rSlash - r/Idontworkherelady Stupid Customer VS Army Veteran!

Episode Date: July 9, 2019

r/Idontworkherelady What happens with entitled Karens and stupid customers assume that somebody works here? Funny Reddit posts, of course! This video has some of the funniest stories of entitled parents and stuck-up customers acting like crazy people and ultimately getting embarrassed. In one story, an entitled customer even gets tackled by a war veteran! 💗 Support Me: http://bit.ly/supportRSLASH 👔 r/Idontworkherelady "YOU'RE FIRED!" "but i dont work here lol" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Af9u9JrCd1E&list=PLQWFBACAObMj6W6NyJvSBp_kj2HI33iXN&index=14 🔔 Subscribe! https://bit.ly/2E3A8i6 👍 Like this video if you want to see more! 💬 Join my Discord: https://discord.gg/Rtwc9ZC 🐦 Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/rslashyt 🔊 Listen to my Podcasts: http://bit.ly/rSlashPodcast 🎧 My Podcasts on Spotify: http://bit.ly/rSlashSpotify 🛒 My merch: http://bit.ly/rSlashMerch  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qFEISfAx9dM https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Af9u9JrCd1E  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

To support sustainable food production, BHP is building one of the world's most sustainable cottage mines in Canada. Essential resources responsibly produced. It's happening now at BHP, a future resources company. Welcome to R-Slash, I don't work here, lady. Where OP gets fired from a job, he never had in the first place. Our first red-up post is from Bookworm RN. This happened several years ago.

I was the nighttime charge nurse over in the intensive care unit. I just finished a 12-hour shift at my hospital that I turned into a 14-hour shift because of a rapid response right before shift change. The patient responded well. I was exhausted and had to return for a fourth shift in 9 hours. All I wanted were some items to drop in the slow cooker so I'd have something to eat when I got up tonight. I stopped at a well-known big box store that sells groceries, clothes, electronics, the

works. I'm wearing royal blue scrubs, a name badge with a big R in under it, and forgot to take my stethoscope off. So it's hanging around my neck. The employees here… well… don't. As I'm walking towards the store, I see an elderly couple struggling to load a large box in their SUV parked at the front of the store. And I mean old. Over 90 years old,

shaky hands, teetering around with limited mobility. The kind I see with a med list three pages long. No way would his hips take the weight without snapping, and I've worked enough tonight. I approached quickly and addressed the female half of the couple offering help. It was gladly accepted and I got their TV loaded with very little difficulty. It was more cumbersome than heavy. I'm chatting with the woman who is explaining it's a get for their son and her husband hadn't wanted to wait for help. I had wondered why an employee wasn't helping.

That's when it happened. I'll be our end. She'll be EB, which stands for Entitled Woman. Hey, hey! Startled, we stop our conversation and look over. It's a lady in her 50s dress in a cheap looking beige pantsuit with a Get your manager hairstyle standing about 15 feet away with a hand on her overly broad hip.

If you are about done, I need help over here. She then points to her cart with two boxes of bookshelves, some assembly required. I realize she thinks I work here. Oh, sorry, I don't work. You are already making me late. Just get it done and don't scratch my pain up. The elderly lady and I exchange looks of disbelief and I try again. I don't work here. Just get it done.

She then steps away from her cart to grab her purse, grumbling something about effing idiots. And is digging for her keys when the cart rolls further away and one wheel goes off the curb. The entire uneven load causes the cart to topple over. I instinctively jump forward to try to prevent everything from falling. I was unsuccessful. The entitled Woman Turns to see her particle board bookshelves spilled out onto this cement. Corners of the boxes are crushed, and one has torn open with a few pieces and packaging now exposed. The entitled Woman completely loses her cool and becomes a raging thunder grunt. What the F you F'ing moron?

Pick them up. God dang it. F'ing I'm going to have you fired. You owe me new bookshelves and I'm late. At this point I'm done. Pick this point, I'm done. Pick them up yourself. I don't work here. I then turn to go inside when I feel her grab my sleeve and try to yank me around.

I jerk my sleeve out of the grip and turn to face her now violently red face. She opens her mouth to start screaming again, but I put my finger in her face and say, no, don't touch me. Shut the heck up. I don't work here, and even if I did, I'd quit before I help you clean up your garbage. The entitled woman stands there speechless, mouth opening and closing, sputtering in shock that I've dared raise my voice at her. That's when the manager and an employee came out.

That's when entitled woman sees the manager and finds her voice. Are you the manager? This man damaged my bookshelves and is refusing to pay for them. I just stare in shock. Seriously? pay for them. I just stare in shock. Seriously, having realized that a man in bright blue scrubs with a stethoscope and a big R&B badge really doesn't work here. Instead of apologizing, she chooses to double down on the craziness and now accuses me of breaking her stuff. Before I can voice my denial, the elderly gentleman I'd helped earlier steps in and explains

the situation to the manager. Entitled Woman is still voicing complaints, but the manager realizes the real situation and apologizes to me and the couple. I'm still standing by watching Angerly as the manager deals with Entitled Woman and inspects the bookshelves. They're not damaged. He offers her two new boxes, but Entit entitled woman is now done with the whole situation. She says no.

She's already late because of me. Just glares over me and says to the manager, just load them. I'm already late enough because of this. The manager and employee then lift the boxes up and get them wedged into the lady's car. As I shake my head and go to enter the store, I'm stopped by the elderly lady I'd helped earlier. Sir, thank you so much for helping us with the TV. I'm so sorry, some people are so rude. She then reaches for my hand to shake. As she folds both her fragile hands around mine, I can feel something in her palm she's

giving me. Don't look yet. Wait till she leaves. I slide the package into my scrub pocket and the lady walks away. In title woman then gets in her car and without apologizing or thinking anyone, peels out and drives away. I finally enter the store to grab my food items and when I reach in my pocket I pull out a plastic bag with a bunch of screws and hardware. I realize immediately that the sweet little old lady took advantage of the commotion to steal

the hardware out of the entitled woman's ripped box. I couldn't believe it. I had the biggest grin on my face as I did my shopping. And I have a new petty revenge hero to idolize. You and me both. that grandma is my hero. Our next reddit post is from Ginger Penguin. This happened about 4 years ago when I was looking for work. My second interview was for a marketing position at a new firm.

The interview went well and I was offered a trial shift the following Monday. On turning up, it became clear that this wasn't a marketing job, but a door-to-door sales job for what was basically a huge multi-level marketing scheme. The service was to sign people up for charities on monthly donations. To make matters worse, we were told to lie to consumers about our pay status. We would make a commission equal to their first two-month donation. My boss would then get another month and the company would get the rest equivalent to six-month donations.

We weren't supposed to tell people that and had to tell them we were salaried. We weren't. I only found out during the trial it was commission only. So far, not so good. When they offer me the job, I let them know I have another interview lined up the following day, and tell them I'll let them know by the end of the week. The interview goes well, it's a real, albeit temporary role, and I'm off for the job, and I inform the MLM of my decision.

This is somehow a 30 minute call where he's still trying to convince me to work for him, with me saying, I'm not interested at all. Fast forward to the next Monday, and I'm rudely awoken at 9.15 with a phone call. I answered to this. I hadn't saved the number. Hello, this is me speaking. Where the heck are you? Sorry, what? You were meant to be here at 830. This isn't a good start to your first date, is it? Why are you so late? Sorry, but who is this? It's one of the guys from the MLM. You know the company you work for.

It's too late now. Your team has left. You better be on time tomorrow. Sorry, there must have been a misunderstanding. I got offered a job at another company and accepted the role. Sorry for this. Well, you should have told us this. It's not professional to just not turn up and we would have hired someone else.

Now your team is short staffed. I told another guy, maybe check with him? Anyway, I need to go. Bye. Hoping this is resolved, I get up and go about my day. Tuesday morning, I am again a welcome to the same guy demanding reasons for me not turning up to work. Apparently not working for them isn't a valid excuse. This amazingly continued until the following Monday where I was let go for an authorized absences.

When asked if this means he'll stop phoning me, he told me to grow up and be professional about it. I think I dodged a bullet there. Yeah so to all my viewers out there who haven't had to look for jobs yet, whenever you see a job post that says it's a marketing job, there's like a 95% chance that it's either a scam or an MLM. Our next Reddit post is from Rudog. This story is kind of different, in the way that I, an employee, witnessed an autistic

young man, maybe 14 years old, get caught up in some crazy lady, I don't work here lady situation. Let me set the scene for you. I, working as a door greeter, watching out for lost customers and folks with returns. Working in the lawn and garden section, I see this autistic young man. I guess he's autistic, as he seems predominantly focused on his action and kinda has the actions of an autistic individual. This young man is sorting and moving potded flowers around, putting them in a very specific

order. Matching colors, size of pots, the height of the flowers themselves, et cetera. Doing an amazing job at it too, I might add. He's bothering no one, and most folks are just noticing him doing a bang up job. But this one old, chronable woman sees him working. She stands behind this young man, arms folded, and tapping her foot.

At first, I was thinking maybe it was her son, or maybe she was shopping with them. But the next thing she did proved to me I was mistaken. She clears her throat in that dreaded fashion we all know. Him! Excuse me! You need to help me. The young man pays her no mind, continuing with his task. She doesn't like this. She clears her voice and replies louder. Ehem! You are not listening to me! You are going to help me now! Before I can walk to her and ask her what she needs, she reaches out and grabs this young

man by the right arm just above his elbow. I guess the sudden action of this and the young man's condition caused him to spin around and jerk his arm away from the lady. And the sudden movement startled the old woman, causing her to step backwards and lose her balance, causing her to sit down on her butt. It was like in slow motion watching her go from standing to sitting on the ground. By the time I reached Young Man to see if he was okay, his mother had shown up and was asking what had happened.

Before I could say anything, the woman who had caused this was up and braiding this young man, saying he attacked her and she will have him fired and arrested. Meanwhile, this young man was almost crying and his mother was shocked. I told the mom to take her son and calm him down that he has done nothing wrong and just make sure he is okay. The crazy old woman didn't like that I took a side. She began to lie and tell me she was the victim, and she didn't do anything, that the employee the young man attacked her. I told her not so kindly that, one, she was a liar, and I had witnessed the whole incident.

And two, the young man you forcibly grabbed doesn't work here and you assaulted him. By now, a crowd has gathered, and the crazy woman has noticed that no one is giving her looks that they believe her side of the story. She just puts her head down and walks quickly out of the store. When I turned a check on the young man and his mother, she was smiling at me and was thanking me for my help. She shops here regularly and the young man likes to arrange the flowers. It's calming to him. I express my regrets about the whole incident. The young man walks over to me and pats my shoulder once and goes back to the flowers.

The mom informed me that this was the equivalent of a high five from him. Our next reddit post is from Sean B. Delicious. So I went to Aldi's day on my lunch break from work. I was shopping for ingredients to make hard apple cider. I found the only Apple juice Aldi sold without preservatives and loaded up my cart with a dozen half gallon bottles and kept them in their cardboard boxes so they would be easier to transport. There were a few other items I needed to pick up so I pushed my cart through the store shopping for them.

A woman noticed the boxes of apple juice in my cart and asked where I'd found them. I had nothing better to do so I walked her over to the apple juice display where she thanked me. Another woman immediately came up to me and asked, You used to have these candy apples in the store, but I can't find them. Where are they? I had no idea where they were, so I said, I'm sorry, I don't know, I don't work here. Her eyes narrowed and she responded, What do you mean you don't work here?

I just saw you help that other person. Now, I'm going to teach her and corduroy pants and don't look at all as if I would be working at this store. I could tell that this was not going to go well no matter what I said, but I attempted to be polite. I'm sorry ma'am. She asked me where I'd found this apple juice, so I showed her. I don't actually work here.

What do you mean you don't work here? I don't work here. I'm a customer like you. Just tell me where the candy apples are. At this point, it was getting weird. I really don't know where the candy apples are. I don't work here. You don't know where anything is in the store.

I know where the apple juice is. Where are the candy apples? Ma'am, I'm sorry. I can't help you. I really don't work here. What is that supposed to mean? It means that I don't work at this store. I don't know where the candy apples are.

I'm a customer like you. Then why are you stocking the shelves? She indicated the boxes in my cart filled with apple juice. I am shopping. I'm going to buy what's in my cart. Nobody needs the that much juice. You work here and you need to tell me where the candy apples are. At this point, everyone around us had stopped and were staring.

An Aldi shelf-stocker came over and said, ma'am, the candy apples were a seasonal item, and I'm afraid we're sold out. The woman glared at the Aldi employee and then me and said indicating me, why didn't he tell me that? He doesn't work here ma'am. The woman then roared in exasperation, pushed her cart into an aisle display of canned food, knocking it over and screamed,

what is wrong with you people? I am never coming back." She stormed out of the store fuming. The employee gave me a WTF look, which I returned. Then I proceeded to check out. I loaded the juice into the trunk of my car and hopped in the driver's seat. I checked my mirrors before backing out. I loaded the juice to the trunk of my car and hopped in the driver's seat. I checked my mirrors before backing out and noticed that the candy apple lady was in the SUV to my left, sitting in her driver's seat sobbing. I rolled down my window and waved to get her attention. She noticed me, waited about 15 seconds, then rolled down her window.

Are you okay, ma'am? I asked. Through sobs and tears, she said. I said I would bring candy apples to my grandson's party. I asked her when the party was to take place, and she told me tonight. I told her that I had seen kids to make candy apples over at Safeway, and that if she made them now, they should be ready by the time of the party. Her eyes lit up and she looked at me. Thank you. You're welcome, and I went back to work. Huh,

that was an uncharacteristically wholesome ending for a Reddit story. That was R-slash, I don't work here, lady, and if you enjoyed my video, please hit that subscribe button, and also check out my brand new merch store with the link down in the description. We'll be back with more R-slash content right after this short break. As the world's population grows, so does the need for resources like Potash to support sustainable food production. This is why BHP is building one of the world's most sustainable potash mines in Canada. Essential resources responsibly produced. This is what BHP has committed to Canada.

The future is clear. It's happening now at BHP, a future resources company. To discover how, visit bhp.com slash better future. Metrolinx and cross links are reminding everyone to be careful as Eglinton Cross-Town LRT train testing is in progress. Please be alert, as trains can pass at any time on the tracks. Remember to follow all traffic signals. Be careful along our tracks and only make left turns where it's safe to do so. Be alert, be aware, and stay safe. Welcome to R-Slash, I don't work here, lady.

Where an entitled woman gets beaten up by a combat veteran. Background, I am a small Chinese woman living in a predominantly white neighborhood. Our house has a large front yard, and we like to do the gardening ourselves. I don't speak with an accent and I usually use a very English name for easy communication. I called for a free estimate from a local duck cleaning service and scheduled it on Saturday. My mom and I were in the front yard planting flowers and deweating, chatting family stuff in our own language while enjoying the nice weather outside. We were in full gardening gear, complete withdrawal hats, and rain boots with face masks on. A white truck with a trailer drove up and a middle-aged man jumped out. He waves me down.

Hey, where is the owner of the house? I pulled down my mask. Oh, you must be the duck cleaning service. Please come in with me. No, I need to speak with the landlord. I am the landlord. Do you need to come in the me. No, I need to speak with the landlord. I am the landlord. Do you need to come in the house for the estimate? The guy cuts me off.

No, I need to speak to the person who made the call. I pull out my phone. Okay, hold on. And I dial the company number. He pulls out the phone. See, the landlord is calling me. Hi, I'm OP. I'm standing right in front of you.

I don't think I'll be needing your services today. Goodbye. The guy stood there dumbstruck for a moment, then soakly walked back to his truck and left. My mom looked at me confused and asked in Chinese, what was that? I shrugged and answered, looks like we need to call another duck cleaning company.

Ma'am, I'm sorry for being sexist. Uh, and or racist. Actually, I was being an Ist in so many different ways. I'm not exactly sure which one offended you the most. Can I please still have your business? Our next reddit post is from Fluffle45. My husband works for a pretty prestigious university as the director of student life. He oversees a decent sized staff and their work encompasses all manner of student activities,

groups, Greek life, etc. A little background before I get to the incident. A few months ago we were expecting our baby. Most people on campus knew this and knew that my husband, let's call him Joe, would be taking paternity leave. When the big day came, I called him at work and told him, it's go time, meet me at the hospital. And he dropped everything and ran out the door, as you do.

In the delivery room, we had plenty of downtime, so from time to time, he checked his work email while I rested. He's looking through it and goes, what the... F? A professor wrote him the most caustic, unhinged rant, saying, basically, I came into your office to see you about a matter concerning my students, and you weren't there, despite the department hours clearly stating A to 5. This is unacceptable and unprofessional. Contact me immediately, etc.

He lulled and said, won't she feel silly when she gets his out of office reply? But no. Ten minutes later, she's harassing him again. Finally, he sent her a very tourist reply and it seemed that that was the end of that, but not for long. Every day for the next week, this professor came to the office demanding to know if Joe was there. More than one tear was shed by the staff during this time. I don't know exactly what she was saying or why no one else could do what she needed.

The staff was kind enough not to burden Joe with this while he was on paternity leave, but reports are it was like having an angry, de-mentor come through. On the first day Joe returned to work, he got to meet this professor face to face. He was in his office on FaceTime with me actually. When yelling erupts from down the hall. Uh oh, he says to me. But that's her. We hung up, and what conversation happened in that office can only be imagined. Or maybe he told me and I forgot. Hashtag newborn life. But by all accounts, she was cantankerous, I rate and incorrect in what she was trying to do

and could not be told otherwise. As he is in charge of the department, but not of her, he could only put his foot down on the request but not the behavior. Finally, she left and the whole situation was done and dusted, finished and forgotten, but again not for long. Fast forward to yesterday. I decided to pop in with the baby to surprise him and hopefully we could go to lunch. Also show off the baby of course. When we arrived

it was squeeze all around from the office staff, and one of the ladies took the baby for a tour around the building. I've been holding that kid for three months straight, so I was happy to let her. Joe's admin assistant told me he was in a meeting for another 10 minutes or so, and then she went off on the baby world tour. So I decided to sit in his office and enjoy merciful silence, but, and you guessed it, not for long. Enter the professor from heck.

I knew it was her before she said one word. She looked like an ivory tower caring with him, I want to talk to your dean, hairdo. Does nobody do any work around here? This is out Rages! Where's the administration assistant? Why is Joe even on the payroll if he is never here? Go find him. What?

Oh my effing gosh! Are you two effing hung over to accept simple direction? What the f is wrong with you? I'd kick your butt out of class looking like that. I don't care where he is. Go and get Joe. Oh, you think I'm a student. She says mockingly.

Oh, I'm gonna pretend I'm not a student now sitting in the office with the University's sweatshirt and a book bag. What group are you in? Because Joe will be very interested to hear how inept you are. I'm like, book bag. Oh yeah, diaper bag, lol. At this point, I decide to ride this out and hope he comes back and sees it in progress. Okay, let's say I'm a student, why do you think I work here? That was exactly the wrong, or right, depending on your point of view, thing to say. This lady came undone in a torrent of maniacal hissing and shrieking. Her vitriol knew no bounds as she directed it at me, the office staff, my husband, all

students except hers, the building itself. I've never seen such a tantrum. Give the baby a few years. As she's having her meltdown, I moved out of the chair where I'd been sitting and cycled up to a photo of our wedding that Joe hung up. I leaned against the wall like a laconic cowboy with my foot up. Arms folded, smirking. Unsurprisingly, she didn't notice the similarities between the beaming bride and the dumpy,

sleep deprived chick standing before her. But I remain committed to the con. After several moments of a non-soft torrent of verbal abuse, Joe's not even fit for community college. How the F did he get a job here? Was the one that made me chortle? She didn't like that much. I hear a flurry of footsteps come flying down the hall. The admin assistant comes sliding through the door light creamer, face white as a sheet. I ask her if Jo Juniors okay. Another coworker had him in another office because they heard the

crazy professor and didn't want his baby self to learn what madness lurks in the world at such a tender age. She has exactly enough time to answer yes before the professor unleashes the crack in in her direction. Vizavi, the ineptitude of muah, clutch pearls. The admin assistant says, wait, what are you talking about? That's Joe's wife. Me, still posed like the Marlboro man points at my picture. And right on cue, here comes the man of the hour, Joe, complete with Joe Jr. and arm. The coworker holding the baby had called

a cell phone and told him what was happening, and to get back here, ASAP. Joe was livid, but that eerie, scary sort that is a shot in Florida lovers delight when directed at a deserving recipient. He handed me the baby and asked if I was alright, then turned to the professor. Get out. Do not come back until I spoke to your department chair. I'm going to lunch. And then I say, boy, do I have a story to tell you?

And out the door we swept off to lunch where we got pizza and migraines from lapping so hard. So I actually know people who work in universities and I've heard some real horror stories. From what I've heard, yes professors really can be this egotistical. Have any of you had similar encounters with insanely entitled professors? If so, I want to hear from you down in the comments. Our next Reddit post is from him and horses. Some background before I start. I am in my 30s, have a bit of gray in my beard and regularly wear my hair in a ponytail. I retired from the military, and after a lifetime of being a non-commissioned

officer, apparently have an air of, I know what I'm doing, even when I clearly do not know what I'm doing. Add to this, that my primary job is horse training for dressage, so I tend to dress up a bit due to the nature of my clientele. What this means is that it is very common for me to be wearing slacks, a button down shirt, and a waistcoat. I get mistaken as management fairly often, though greater than 90% of the time, the people I'm interacting with simply apologize and go on their merry way. Every once in a while, it goes much worse.

This happened about three weeks ago. I had to have one of the rescue horses euthanized due to an injury that his emaciated body simply couldn't recover from. And this happened about a month after my elderly mayor, who was the best horse I've ever had the honor of knowing, had passed due to age. Suffice it to say, I was in a funk, but needs must, so off to the market I went for dinner supplies. As I'm browsing the shelves looking for an item, I can no longer recall. I hear someone clear their throat in the obvious, give me your attention, way.

Assuming that I'm in the way of their buggy, I step closer to the shelves without looking up. Q.A. A second louder throat clearing. I make the mistake of glancing in the direction of the sound. What I see is a stereotypical Karen standing behind her buggy, arms crossed, and looking at me very disapprovingly. While I don't recall exactly what was said through the entirety of her interaction, a good portion of it is burned into my memory. Now you acknowledge me, I've been standing here for 10 minutes, huh?

You gonna help me or not? Well given how rude you're being when we've just met, I would rather not. How dare you speak to a customer like that! What's wrong with you?" At this point, I briefly worry that she's one of my clients at the stable, but quickly decided that if she is, then I can stand losing her. Me, still thinking she might be a new client, but knowing that I always let them all know to address concerns at the stable directly or via my professional phone number.

I'm not working at the moment, so if you've got a problem, just leave me a message or swing by the office tomorrow. This needs to be addressed right now! Unsure of the exact wording here, but that was the gist of it. Well I doubt that. She proceeds to Prattalon about a rude employee who wouldn't get her some item And now it was no wonder since management was the same way. This is the point where I finally clue in I believe you're mistaken as I don't work here. I don't care if you're on break. You're the manager. Do your job

I say slowly and deliberately. I did not say I was on break. I said that I do not work here. Yes, you do, but you won't for long. Give me your regional manager's number right now. I laugh. Right, I'll get right on that for you. Saw it off. She sputters about rudeness and how loyal a customer she is, etc, etc.

I reiterate one last time that I don't work there. Decide that whatever I was looking for is probably unnecessary and turn to walk away. This is where she screws up a big time. After multiple combat tours, I don't deal well with large public spaces as it is, and I deal even less well with being pushed, grabbed, pulled, or other very sudden actions directed at me. She comes up behind me, grabs my right shoulder, and attempts to turn me around. I know she was talking and yelling at the time, but I don't know what she was saying. Out of reflex upon feeling the pull on my shoulder, I rotate my arm around hers, trap her hand with my other hand, and step through while pulling.

This puts her face first on the floor, and I've got her arm levered behind her with my knee on her back. As soon as I became aware, maybe two seconds after the initial grab, I let go, step back, and figure I'm screwed. She starts bawling about my breaking her arm. It wasn't, there was no actual damage to her, except the bruise where her face hit the floor, which causes an employee to come running. He asks if she is okay and what happened?

She screams about how she was just asking for help and I grabbed her and threw her down. He looks at me. He knows me because this is near my home and I'm there weekly. And I tell him to get a manager and call the police. This shift manager arrives before the employee can even take two steps and ask what happened. As this manager knows me very well, I teach his daughter to ride and we hang out fairly often. He hears what she says and responds with, when the police get here, they can review the

security video. Then ask the employee to escort me to the manager's office until the police arrive. At this point, I'm figuring that I am well and truly buggered. About 10 minutes later, still waiting for the police to arrive, I hear a commotion. Karen slams the door open and proceeds to scream at me at the top of her lungs. The first thought in my head was, well, I'm done. I stand up, square my shoulders, and turn on my sergeant voice. Quiet you ragged grunt, you assaulted me, you grabbed and pulled me.

I didn't survive three tours of combat just to be treated like trash in a supermarket. Is that how you treat all the people around you? Or just the ones you think are below you because they work in a place like this. At this point, she is silent and has gone full deer and headlights like a private who just got off the bus at basic training. I continue not noticing that there are now two police officers nearby. Nothing gives you the right to treat people like trash. Let alone put your grubby hands on them. You've probably gotten away with it before. It's just your

sotting luck to have put your hands on a veteran with PTSD this time. Now sit the F down and don't open your cock holster until someone asks you to. She sits quickly and quietly. The officers enter the room fully and I sit back down. One of them takes her out of the office. The other closes the door and asks me for my version of what happened. After I finish, he steps out, confers with his partner, then they speak to the manager and tautle off to watch the security video.

A few minutes later, they walk back in the office. I assume I'm to be arrested, so I turn about and put my hands behind my back because I don't want to give them any reason to view me as a threat. They then ask if I want to press charges. I turn around, see that they have HER in cuffs. They explain that when they came out from seeing the video, she verbally assaulted one of them. Then spit in his face when he told her that she could not press charges because she was

the aggressor. They were arresting her for assaulting the officer and wanted to know if I wanted to press charges for her assault on me. I was tired, I was hungry, and I just wanted to go home. I told them as much, and they left. My buddy, the manager, came in after that and gave me a ride home because I was really in no shape to be driving.

Um, so here's a life pro tip for you. Don't assault combat veterans. Not only will they absolutely wipe the floor with you, but you're also going to come off looking like an absolute D-bag. Our next rid of posters from B2S. I work at a hospital as an ER nurse, which means when I started 7am, by 9 in the morning, all the flips I possess are gone, and by the end of my 12 and a half hour shift, I'm pretty much just done with people in general. Don't get me wrong, I love my job, but fighting Darwinism can be exhausting. So after a rather grueling shift, I sought by the grocery store for dinner. I'm tired

and feeling super lazy at this point, so even though I'm only grabbing a couple of things, I use a regular cart, cause you know, I can lean on it. I do my shopping, pay for my goods, and head out to my truck. Just to inform, no khakis were involved here. Store employees wear dark brown slacks, white colored shirts, and ties.

I was wearing an incredible scrub top. Yes, the animated movie. No, you can't judge me. And bright blue scrub pants. After loading my groceries, I, of course, return my wheeled crutch. A hymn, shopping cart. To the crowd and return to my truck, when I see a harpy with a resting jerk face that would make loa's from Malcolm in the middle proud screams across the lot. Boy, I'm done, you can take my card now. Huh?

I know I look young, but really? Boy, come over here and take my card. Yeah, I don't work here, sorry. Just do your dang job and take my CART! That's gonna be a hard no for me, sorry. I start again back towards my truck. Harvey at this point decides to thrust her cart towards me. It rolls as carts with wheels are one to do, And to me, it's like a train wreck. I want

to look away, but I can't. I mesmerized by the free range movement of this cart as it runs right into a Jaguar, a nice, clean one, with dealer plaques still on where the license plate should be. And a woman who totally looked like a Karen, you know the type, just getting out. The Karen obviously starts screaming and hollering as only a Karen can. Harpy is trying to blame me for not running out to catch the cart. I'm trying very hard not to start laughing. I finally get back to my truck as Herpy is screaming at me to stop because this is my fault because I should have collected her cart in the first place. The last thing I heard before closing my door and driving off was

the caron screaming at Herpy about how he's effing wearing scrubs. How could any idiot think he works here? I think this was the first time I've ever rooted for a caron. That was our slash. I don't work here, lady, and if you enjoyed my content, please like and subscribe this video because it honestly really helps me out. subscribe this video because it honestly really helps me out.