This manager of a soap and candle store gets a Retail Balls Award for immediately throwing out a rude custy after she called the cashier "that little bitch." They refused to allow the woman to continue talking in that manner. More times than not, foul-mouthed, swearing, horrible custys get their way and managers will continue attempting to assist them trying to resolve the problem. The manager was having none of the crusty's bullshit and we applaud them for it. 

From Catalystic_mind, Tales From Retail:

This happened a few days ago and I'm still incredibly pissed off about it.

Our store which is in the land of soaps, lotions, and candles, has a semi annual sale. This sale has made us crazy busy and our backroom is pretty much empty.

Last week I was closing with three associates and desperately trying to make our store look "full" I had my two experienced employees pulling stock from our offsite and our backroom while my one new seasonal employee helped me on the floor. After making sure Floor Associate was good at register, I went to the front to greet people and start a list of product that we needed to rearrange or fill.

We only had three customers. One was an older woman shopping by herself. The other two were a couple, older man and woman, woman was shopping, man was standing there with a look that some men get in our store.

We have tons of stuff on different tables but occasionally it gets switched around. We honor it if it accidentally gets put on a lesser price table.

Single Woman walks up to my Floor Associate to ring up. After a couple of minutes, I hear her yelling at my Associate and immediately walk back. My FA is standing there shaking and has tears going down her face. This woman is yelling at her that the candle needs to be a lower price and that she's incompetent at her job.

I walk up to FA and tell her to go to the backroom to sit down for a few minutes. She wordlessly walks back while trying to not cry.

SW "THIS CANDLE HERE..."

Me "I'm sorry ma'am, it's difficult to understand you when you're yelling. Could you please repeat that?"

SW "THAT LITTLE BITCH RANG THIS UP AS THE WRONG PRICE."

Me "Excuse me?"

SW "SEE, SHE.."

Me "No ma'am, Excuse me, do not speak that way about my associates."

SW "I'LL DO WHATEVER THE FUCK.."

Me now uncharacteristically being forceful and talking over her, "Nope, nope, nope. I'm sorry but no. You don't speak that way to my associates, you don't speak that way to me. I'm sorry but you now need to leave. You will no longer be purchasing this candle. Here's our corporate number, you're welcome to call them and I've listed my name here."

SW "How dare you?! I want that little bitch's name too!"

Me "I'm not releasing her name but I'm giving you mine. I will be calling my store manager and my district manager to let them know the situation."

SW calls me all sorts of things and walks out.

Other couple approaches counter and the woman says "I'd like your corporate number too. That woman acted atrociously toward that young lady and I don't want that sweet girl to get in trouble."

I thank them and immediately add a coupon onto their transaction for making me feel better. The woman also gives me her number to give to my manager.

I can't get over how the first woman acted. I've seen a lot of crazy stuff go down as a manager but never anything quite like a woman verbally attacking my Associate.

--Catalystic_mind

From Djrobl

From pillysutty, AskReddit

Well this was one of my favorites. Being a cop in a small town, I would get a few large parties (150+ kids) with a lot of kids coming from outlying areas. I'm generally pretty nice to the young adults who live in the area I police, and am generally well liked. But to the kids who come from different towns to party, well, they obviously don't know/like me.

Anyhow, this one party, I pull up and start walking around, turning a little bit of a blind eye to the underage drinking. I talk to the homeowner's son (parents away), and just ask him to try and get rid of some people, and move the party indoors and close the windows, as there have been too many neighbor complaints. He says he'll do what he can do. All nice and cordial.

Anyhow, this one punk standing there with a Lucky beer in his hand, starts mouthing me off and bragging to his buddies. Just average shit like 'hey pig', 'eat any donuts yet?' and just generally swearing and saying how I can't do shit about what he's saying, and that I can't arrest him for dipp as he's on private property. (dipp = drunk in public place)

I don't give him any satisfaction of acknowledgment. I have a thick skin, else I wouldn't be a cop. But I had other calls to attend to, so left. NO further complaints from the party, as the homeowner asked many people to leave.

A few hours later I'm driving back to the office (donut free), and pull over a car for doing 15km/hr over the limit on the highway. Usually I give cars at least 20km/hr on the highway before pulling them over, as well, that's what I normally do on the highway. Wouldn't be right to give people tickets for something I do all the time.

Well, it's the dipshit driving who'd been mouthing me off. Amazing how nice he was to me at this point in time. Complete attitude change. I didn't let him know that I remembered him from the party. (And I now had his name and vehicle plate so I could always look out for him in the future.)

Long story short, he got tickets for speeding, only having one active headlight, failure to display an 'N' sign (new driver law here.. N on rear of vehicle lets other drivers know this person just got his license), having more than one non-family member passenger (another new driver law), and not wearing a seatbelt.

As I remembered him drinking, I also demanded a roadside breathalyzer test. He wasn't drunk but had some alcohol in his system. So I also give him a 24hr roadside prohibition from driving, and towed his vehicle.

I slept well that night. Also, three months later after running his license on our system, the insurance company had prohibited him from driving for three months.

--pillysutty

--grillot2

--zombiejosh

From RHUer

Okay, get this. I'm a skinny guy, and a cart wrangler for a warehouse style store.

Now picture what I have to deal with: our cart return bays are huge compared to most others. They actually do take up an entire parking space worth of area. So of course when customers actually return carts to the bay, they don't necessarily line them up in neat rows. If I want to gather up carts, I have to go into the bay and straighten out the hodge podge of carts going every which way so that I can remove a line of carts.

I'm not complaining, mind, since most of the customers DO actually put the carts into the return bay. But it does give you a picture for what's upcoming.

It's a busy day. We have four cart wranglers doing full time duty running back and forth with lines of carts to keep up with the stream of holiday shoppers, who snap up the carts almost faster than we can return them.

Of course, the parking lot is full so there are no close spots. Aaand you're getting the picture.

I'm in a cart return bay, straightening carts when I hear the rumbling of a large truck motor close behind me... TOO close.

I spin around and Doucheboy is trying to pull into the cart bay with his jumbo-diesel-penis-euphemism-truck.

"Hey!" I yell, "This isn't a parking space!"

No response; Doucheboy is still trying to maneuver his truck into the bay, and the rumble of his motor practically drowns me out.

I am NOT being paid to get run over by this asshole! I can either climb the hood of the oncoming truck, climb over rows of tightly nested shopping carts that block me from ducking under the side bars, or climb out the back, which has a twelve foot high dirt embankment planted with large oleander bushes.

I choose the oleander bushes, shouting and swearing and gesturing rudely at the driver. He finally realizes that there are obstacles to getting in, when his front bumper has located the carts and they have no intention of giving in easily.

He stops, rolls down his window and yells at me to, "Get those fucking carts out of my way!"

I yell back that this isn't a parking space and he needs to park somewhere else.

He tells me again to move the carts (...even if I wanted to... HOW?! he was blocking the only entrance to the cart bay!)

I tell him he can't park here.

"I'll park where I want!"

He backs up six inches, shifts it into drive and floors it, banging into the carts again while I shriek like a howler monkey and climb farther into the oleanders while the carts jerk and jostle beneath me.

I make a rude sexual gesture involving my fist and other such inappropriate gestures while hanging like a demented monkey from the oleander bushes.

He's yelling at me, I'm gesturing back, and (thank god) one of the other cart wranglers apparently saw the situation and radioed for aid.

I don't know what was said to trigger urgency in the response, but two police cars come screaming into the parking lot just a few minutes later. They get a perfect view of the Doucheboy backing up three feet and then slamming forward with tires squealing as he tries to force his car in among the carts. Some of the carts are actually humping up into the air under the pressure.

They can clearly see me, trapped halfway up the embankment and in serious danger. (I owe my life to those carts since they were all nested snugly and resistant to his attempts. I don't know how to repay my debt.)

It takes four cops with guns drawn and aimed at the cabin to wake Doucheboy up, whereupon me meekly opens his door and is dragged out and slammed to the asphalt.

He's sniveling and crying about "Ow!" and "Don't hurt me!" and "I didn't do anything!"

One of the officers comes to help me out of the oleanders and helps to steady me as I skid awkwardly down the embankment. (I am not in great shape and can only attribute a Superman's jolt of adrenaline to my shooting halfway up a very steep dirt cliff.)

Doucheboy just can't understand why he's in trouble, and why he's being arrested for trying to park, and he spends a lot of money here and we can't treat him like this. Weh, weh, weh. He had this high pitched whiny shriek of a voice that cut through my eardrums.

Since we won't shut the fuck up about how it's not his fault and they can't do this and why is he being treated like this, and he won't stop whining long enough for a cop to ask what his friggin NAME is, he's shut into the back of the patrol car while another officer tries to get the story out of me. I can actually hear him thumping on the reinforced glass and howling about "You can't do this! Do you know who I am?! Do you know who my father is?! You'll never get a job again! You'll be homeless under a bridge, you hear me? A BRIDGE!"

Unbelieveable.

By now we've got managers out there with us, along with another cart wrangler who explains his side of the story, collaborating mine. I'm drawn off to try to calm down.

The cops promised to throw the book at him. The cop's dash cams captured the scene in full; the ramming, me coming down from the bushes with the aid of an officer, and all of his screaming.

We have to replace several dozen carts, which were warped by the impact of his truck, and plan to add that to the tab.

The court date isn't for a while, but I kind of look forward to seeing the footage and him trying to tell the judge how he wasn't endangering my life.

--RHUer