First read this… I’ve decided to tell you a story. You’ll find the other parts of the story by following “Amusement” tags on the homepage.
His tantrum escalated as his wife pleaded with him to pick up the bags and comply. He was having none of it.
“Jim,” she begged near tears and shaking like a leaf, obviously afraid of him, “Please, honey, please just don’t do this. They’re trying to do their jobs. You’re scaring the kids.” And with that last sentence she broke down sobbing, and all four kids, who were surprisingly calm thus far, all decided that they should follow her lead. Three of them sobbed so hard they were gasping and choking on tears and snot, while the baby on her back wailed high-pitched screams.
This did nothing to change Jim’s attitude for the better. Rather, he stomped around grabbing bags one-by-one from everywhere he’d thrown them and slammed them into a pile in front of Nina. I instructed her to leave, to get out of the area and breathe herself back to calmness. We were four minutes into this bullshit, and security still hadn’t arrived.
Nina started to walk away, and the guy yelled after her, “So you’re not going to check my fucking bags after all, bitch?” and began piling them on top of his children again, making motions to leave. I stood my ground, stepped out in front of him with my arms spread wide in a “you’re not getting past me, lowlife” stance.
“Sir, you’ll have to wait here until security arrives,” I said with an icy stare, and in a very flat tone. “Simply, you’re not coming in until your things have been inspected, as is the case with every guest we see.”
He turned a deeper shade of red, crimson, and I took a step back as his meaty fingers balled into a fist. His wife grabbed his arm. He yanked it away from her forcefully, causing her to face-plant on the kids in the stroller, and went to swing at me. I ducked his swing and his fist smacked into the pole behind me, effectively opening three of his knuckles. And then security arrived, two guards, instructing me to walk away, removing myself from his line of vision.
And boy did I walk away, flipping him off in my first few backward steps, yelling, “You gonna beat your wife when you get home? Your kids? Have a great evening, buddy! I hope you enjoy the rest of your visit!”
And he lunged at me. But security blocked him and shook their heads at me in a “bad idea” kind of a way, and I proceeded to my break area to punch a couple of lockers and kick a trashcan.
I spent a good twenty minutes back there trying to calm down, relaying the story to other disgruntled employees, much to their amusement and disgust. In camaraderie, they shared their own horror stories, and pretty soon we were ALL pissed off, but laughing because we all understood the ridiculousness we had to deal with almost daily.
A manager came and found me in the break area and asked me to come downstairs to write a statement of the event, which annoyed me because I was so close to clocking out, and this would extend my shift by about a half hour. But my compliance was necessary, obviously, as every other employee who’d witnessed the assholery had to do the same, and hopefully our stories would, for the most part, match. So I went downstairs with the manager, Lana, and took my time carefully writing my statement, trying to use my time efficiently before clocking out.
