up emails threatening me for never sending him the project he “paid for” rotted there harmlessly. He claimed he failed his class because of me.
Yay!
When I got the courage to start up tutoring again, I always got payment at the beginning of the session, after getting the total confirmed in writing via email before ever meeting.”
14. Gas Station Ruse: A Kind Stranger Confronts A Double-Dipping Beggar
“I went to a gas station to fill up my car.
Some guy drove up to the gas station in a very rusted 2005 Dodge Caravan. It looked like a very old beater—a point A to B car that had over 200k miles on it. A man wearing clothes covered in paint came out of the car, and he was arguing with a woman passenger.
Woman passenger (WP): “That’s so embarrassing! How are you going to go to a person and ask them for a few dollars?! Look at how you look! You look like a crackhead!”
Male driver (MD): “What are we supposed to do? We have no gas, and we overspent at Home Depot to remodel your precious kitchen because you wanted to top your sister’s kitchen!”
WP: “Here’s an idea: put the car in neutral, and you push it while I’ll steer! We’re only 5 streets away from the house.”
MD: “How about you do that? It’s your fault we have no money because you had to go with the more expensive paint since it had half a star better rating.”
MD walked up to me.
MD: “Hey buddy, sorry to bother you, but by any chance, do you mind putting a couple of dollars in my tank? I’m about 5 streets away from my home, and my wife spent all our money at Home Depot redecorating our kitchen.
I have the old red beater right there.” WP tries hiding her face.
Me: I thought to myself, “Seems legit—he has paint on his clothes, and Home Depot is just a 5-minute drive from where we are.” “Yeah, sure, don’t worry about it.” I went inside and put $5 in his tank.
Me: “I just put $5 in your tank; that should be enough to get you home.”
MD: “Thanks, you’re the man, and I hope something good comes your way today.”
Me: No problem.
I hopped in my car and started the engine to drive off.
My phone rang; a friend asked me to pick up drinks from the station, so I made a U-turn back to the gas station.
I saw MD at a different pump. I thought, “What the heck?” I pulled up to the station and waited with my window rolled down. MD went up to another person and told the same story! In the end, he asked not only for gas but also for snacks because his wife is cranky and on her period.
I walked up to MD and the person he was begging. “Hey man, you’re still here?”
MD: “Do I know you?”
Me: “Why are you still asking for gas? I just put $5 in your tank. You said you were only 5 blocks from your home.”
MD: “You’re mistaking me for someone else.”
Me: “So now your wife is on her period? Did you ask this woman for some money? I think you should be more worried about getting pads for your wife.”
MD: “I’m just trying to get home.”
Me: “I’m sorry, miss, but do not give this man money.
I already provided for him; he’s lying to you.”
MD: “Screw you, man. I don’t even know you!”
MD went to his car and drove away. I stayed at the gas station for about another 10 minutes to see if he would come back. He came back; he saw me and drove right out.
He came back again, and he didn’t even stop at a pump—he just pulled out again. I waited a few more minutes, and he never came back.”
Another User Comments:
“Something similar happened to me once in a grocery store parking lot. This bedraggled-looking guy wanders over to me when I’m walking into the store, and he tells me he ran out of gas on the way to the gas station.
(Ok.) He says he has a gas can, but he realized he accidentally left his wallet at home. (Uh huh.) He asks if I would give him some money so he can go buy a gallon of gas to get home, get his wallet, and get back to the gas station.
Now, my spidey sense was tingling that his story was probably bs, but whatever, I can spare 5 bucks (enough for over 2 gallons of gas, at the time), just in case his story is legit because I’m not heartless. I give him the money, he thanks me, and I go to the store and do a full week’s worth of grocery shopping, which took me about 45 minutes.
As I’m pushing my cart back across the parking lot, oh, who do I see? The same grungy dude, telling the same bs story to some other chump. I yelled at the guy to get out of there; I already gave him enough money to get his ass home.
He took one look at me, stopped midsentence, got a cartoonish “Oh, crap” look on his face, and started to high tail it to his car. Which he started. And drove off in….” Averelle
13. No Seatbelt, No Ride: A Costly Lesson In Insisting On Safety
“I’d once driven a friend who didn’t wear their seatbelt and copped a $300 fine for it.
Now to this story. A family friend’s sons needed a lift to the airport early one morning for a long-planned trip. I lived about 10 miles from their place, and the 30-mile trip I was taking to work in the opposite direction took me right past the airport, so it was a bit of extra time out of the morning—15 miles to the west to pick up the sons, then 45 miles east instead of 30 east—but they begged, both phoned me, and I said I was good to give them the lift.
I turned up in the morning, loaded up their gear, the sons both in the car, and said goodbye to their parents, and we took off. We drove a few miles up the freeway and my seatbelt alert started pinging. Son 1 in the front seat had taken off his belt.
I asked him to put it on. He said, “Nah, I don’t do seatbelts.”
So I pulled over. I looked back at the other son in the back seat (which didn’t have alarms) and, sure enough, he had taken off his belt too.
Then the arguing started. I was as blunt as I could be, stating that I wasn’t risking my license and my money so they could get a free lift—a ride I really didn’t care one way or another about.
Roughly as follows (paraphrased because it was years ago, but they were both in on it):
Me: I’m not moving the car unless the belts are on. I’ve been fined once before, and I’m not doing it again.
Son1: I told you, I don’t do seatbelts.
Dad’s okay with it.
Me: I’m not. And you, Son2, put yours on too. I’m not moving until they’re on.
Son1: Do you have any idea how dangerous they are in an accident?
Me: Blink.
Son1 then puts his belt on correctly and clicks it in.
Me: No, the belt goes around you. That doesn’t count.
Son1: It’ll turn off the alarm. Go. You’ll see. We need to get going.
Me: We can when you put the belt on. I don’t give a crap about the alarm. I care that it’s a six hundred buck fine if you two don’t have belts on.
Son2: Come on, we’ll be late.
Me: Your flight’s not for another hour and a half. Belts on.
Son1 then calls his dad. He complains that we’ve stopped; Dad asks why. Son1 explains, and then his dad tells him to just put the belt on.
Son1 says, “Okay,” but didn’t notice that I’d heard his dad’s side too, and he mentioned that his dad says I need to get a move on.
Me: Not until the belts are on.
This goes back and forth to the point that I will be late for work if I don’t get going.
Son1 is all, “Fine then, turn around; I’ll get Dad to drive.”
Me: Belts on then.
Son1: No. I’ve told you already.
Me: Then we’re not moving.
I get out my phone and browse idly, showing I’m not moving until their seatbelts are on. Son1 phones his dad again.
His dad sounds really upset but agrees to pick them up. Both sons get out, take their bags, one slams the door and boot, and I drive off, choosy beggars left behind.
I get to work, then receive a phone call that Son2 left his main luggage in my car and that they want it dropped off at the airport urgently.
They’re flying out soon and they need it now. I tell them to get a taxi and that I’ll meet them out back of my work. They decide to argue that it’s my responsibility to get them the luggage and, again, argue the point. Half an hour later, one turns up in a taxi to get the other’s luggage.
I should note here that I really don’t know these guys well at all. I know one’s name for sure and think I know the other, but I might have him mixed up with a cousin from the same suburb.
Later that afternoon, I get a phone call from their dad saying that I’d wasted his sons’ tickets.
They weren’t able to fly out, couldn’t rebook quickly, and they’ll miss half their vacation time now—and it was all my fault for stopping for so long. I try to explain as clearly as possible that I wasn’t going to risk another huge fine and upset my employer just for the inconvenience of a couple of ungrateful idiots, but I ended up just hanging up on him.
I’m still friends with their mother, who was the original friend of the family, but things are a bit strained between me and her husband and sons.
For what it’s worth, the sons were about 21 and 24 at the time it happened.”
12. Wrong House, Wrong Delivery: Greedy Neighbor, Police, And Package Drama
“Last week I ordered something online and had it delivered. I was very excited, and yesterday morning the shipping company updated their website to indicate that the item “was on the truck for delivery, approximately time for delivery was 7:00 pm”.
At about 7:30, I kept my eyes peeled for my item. I noticed that my neighbor was having something delivered using the same company, so I went outside, approached the delivery guy, and asked him if he had my package. He asked for my name and tracking number.
When I told him my name, he said: “Oh heck, I just delivered your package to the wrong house, but no problem, I will go and get it back.”
So, we went up to the door and knocked, and the neighbor answered. When the driver explained the error, instead of apologizing and saying, “Oh, sorry, I will go get your package,” he said, “Well, it was delivered to my house, so it is mine now,” and he slammed the door.
We stood there looking at each other in stunned silence for a few seconds, and then the driver started pounding on the door.
The man came out and told us to get off his property or he would call the police. The driver responded, “I don’t think you are stupid enough to call the police.” The man took out his phone, dialed 911, and told the operator that there were trespassers on his property who wouldn’t leave.
He then closed the door in our faces.
We went to the end of his driveway and waited for the cops. When they showed up, the driver explained what was going on, and the cop said, “I wish this were a rare occurrence, but this happens more than you think.”
Then the cop knocked on the door and asked very politely for the package. The man responded that it belonged to him, and that was the end of it. The cop explained that it did not belong to him and to give it back immediately or he would be arrested for theft. The man laughed at the cop.
The cop ordered him to turn around and placed him in handcuffs.
At this point, the man’s wife came out with the package, which, thank God, had not been opened. The cop inspected the package, and everything was in order.
The cop placed the man in the back of the squad car and told him that, although it was good that he returned the package, he was still being arrested for theft. He added that the man would have to spend the weekend in jail and that he could contest it with the judge on Monday.
At this point, the man was freaking out, his wife was freaking out, and the cop looked at me and winked.
After pretending to fill out paperwork in the front seat for a few minutes, he released the man and informed him that, in fact, what he did was theft because he had accepted a package and signed for it when it was not in his name, and then refused to return it.
I took my package and went home. About half an hour later, there was a knock on the door, and it was the neighbor. As he was trying to apologize and say, “Get off my property,” he attempted to explain that—and I wish I were kidding—”you would have gotten your money back by putting in a claim against the delivery company.” My response was simply, “WHEN????””
11. Movers' Tantrum Over Shrink Wrap Sparks A Moving Disaster And Police Intervention
“A few weeks ago, I decided to hire 3 moving guys for a few hours to move as much as they could into a POD I rented. I mostly wanted them there to get a few large furniture items from upstairs down into the POD as it is just myself, my 16-month-old son, and my pregnant wife.
They were scheduled to show up at 10 a.m. and work two hours until noon, at which point I had a code I would give them and they would get paid for their work. Super easy; I have used the service before. I took off and got a trailer for my Jeep in case there was any overflow and to take things we would need before the POD arrived. I got back to the house at 9:30 a.m., 30 minutes before they were set to arrive, and they had been there for 15 minutes already talking to my wife.
This is how it went down the moment I walked in the door:
Wife: These mover guys have been lecturing me for 15 minutes on how they can’t do their job correctly unless they have shrink wrap for the couch.
Me: Well, I got 4 packages of moving blankets, and that should be more than enough to cover things in the POD.
Head mover guy: We can’t guarantee your things won’t get scratched a little if we don’t have shrink wrap.
Me: That’s fine, I mostly hired you guys to get the heavy stuff in the POD and pack what you can in during the time you are here.
HMG: Okay, boss. (Then he gives me this weird salute.)
He then tells his two guys, both young dudes, to just move stuff and get the job done—to move stuff downstairs as I had “hired them to move heavy stuff downstairs.” I would say a solid 10 minutes go by before my wife comes storming into the garage, where I was packing last-minute items, visibly mad and at her wits’ end.
Wife: They said they won’t move the gun safe until we open it and prove there are no guns in there (I had locked the key in an ammo box that was already packed).
Me: Just tell them to leave it, and I will do it later.
(It is not high-quality, and one person can move it with a dolly very easily—think drying machine.)
Two seconds later, the head moving guy comes storming out to the garage as well, visibly flustered, and says he can’t move anything more because of hostile working conditions.
Apparently, my wife said in passing that we hired two high school kids one time and they moved all our stuff in a few hours, and he thought that was the biggest affront to his abilities that she could have possibly done.
HMG: I am going to need cash or check upfront to finish this job, or I’m going to have to charge my two-hour minimum and leave (conveniently the same amount as if they did the work).
Me: Well, I will pay you after you do your job through the moving service as agreed upon. (I’m assuming at this point he looks for any excuse to cut out the middleman and get paid directly, and does this often.)
HMG: At this point, after working in these conditions and lacking the proper supplies needed (shrink wrap), I can’t complete this job and will need my two-hour minimum.
Me: (I can see the POD from where I’m standing, empty, and they have been there 45 minutes.) You guys haven’t even loaded a single thing into the POD; you have been moving things from room to room and telling my pregnant wife she is hostile and unprofessional.
HMG: I can see you are stressed, who wouldn’t be, but we can’t work with her in there while lacking the correct supplies.
Me: Look, man, you can finish the job I hired you to do and you will get paid at the end of the job, or you can get off my property and I will hire someone else.
HMG: That is actually called theft of service, and the police will come out to arrest you if you don’t pay my two-hour minimum.
Me: That’s not how that works, and if you have your lawyer’s contact info, I will be glad to let mine know he will have some work soon.
HMG: Really, bro? You would pay a lawyer over just paying me and my guys my minimum? If you don’t, we will have to call the police for theft of service (used this term like 80 times, assuming it works for him usually).
Me: Okay, you can get off my property and I am calling the police.
I hoped that was the clue he needed that I wasn’t going to give in to his scam, but he was sticking to his guns! Amazingly, the sheriff’s department showed up in record time, about 20 minutes, and started talking to the guy. My wife insisted on talking to the officer since she had the most contact with the guy, so she did first, then me.
Shockingly, not doing a job you were hired to do, then demanding money, is not theft of service. The poor officer was out in front of our house, talking to this guy for almost 2 hours, yelling at my neighbors about how cheap we are and demanding we pay his workers $100 since we held him up so long.
After bringing us weird contracts saying “I agree to pay $100 because I demanded the impossible,” they finally left without a red cent.
Funny thing is, if they had just done their job, they would have been out of there an hour earlier with $200 in their pockets.
We couldn’t find any movers available on such short notice, so I ended up moving everything myself. It took me all day, and I was pretty much dead by the end of it, but that CB didn’t get his money for nothing.
I did learn not to hire the cheapest movers; the more you spend, the less craziness comes with it.
Here are some clarifications:
1. No, my wife is not an unpleasant person and I don’t just lick her boots. She is an incredibly kind person and soft-spoken, but everyone has their breaking points. Moving, plus the movers finding every little thing possible to blow up about, will get even the most saintly of us flustered. If one pregnant woman can make three grown men walk off a job and demand payment, I don’t know what to tell you.
2. The gun safe was empty, but they couldn’t verify because I had locked it and packed the key. Yes, I should have kept it open, but I didn’t; the key acts as the opening handle. I told them I would move it myself, and they agreed.
3. I don’t know what happened in the time frame after the gun safe questions and my wife mentioning we hired two high school kids last time. I don’t think she said it in a snide way, but rather in passing, comparing our last move since they were being difficult.
That’s when everyone charged into the garage as if it were a matter of principle, and everyone was about to fight at the end of the pavement.”
10. Nightmare Guest: A Tale Of Unacceptable Narcissism And Holiday Mayhem
“My group of friends is still close after having belonged to the same youth group 30 years ago.
At a holiday party, a gal named Maya (not her real name) showed up; she was just on the fringe of this group. We didn’t know it then, but she was nosing around to see what she could get from us; I suspect she’d run out of “friends” to exploit.
She was as friendly as I remembered, and soon she discovered that a friend of mine, his wife, and I lived in the Bay Area. She told us she’d like to visit the Bay Area sometime—each of us told her she’d be welcome.
A few months later, she stayed with my friend and his wife for the weekend, then took the train to where I lived. On the way to the station, I received a panicky call telling me that she was STARVING and needed to go to a restaurant that served HEALTHY food.
I recommended Aqui, a Cali-Mex place that emphasizes freshness and seasonal food. I ran down some items, but when I got to my favorite dish—the Angus beef quesadilla—she blurted out, “Weren’t you listening?! I said HEALTHY! That’s got beef AND cheese!” It was one of those moments when you give your phone a look like, I wasn’t telling her to eat plutonium.
Anyway, off to Aqui we went (she got the salmon walnut with the vinaigrette, BTW), and then she began bad-mouthing my friend and his wife: they served crap food. They didn’t even have bottled water. They barely said goodbye as they dropped her off at the station.
That did not sound like my friend, so it raised a red flag.
It turned out there would be more red flags than there are in Beijing.
Even with the negativity I had witnessed, I was still surprised when, upon setting foot in my apartment, she said, “Uh ohhhh.
Jaaaaaane . . .” (not my name, but perfect for the condescension of her stretching it out). “How often do you change your litter box?”
Now, if I were a guest staying for free and being driven around, I’d keep my mouth shut. But I was raised by a raging narcissist and her enabler, “Cody” (short for co-dependent), so I downshifted into shame-filled passivity for the rest of her stay.
For those of you who want to chastise me for letting her get away with these things: too late. No one can punish me like I do.
After listening to a sermonette about kitty urinary health, she checked my refrigerator and made a “kidding-on-the-square” comment about how empty it looked, like a college student.
I live alone, I hate shopping, and I don’t have to justify my food supply to her. Nevertheless, we went to the market and got acceptable groceries for her to eat. Do I have to add that she made no move to pay for any part of the bill?
The next day, I showed her around town, went shopping, and wandered into a store that sells kids’ things because she wanted to buy something for her goddaughter, which was fine. At the register, there was a box of faux jeweled rings; they had gems in different shapes and beautiful colors—emerald green, peacock, and magenta.
She wanted the magenta one, but it wasn’t oval; it was square. She asked the teen behind the counter if they had square ones “back in inventory.” The bewildered teen said that those were all they had. This is a narcissist’s nightmare: someone is withholding something from her!
She gave the poor guy a sermonette about customer service before I pulled her away and we left.
The hour of her flight approached, and it was the clubhouse turn for me—just a little longer listening to her complain about my “provincial” hometown, and then I’d be free!
We said our goodbyes at the curb, and I felt like I was the one who was flying!
I headed to my son’s high school to pick him up when I got a call. It was an EMERGENCY! “My flight’s been delayed for FOUR HOURS!
I can’t stay at the airport that long! It’s UNACCEPTABLE!”
Me: “Why can’t you just get a bite to eat and read a couple of magazines or something?”
Her: “Are you KIDDING me here?! What kind of host would treat a GUEST like that?!?”
I’m sorry to say, I dropped my son off at home and drove across town to the airport. I was greeted with “About time!”
Then I went back to Aqui, and then back to the airport. I blurred that time out; I didn’t know what happened during those few hours.
A few days later, she called to “gab,” and I told her I couldn’t be friends with her.”
9. In-Flight Bassinet Battle: Navigating Demands And Disarray On A 20-Hour Journey
“My 5-month-old daughter was born in Asia, and we were flying back home so she could meet her grandparents in North America.
Our family was the baby, my brother and his wife. I don’t know how single parents or couples pull it off flying with their toddlers for 20-hour trips… Kudos to you guys! My little one kept our hands full the whole time. We were at the airport checking in when we heard a bit of a commotion at the counter next to us.
I could hear an upset CB lady and noticed she had twins, maybe 18 months old (bigger than my baby), with her and four other people. I didn’t understand why she was upset.
As I was speaking with the agent while my sister-in-law (SL) was holding the baby, the man traveling with the lady (maybe her husband) approached my SL and asked her in broken English if she was getting the bassinet for the flight, to which she replied, “Yes, when I bought our tickets I ordered it.” CB asked her if he could have it because he has twins.
My SL didn’t know what to say to him and got my attention. I turned around, and he made the same request, and I said “No” and turned around, continuing to talk to the agent.
Now the CB got annoyed by my “No,” so he started talking in his native language to the agent who was helping me, annoying me to no end.
The agent basically scolded him, saying that she was helping me, but he kept insisting, and I asked the agent what was going on. She basically said, “He’s asking for the bassinet for his kids and demanding that I switch it to him, as he has two and you have one.
But he cannot fit two kids in the same bassinet; it’s too small, and only one kid at a time can be in there.” She finally asked him to leave. CB demanded to see her supervisor. She checked me in, gave me my boarding passes, and we just walked to security while the man and woman were talking to the supervisor.
Fast forward to an hour later, when we were at the gate. CB’s whole family of six (the parents, twins, and my guess of two aunties) was first in line to get on the flight. I didn’t think much of it at the time, as we were fourth in line behind two other families with kids.
Once we boarded the plane and got to our seats, guess who was sitting in them? Yup, the CB father, mother, and twins. They claimed our seats, and the father, in an angry tone, told me, “Sit elsewhere, as those are their seats.” Now, I’m not a confrontational person, so I got the flight attendant’s attention to help us out.
She came over and asked what the issue was.
Me: They’re sitting in our seats and basically told me to sit elsewhere.
FA: Can I see your boarding pass?
FA looks at my pass and asks the other passengers for theirs. In their native language, the CB refuses to show her his pass, claiming that those were his seats.
Eventually, after giving her the boarding passes, they were sitting at the back of the plane. The FA told them to move, and now the CB is getting angry.
FA to me: “They are asking if you’d be willing to switch seats, as they need the bassinet for their kids, but I told them your kids are too big to fit in the bassinet by themselves, never mind both of them at the same time.” So I asked them to move to their seats, as they’re holding up boarding.
Angrily, he started raising his voice at the FA. The FA boss shows up and asks what’s going on, and the CB angrily starts telling her in his native language that they need those seats. The FA boss said the same thing as the FA said.
And they finally moved. The kicker here is that they were not all sitting together, which means very little planning went into buying their tickets. Once the flight took off and the bassinet was set up, seeing the size of it, there was no way one of his twins would fit in it, let alone both of them at the same time.
I got the stink eye from the other family on the flight back home, and I’m sure there were some curse words as well… But honestly, I couldn’t be bothered.”
8. Spring Break Scam: Grueling Moves And A Vanishing Payment
“This takes place during spring break of 2018. I am a student looking for extra money, so I browse a local social media group looking for paid odd jobs.
I find a woman (KB) who is elderly and needs her income property cleaned out for the next tenant. She was offering $400 (which, blindly, I informed her multiple times was more than enough). She refused to budge and said that she was firm on the pay, but if I brought friends to help, I would have to split it evenly with them.
I said yes almost immediately, as I could make nearly a full week’s worth of pay at my part-time job in two days, under the table.
The days dragged slowly, and I’m glad I didn’t badger her to come down on pay (I didn’t want to rip off an old lady).
My buddy (EC) and I were informed previously that it was just “moving a few boxes.” That was false. It was two grueling days of moving 100+ pound totes of miscellaneous items that nearly filled the entire house into a moving truck and intricately arranging them at the new location.
Temperatures were pushing into the high 90s and there was no AC. To say the least, we were on our knees praying thanks to the Lord above when it was over. We collected our money and hauled out of there without looking back.
Fast forward a week or two, and I got a message from KB.
“Hello! I have another job lined up for you and EC! Are you interested/willing?” She offered the same pay, so I confirmed with EC and reluctantly agreed.
This time was different. It was another one of her rental houses, but nearly 500 sq ft larger.
Same job: moving oddly heavy totes. This struck EC and me as very suspicious. KB had an immaculate garage, so we assumed that she had just been temporarily storing things in the first rental property to make space in her house. This was not unusual, as many people became landlords when others flooded our town during a housing bubble.
Once it popped, it left many with vacant houses for years because the housing market had all but crashed in our area following the development of bedroom communities closer to the city. To have not one, but two houses filled to the brim with unidentified totes struck us as confusing.
We did the same work but put a bit of pep in our step and managed to finish the job in the same amount of time. KB claimed that she had run out of checks and would contact me at a later date to pay.
No problem; at that point, I had befriended KB and trusted her. There was radio silence. I tried making a phone call and discovered that she had blocked my number. However, she had forgotten to block me on social media Messenger, so I contacted her.
“Hey, when can EC and I get paid? I would have called you, but it seems you’ve blocked my number?”
She then began a spiel about how she had overpaid us the first time and that we had not done the job to her specifications.
Keep in mind that we had agreed beforehand to another $400 split between EC and me, and she had no complaints about the job while we were doing it. Her reasoning for not paying us was that she had given us plenty the time before. I explained that we had agreed to be paid again and that I had scheduled time off for this job, which meant I was losing money.
She threatened to call the police for harassment if I didn’t stop messaging her. I threatened to call the police on her because I had evidence that she had agreed to pay me and was flat out refusing. I did not know how well a text conversation would hold up, so I was afraid she was going to call my bluff.
There were many little things that struck me as odd about KB, but this one sent it over the edge. At the mention of me calling the police, she completely dropped her argument and offered to settle by paying the full amount. I assumed it was because she had not thought this through and had something that the authorities might or might not have requested to look into.
I reported her to all local social media groups, and she has been blocked from most within a 20-mile radius, with the number growing as people pass the word on. I haven’t heard from her since.”
7. Free Labor Fallout: The DIY Disaster Of Asbestos Tiles And Unrealistic Repair Demands
“My sister rented a house from a friend of my mom’s. She was getting a great deal on the rent, and I was very appreciative of that, so I agreed to help with some repairs here and there, free of charge.
The house was old; this lady’s mom had lived there her whole life, and while it wasn’t falling apart, it definitely needed some TLC.
So, I did some minor, easy stuff first. They needed to replace a light fixture by the back door, so I installed a new one with a motion sensor.
There was a leak under the sink—no problem. I put up some Sheetrock along a wall in the basement. Done.
Then we get to the first-floor bathroom. There were some loose tiles that needed to be replaced. She had a box with the original tiles, so I started scraping the wall where the tiles had come off, getting ready to replace them.
As I scraped, another tile fell off—then another, and another. It turns out the wall had been water-damaged at some point in the past, and this was about to turn into a bigger job.
So, I stopped and brought my sister and CB in to show them.
My advice was: take that single wall of tiles down, redo all the backer board, and find a new tile that would match well with the old, not attempt to match perfectly, but choose a style and color that wouldn’t look out of place. (CB had already tried to find extra replacement tiles, but they had stopped manufacturing them years ago.)
CB points out that if I just saved the tiles as I took them off and used the few spares she had on hand, there would be exactly enough tiles to redo the wall.
Credit where credit is due: she is very handy herself. She has done all sorts of repairs in her own home, and she does excellent work, but I got the impression she had a chip on her shoulder, thinking that men would disregard her opinions simply because she is a woman.
However, I pointed out that it’s never a good idea to start a project when you have absolutely no spare materials. I said that I would have to be able to carefully remove every single tile without breaking any of them at all, and that we were pretty much guaranteed to fail.
I told her and my sister that if that was the plan, they would have to find someone else to do it—I’m just not good enough to remove a couple hundred tiles off an old wall without breaking any. They ended up agreeing; CB said she would hit the tile store and come back with new ones the next day.
I removed the old tiles, trying my best not to break any since the rest of the bathroom matched these and they might come in handy someday. I still ended up breaking about a third of them. I got the new cement board up, ready for new tiles.
The next day, I showed up, and there were no new tiles. CB said she wanted me to put the old ones back up, as if we had never even had the conversation the day before. I tried reminding her of the issues and telling her about all the broken tiles, but she kept interrupting and telling me to just start putting the old tiles back.
I pulled my sister to the side and told her this was not going to work. My sister started telling me about another issue: CB was also expecting me to pull up a couple of rooms’ worth of floor tiles, which I had never agreed to.
So, I went to address this and found out that the room was tiled in old tiles that potentially contain asbestos. Whoa.
I told CB there was no way I was taking the chance. The best thing was to just cover the floor with new flooring—it could be something cheap, anything to cover the old tile.
She got irritated, started talking about how it wasn’t that much work, that she’d just do it herself, and STARTED BREAKING TILES! Asbestos becomes a problem when it is disturbed and becomes airborne—like when you start breaking old tiles up—which is what I was always taught.
I used to have to take yearly classes on asbestos material for work, and I let CB know this. Her response?
“I know a guy who’s a doctor, and he’s in the construction business. He says it’s fine, he’s been doing it for 20 years and never had a problem.”
You know, some guy who is somehow a doctor, but is also a contractor, and has yet to show symptoms of asbestosis—even though it can take over 20 years to show up? Cool. I am out. I told my sister that if CB insisted on removing the tiles herself, I wouldn’t move in without a proper abatement, especially since my sister has kids.
CB proceeds to throw a fit since I “wasn’t even close to done with all the work I have for you!””
6. When A $5K Gift And Free Car Spark A Spiraling Family Debacle
“Last year, I decided it was time to update my car to accommodate my large family.
We do not live near public transport or within walking distance to anywhere, so we need three cars. It seems excessive, but unfortunately, that’s how things need to be.
My sister was and is still going through a rough time. It’s a position she put herself in, but I did my best when I could to help her.
She has a child in child protection. She needs to attend a lot of meetings, visits, court dates, and other stuff to prove that she is a fit parent.
Since I found a great deal on a car, I had change left over and now have a spare car.
I gave my sister the extra car we no longer had a need for. I also gave her $5,000 left over from my budget after all expenses so she could buy herself a car.
What an idiotic move to do.
I explained at great length that the car (which is about 20 years old) is on its last legs.
Despite regular servicing and routine maintenance, it was just not going as well as it used to. It still drove from A to B. It did the job, but I was constantly paying to get an old part replaced or repaired.
It was explained very clearly that the car is not going to last her more than a few months.
It is not a permanent solution.
My sister has a history of buying cheap cars because they “won’t take much to get on the road,” and then she can’t afford to get them on the road. With the car I gave her and the money she now had, she would be able to take the time to find a suitable car and not be under any pressure to take the first one that comes along.
The following day after collecting her free car and cash, she sent me a text message asking if she could have one of my other cars instead because it would just save her a lot of time and she would know that the car has been looked after and that there were no hidden problems.
After discussing with my husband, it was agreed that we could give her a car to keep and take the $5,000 as a deposit on another new car. My husband has wanted a car that can go off-road; we were going to do it in the new year anyway, so we could just bring it forward.
I let my sister know that we could organize the other car to be transferred into her name, that we would pay for everything needed, and that she could give the $5,000 back either in cash or by bank transfer, whichever was easier.
That idea went down like a lead balloon.
Sister: What?! No! You gave me the money!
Me: Yes. To buy a car. If you want this car, you need to pay for it. Giving you this car means we need to replace it.
Sister: But you’ve got three cars! And a job!
And money! This will make getting my child back easier!
Me: I understand you need a car. You know we need three cars. But if I give you this car, we need to be able to replace it.
Sister: Fine. I’ll give you $3,500.
Me: No way!
The car is worth $10,000 easily. You’re getting it for free!
Sister: No, you want me to give you $5,000 that isn’t free!
Me: That’s money I gave you to buy a car. If I’m giving you a car, you do not need the money for a car anymore.
Sister: Yes! You GAVE me the money! It’s mine, so I don’t have to give it back! Let me have the better car! I need a reliable car!
We went round in circles for ages.
In the end, I said she could get lost; keep the car you have and the money, but you are not getting anything else from me.
I stopped contact with her immediately after this. Over the course of a few weeks, fines and infringements started rolling in. There were fines for running red lights, speeding, and illegal parking, all in my name because the car was still in my name. I reached out to her to ask what the heck is going on and to tell her to pull her head in.
There was no response.
After a few more fines came through (all of which I have been able to put in her name, thank goodness) and she continued to ignore me, I decided to fill out paperwork to put the car into her name. Where we live, once a car is transferred into your name, you need to provide a roadworthy certificate within 30 days, or the car will no longer be allowed on the road.
As this car was so old and was on its way out, it would never pass.
Well, that finally got her attention! She was so upset that I did that because now she will have no car! She blew up my phone with abusive messages and bombarded me through Messenger.
I told her that she would need to use the $5,000 to buy a car sooner and to start being more responsible. This is when I found out that she had spent all the money on everything except a car! So now she has no car and no money.
The last text message she sent me before I blocked her blamed me for “forcing” her to take the car and for her not buying a car because she thought that my car would be sufficient. If I hadn’t made her take the car, she would have gone and bought one instead.
And the cherry on the top was that it is my fault that she now cannot get to all the required appointments with child protection so she can get her child back. According to my sister, I now need to explain to her child that it’s all my fault she can’t live with Mummy anymore.
I am a selfish sister who never lifts a finger to help.”
5. My Narcissistic Brother’s Car Tantrum That Ended Our Family Truce
“My brother went on an LDS mission, sold the Mustang my parents gave him (see: $7,000), and blew all of his money on LOTR/Pokemon crap before he left, so he had nothing when he got back. I was back at my parents’ house for the summer from college.
I had a pretty sweet gig. My parents were letting me spend the summers there for free on the condition that I work to save for school and then leave again in August. I also had the car my parents let me use in high school (and later gave to me, which was awesome).
It wasn’t fancy at all (important later), but it was free, I had it decorated how I liked (also important later), and it got me where I needed to go. All I had to do was pay for gas.
So my brother had recently gotten back (age: 23).
The biggest rift we had was that he wanted to be treated like a hero for going on a mission and expected everyone to drop everything to help him at any point. He was at home for his 6th month and on his 2nd or 3rd job before he finally gave up and started a business doing soccer camps.
The biggest problem he had was that he didn’t have a car and relied on my mom to take him from place to place to run his camps. She wasn’t available one day, so he asked to borrow my car. This annoyed me a lot because he made fun of my car all the time.
He is a big fan of nice things and has always had nice cars. He routinely called it a “piece of crap” and made fun of it any time I was tasked with picking him up from where he was. Maybe he was trying to remind me that they bought him a nicer car than they bought me?
I don’t know; kid’s got problems.
I told him “yes,” BUT I HAVE A GOOD REASON WHY. If I had said no, it would have meant that my mom would have had to take time off work to go get him. I thought it would have been a huge jerk move to say “no” considering the car was hers and she was letting me live at her house for free.
So he brings my car back later that day and makes some comment about how crappy my car is when he hands me the keys. I ignored him and went to leave for work, only to find my steering wheel cover thrown in the back seat and my gas on E.
It was a small thing, but those steering wheel covers are very annoying to take on and off. I asked him what the heck he was thinking, and he said he didn’t like the way I had it decorated. Really? You get a free ride to work, complain about my car not being up to your standards, mess with my crap, and leave my gas on empty?
The story has a happy ending, though. I pulled my mom aside and told her that I didn’t think it was fair that I had to lend the car to someone who didn’t respect me at all and refused to pay for gas, and she surprisingly agreed (I assumed she would just give me gas money under the table to keep the peace).
The next time he asked to borrow the car, I said “No.” He got a stupid smirk on his face and told me he was going to tell our mom (remember: he’s 23 and I’m 20), and threw a huge tantrum when my mom told him to take an Uber.
And that’s the beginning of the end of my (already weak) relationship with my brother, and the beginning of the end of me ever living with my parents again.”
4. When A Simple Beer Request Unleashed A Neighborhood Battle
“The choosing beggar is a neighbor lady who had recently moved into the neighborhood. She later became notorious for “borrowing” money and household items and never returning them, but this was early on, before most of us “caught on” to what kind of person she was.
This particular incident was what opened my eyes to her.
So, it’s a warm Saturday evening, and neighbor lady (NL) knocks on my back door.
NL: Hey, do you have any beer?
ME (thinking she wants to have a beer and chat for a while): Sure, come on in.
Have a seat. (I gesture to the kitchen table.)
NL: Well, actually, I’m kind of in a hurry right now. I just wanted a beer to take with me, if that’s okay.
She said the last sentence in a way that implied it ought to be okay, and I thought the whole request was a bit rude, but I was like, well, alright, and went to the refrigerator.
Now, I had two kinds of beer in the fridge – regular beer in cans, and expensive beer in bottles. I pulled out a can for her, but unfortunately, she could see the bottles as well.
NL: No, I want expensive beer! It has to be in a bottle!
For some reason, possibly shock at the extent of her petulant demands, I swapped out the can for a bottle. Before I even handed it to her…
NL: I need a glass for that, too!
At this point, I’m getting really irritated and just want her to leave, so I put the beer on the kitchen counter and pulled a red plastic beer cup out of the cupboard.
NL: No! No plastic!! It has to be in a glass!!!
She then marches over to a glass-fronted cabinet where I keep sets of nicer beer mugs and wine glasses for company and special occasions, opens the cabinet herself, and pulls out a particularly good beer stein.
NL: I want it in this glass!
That was my breaking point.
ME: Okay, hand me the glass. (She does, with a pleased, expectant look like I’m actually going to pour the freaking beer for her. I set the glass on the counter.)
ME: I’ve changed my mind.
I’m not giving you a beer. Get out of my house.
NL: frowning, puzzled expression
ME: Get out. Now. (I point at the door.)
NL’s expression shifted from frowning confusion to open-mouthed disbelief, then morphed rapidly into complete and utter rage. She started screaming about what a horrible, selfish, greedy, stingy, nasty person I was, and how, since I’d already offered her a beer, it was “like stealing” to take it back, and that I’d better never ask her for any help (wasn’t planning to), and gave me the finger before slamming the door behind her.
Needless to say, I didn’t have much to do with her after that except the occasional passing exchange of disapproving glares. She eventually alienated pretty much the entire neighborhood with her ungrateful freeloading, and thankfully moved away last summer. Looking back, I think she was actually just trying to steal a nice glass.”
3. When Quitting Leads To Desperate Begging: A Social Media Cautionary Tale
“This woman moved to a different country with no assurance of a job, leaving behind her current job, college degree, friends, and family, for a man she met online.
I met him a few times. He actually wasn’t that bad. But they were just not compatible and broke up. She got a job in her new country and was accepted into a new course at college. The colleges in her country are free. No course fees or anything.
Sounds like she did okay! She isn’t eligible for any student loans (which are available to cover living costs) due to not being a citizen, but she’s allowed to work and study. Sounds good to me!
She then quit her job.
Apparently she hated it there.
Her boss was mean. No big deal, she said. She would get another job.
She wouldn’t listen when I pointed out that it would be difficult for her to find another job with the same flexible shift pattern as her old job, which would allow her to go to classes and work at the same time.
In fact, she snarled at me that it was none of my business and I was to stop judging her. Fair enough, I backed off and apologized, even though sirens were going off in my head at this point.
A few months later, a Patreon page appeared. The page goes into detail about her move, her ex-partner, her job… lots of very personal details, all about her private life, and how she now cannot afford her rent and she can’t work because of her course, so she needs money.
And she’s not asking for a small amount either; it’s somewhere in the thousands!
Not only that, but she’s posted it on social media and tagged all her friends in it.
“Jesus,” I think, because at this point, I am generally scared for her mental well-being.
So I jumped online and looked up some options for her. Emergency funding, self-employed skills that match her work experience, etc. I doubted I would find anything she didn’t already know about, but hey, at least she would know I was there to try and help her, right?
Nobody else was bothering to respond to her, and I felt sorry for her.
Well.
She PM’d me, apparently very offended. The suggestions I had made were all the options she’d already tried. Did I have to post them on social media for everyone to see?
Did I think she was stupid? Could I not have just donated some money instead?
I was pretty flabbergasted. I was the only person who had responded with any offer of help at all, and I was one of the few who knew she had quit her job because she “didn’t like it.” I’m all for people moving on from jobs they hate, don’t get me wrong, but surely you have to make sure you can keep a roof over your head before you do?
I mean, it’s not like she didn’t know her financial position before she quit.
I mean, MAYBE I should have sent the info to her in a PM. But considering she had plastered her social media with this very detailed plea for money and tagged all her friends in it, I genuinely did not think privacy was a particularly big issue for her.
I wasn’t trying to embarrass her. It’s not like I posted about her quitting her job. It was literally just some generic links to state funding and a few ideas for side jobs. Normally, I would PM someone info, but I just didn’t think it would be an issue, given the context.
Am I a jerk for doing that? Either way, on the scale of bad decisions, I think she outweighs me.
Jeez. They exist, guys. They walk among us. They don’t know they’re choosy beggars.
P.S.: I cut contact with her in case you were wondering.”
Another User Comments:
“You were more than kind and generous doing all that thoughtful research. You spent time on her. That should’ve been flattering and heartening for her. She was lucky to have your support, and she blew it. I can’t fathom crap like this.
After Harvey, there were GoFundMes just EVERYWHERE. One family I knew was asking for $200,000 – actually just the parents, the kids are all grown – and another listed out the specific things they needed. Not just beds and bath towels and a couch and some books and toys for the kids.
An ESPRESSO MAKER. An ELLIPTICAL MACHINE. A looong list. Like, seriously? The entire city is busting their butts and braving water full of sewage and snakes and flesh-eating bacteria to get everyone safe and dry and fed, maaaybe into some clean undergarments if they’re lucky, and you’re asking your friends and neighbors to give you an espresso maker.
That was an intense time, and the vast majority of it was full of extraordinary acts of teamwork and selflessness, but there were always the few bad eggs. A lady got caught, via a dumb post talking about how she was happily committing fraud collecting relief money when she’d actually moved away a few months before.
She got reported and it felt good.” meglet
2. Beggars Can’t Be Choosers: My Confrontation Over Rotten Sweet Potatoes At The Food Pantry
“I’ve been pretty lucky that I’ve not had to utilize food pantries, but the past 6 months have been heck. There should be no shame at all because food insecurity really sucks. I’ve never been hungrier lately. Today I decided to go to a drive-up food pantry.
There were 5 different spots where you could drive up that had pallets of different foods. As pathetic as it sounds, I was happy. At each spot they loaded a case or two into your car.
After I was through, I parked on the opposite side of the parking lot.
I had some time to kill before I had to get fingerprinted for my new teaching job. I pass the same man a couple of blocks from my house, who is always holding a “Want Food Not Money” sign, and I’ve never had anything to spare.
So I figured, since I just got so much food, I’d go through the boxes and pick out a few things for him.
There was a box that had 12 packages of soft tortilla shells, and despite the expiration date of October 2022, I was excited because I also got a huge case of sweet potatoes!
I love carbs, and I love tacos. The extras will freeze well; again, as pathetic as it sounds, I was excited.
I opened the case, and it contained six bags of sweet potatoes. I immediately noticed that the bags were sticky and smelled very odd.
I started going through the first bag and noticed the potatoes had started sprouting, which was no big deal—I’d just cut those off—but then I saw the mold. I genuinely thought I should let them know so that more rancid potatoes wouldn’t be given out.
I got in my truck and pulled back around, and the lady in charge started yelling at me that I couldn’t go through twice. I pulled off to the side and told her, “I’m not trying to do that; I just wanted to tell you about the expired food.” She immediately got defensive and told me to “prove it.”
I opened the box, and she said, “Oh, hang on.” She brought me a paper that had instructions on how to can vegetables and told me that my box should have had one.
(Thinking back now, I think whoever packaged the cases didn’t include it because the case was bad.)
I tried to lighten the tension by laughing a little and said, “That is great, but this case is obviously rotten; I can’t can rotten vegetables.”
Her: “Root vegetables don’t get rotten.”
Me: “You can clearly see the liquid dripping out of the bottom.
Here, look for yourself.”
Her: “That isn’t my job; I’m here just to give food out,” she said in the most condescending tone and attitude.
Me: “Oh, okay, well, do you think it’s alright if I just toss the case in that dumpster?
My trash at home is almost full?”
She started screaming, “Throw it away?! You would throw food away right in front of us?!”
Me: “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend anyone. I think what you are doing is great. I just wanted to let you know…”
She went up to my truck, opened the back door, and started tossing out the other boxes I had. I told her there was nothing wrong with the rest of it, but she told me it was an “all or nothing” deal and that if I wanted to pick and choose, I could go to a grocery store.
She took a picture of my license plate and a picture of me, and told me I wasn’t welcome to come back. I just stood there in shock. I’d never had someone get so defensive over darn potatoes.
Mushy, moldy, musty sweet potatoes are no good, but I should have just kept my mouth shut.
I guess beggars really can’t be choosers, even if the food is visibly rancid.
UPDATE: I attempted to report her. It took a few days to get in contact with the pantry. I called, and I’m 99.9% sure the woman on the other line was the same woman.
I suspected she was “in charge” by the way she was confidently being a jerk to me in front of the other volunteers.
I was told that they had the right to deny anyone who doesn’t bring valid ID or prove they are a resident of the county, or if they abuse or take advantage of the food pantry.
It is the beggar’s responsibility to inspect all food given before consuming it. She said food doesn’t ever really go bad, and if the beggar thinks otherwise, they aren’t hungry enough. The last thing she said was that everything is free or donated, so the beggar has nothing to lose.
I guess gas, hope, and time don’t count. No, she didn’t use the word “beggar,” but she might as well have.”
1. The Day A Posh Choosing Beggar Tried To Order Free Japanese Food
“I work in a Japanese restaurant as a cashier. My job is simple: I take your order, I tell the kitchen, give you your change and/or receipt, then give you your food.
This choosing beggar is but one of many and is a fairly common occurrence. Same kind of person, same kind of issue, and same result. After you read this, just imagine it happening again every other month. Here it goes…
One night shift, I was busy shuffling left and right, organizing orders and calling them out to customers.
I was also keeping track of online orders, labeling them, and handing them to the right assigned delivery driver. This isn’t a fancy sit-down restaurant; it’s more akin to a fast food joint—fairly cheap and really filling.
Enter Choosing Beggar (CB). She comes in wearing some overly expensive name-brand items. We’re talking Louis Vuitton handbags, Gucci sunglasses, and a bunch of other fancy clothing.
She looks like the kind of person you’d see with the Housewives of whatever-county/city. She got the extra-large Starbucks “Coffee” that has a dozen toppings and extras like whipped cream and chocolate syrup. The only thing missing was a tiny, loud dog that you could punt like a football.
But, the point is, this is some fairly well-off lady… I think.
Me: Irrashaimasse (Welcome)
CB: Okay… Can I get some rice and some curry?
Me: Sure, how much rice and curry do you want? Also, will you be taking it to stay or to go?
CB: I’ll just take a small portion and some shrimp tempura.
Me: Okay, with tax all together, it’s 10.94.
CB: Uhhh. I’ll take it for free. Thank you.
Me: …Pardon me?
CB: I said I’m not paying for it. I want it for free.
Me: Yeah, I can’t do that.
CB: Excuse me? Just give me my order!
Me: Sorry, but you have to pay for it.
CB: I know your boss. Your boss is letting me have the food for free! I’m ordering you to give it to me.
The attitude she gave me raised red flags everywhere.
We’ve given out freebies for important people, business associates, and, to a certain extent, family members. Most of the time, my boss and the General Manager will tell the employees about it beforehand. They’ll either tell us in person or send us a text to be on the lookout for Mr. So-and-So or Ms. Important-business-person.
I decided to act like a real derp and just play along for a bit.
Me: You know my boss?
CB: Yes, I do! His name is Tashi! I’ll call him right now and tell him how you’re a bad worker and get you fired for not doing your job.
Me: Tashi? You know some person named Tashi?
CB: Yes, Tashi said I can have whatever I want here!
I don’t have a boss named Tashi. My boss is a woman and is nowhere close to the name “Tashi.” She may have overheard the name of someone important in the restaurant, but probably misheard.
Me: Sorry, never heard of him. Are you talking about Takahashi?
CB: Yes! Takashi (that’s not a typo… she mispronounced the name after I said it.) He said I can have free rice and tempura!
It was at this point that I caught her and her nonsense.
Me: Yeeeeaaaah (I smile) I don’t have a boss named Tashi, Takahashi, or Takashi.
CB just looks at me with her jaw open. I can hear some residual squeak or mild squawking. If a person were a computer, this is when the computer suddenly freezes for a couple of seconds.
She takes off her sunglasses violently and starts pointing at me angrily, before she’s screaming at me.
CB: You will be fired! I will make sure your boss knows that you are the worst employee! You never work here, you—
Me: Uh-huh… And who is my boss?
CB: You will be fi—
Me: (Looks at another customer behind her) Alright, next customer, step down! Welcome, how can I help you?
CB just huffs and leaves the place. All the while the customer asks “Who the heck was that crazy difficult person?”
Me: Some crazy difficult person… I dunno.
If you can afford some of the most overly expensive anything, then you can afford food. You can’t eat Louis Vuitton, Gucci, or Apple AirPods.
Remember. Imagine this scenario multiple times. It happened more than once to other employees.”
