Horribly Entitled People

December 7, 2023 | Samantha Henman

Horribly Entitled People

Greedy family members. Customers with a chip on their shoulder. No-boundary neighbors. Unfortunately, entitled people lurk among us every day. Most of the time, they’re easy to ignore—but some arrogant jerks are so bad that they’re impossible to forget. These Redditors came together to share the stories of the worst entitled people they’ve ever encountered—and they’re utterly infuriating.

1. One At A Time, Please

My half-brother and my best friend, who've been dating for three years, decided to tie the knot. Needless to say, I was over the moon. I was selected as the maid of honor and my full-brother got the nod as the best man. We were tight as a unit. Well, almost all of us, except for one—my sibling's annoying best friend.

I've always found him obnoxious and he used to hit on me when my sibling was not around. My brother is quite protective, but I never let him know what was happening, mostly for the sake of avoiding conflict, and because I can handle it. Luckily, the pestering stopped when this guy finally landed himself a girlfriend.

As the wedding planning rolled on, everything was pretty standard, just the regular wedding fuss. We invited nearly everyone we were close to and we all looked forward to what we assumed would be a superb day. The occasion itself was gorgeous and everything was just right, right up until the reception.

The bridal party was front and center, with guests facing us at the head of the room. Speeches were given and the delicious food was enjoyed when suddenly, my sibling's best friend decides to cause a scene.

Having already finished his speech, we were all puzzled when he grabbed the mic again. He summoned his girlfriend to the front and started waxing lyrical about his love for her. It was clear she didn't expect this public display. Then, his knee hit the floor, a ring was produced, and he proposed. Amid the furore, the newlyweds my half-brother and best friend, looked shell-shocked.

The newly-betrothed couple started strutting around showing off the ring, leaving their celebration on the sidelines. In a hushed conversation, my brothers seemed unsettled. My mom finally reminded everyone the purpose of the day was to celebrate her son's wedding, not an entirely different engagement.

The room fell silent. Suddenly, his girlfriend broke the calmness, screaming that my mom had marred her special moment. Then the so-called "best friend" decided to chime in as well. Conclusively, they got shown the door. With his lousy stunt, he may have gained a fiancee, but he lost a best friend and a whole squad of pals.

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2. Karens Gonna Karen

My spouse needed a few groceries, so I decided to help out and went shopping with our four-year-old stepson. It's always great to have some father-son bond...but the day turned out to be one we'll always remember.

We were progressing with our tasks and were finally at the supermarket. Ryan's youthful spirit had him dashing about and welcoming friends everywhere he turned. I keep an eye on the little guy, making sure he doesn't bump into anyone. While I was hunting for canned corn, he wanders off to another aisle where an elderly lady is coming.

He cheerfully introduced himself, and she gently scolds him saying he should not be wandering about on his own. I thought she hadn't noticed me nearby and beckoned Ryan to return, who duly did, spinning around with four-year-old cheer; entertaining even in a supermarket aisle.

As I tried to move on, I noticed the lady kept blocking my path. Annoyed, yet patient, I tried to manoeuvre around, which she recurrently blocked. She then upped the ante. She accused me of child abduction, saying that because I'm Mexican and Ryan is white, I must have been attempting to kidnap him.

While my son clung on to me, frightened by the commotion, the lady leapt, grabbed him, and started to bolt with him. Left shocked, I found my footing and sprinted after her. Alerted by my cries, store staff intervened, stopping her from escaping. She then attempted to say Ryan was her grandchild, which he adamantly refused.

By this point, a manager arrived. It was a full-on scene now. The woman falsely accused me of kidnapping Ryan. I showed the manager photos on my phone as evidence of our relationship, which the lady questioned.

Two other women surprisingly joined in, cementing her lies against me. One even called the authorities. In light of the unfolding chaos, I hurriedly rang my wife, urgently requesting her presence to help

Upon arriving, the officers had already started questioning the women. As soon as my wife walked in, Ryan cried out for her, powering up her protective instincts. She demanded them to release Ryan, who they belatedly did while blaming me. Riled up, she revealed I was her husband and produced her ID and family pictures as proof.

Despite the face-palm moment, the trio's reaction was infuriating. They firmly stuck to their fanciful narrative, claiming my wife and I were involved in a sinister plot. Finally, the manager offered to show the surveillance tape leading to stunned silence amongst the ladies.

Sure enough, the footage confirmed our account, leading to charges against the trio. Remarkably, the woman wished to press charges, only to find that she ended up facing charges of attempted kidnapping, false imprisonment, filing a false report, child endangerment, and luckily enough, child abuse, as the rough handling had bruised Ryan. So, a whirlwind day at the supermarket!

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3. Should’ve Laid Off The Bottle(s)

So, last week I got home from work, and the first thing I saw was that my shed was wide open and my padlock was broken. Now, you have to understand, me and my pals are soda aficionados, so I've been collecting cans for about a year—there were a lot of them. And there was a plan to take them to the recycling machine soon because I relish a hefty payout. In my part of town, you get ten cents a can.

However, I quickly realized it wasn’t just my precious can collection that was missing. Thieves also took my garden shears, steel rake, couple of shovels, a full gas tank, a power drill, an electric hedge trimmer, even a small electric chainsaw and a machete. Not sure why, but they didn’t touch my lawnmower, weed whacker, extension cords or my old radio.

While I was puzzled about their choices, I decided to check my security tapes to find the culprits. And what I saw gave me a chill. There were my three teenage nephews, breaking into my shed with their dad's recognizable large hammer.

They were swift. They shattered the lock in no time, loaded their loot and came back for the rest with shopping carts. Not even bothering to close the door when they left. My sister and brother-in-law refused to believe their sons stole anything from me, despite the evidence.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time those boys robbed me. It started with food and snacks, then moved on to DVDs and video games, and later, anything else they could sneak out. The worst came last year when they broke into my house using my spare key and looted the liquor cabinet...but it gets worse. They relieved themselves in my bathroom, without cleaning the mess.

When I'd confront them and ask for my things back, I'd get fake apologies and was treated like the one in the wrong. The parents never punished them either and often dismissed their behavior with the age-old “boys will be boys” excuse. So, I decided to install cameras secretly. The sly move paid off when I showed my sister and brother-in-law the footage of their sons stealing from me. However, they seemed angrier at them for skipping school than for robbing me.

Their day out wasn’t without rewards. Those boys managed to cash in nearly $200 at the bottle drop, which they later spent on video games and snacks. I demanded to be reimbursed for that along with the cost of the broken lock from my sister and her husband.

Their reactions varied from anger to making excuses for the boys and eventually being upset with me for wanting my money back when they are already struggling with financial responsibilities. I told them they now owe me $200 or else I go to the authorities. They asked me to leave, and so, I did, but not before giving them a two-day deadline for compensation.

I recovered the other stolen items, except for the gas. The countless messages from my sister, her husband, and my nephews were a mixture of anger, threats, and more fake apologies. Even my eldest nephew sent me a picture of himself with a soda can, flipping me off. They weren’t taking my threats of calling the authorities seriously and even blamed me for tempting the boys with the cans in my shed.

Fed up, I went to the station, handed them the stolen lock, footage of the robbery and all the text messages as evidence. I also voiced my concern about the stolen machete. The weekend came and the boys were detained. They cried when confronted by the law, while their bravado evaporated.

Soon after, my sister and her husband bombarded me with calls again. The boys can't be bailed until Monday and are now facing charges of theft, vandalism, and harassment. Given their pattern, they might be accused of other thefts in the area too. My sister and her husband showed up at my door, but I didn’t open it and warned that I’d call the authorities if they didn’t leave. They kept sending me messages, which I decided to keep for my records.

I have already replaced the broken lock and don't need the money back. But both the parents and their kids need to understand there are consequences. My family supports me in this matter because my nephews have stolen from them too. Some have even banned those boys from their houses.

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4. All This Over A Parking Space

I work as a paramedic and often have to respond to calls from areas with HOAs and apartment buildings. We don't love going to apartment complexes since it's hard to find parking that isn't reserved or in a fire zone. If we don't find a spot, we're forced to block the driveway. Our team uses emergency responder vehicles and ambulances. The first responder, usually me, tries to make sure we leave enough space for the ambulance.

One particular call had us heading to an apartment complex. As the first responder, I found a parking spot just two apartments away from the unit we were called to by pure luck. This meant I could save room for the ambulance. But then a man comes out yelling that I can't park there, despite my vehicle's flashing lights. I explained it's a medical emergency but he wouldn't listen. So, I locked my vehicle and headed to answer the call.

While I was inside attending to the patient, an officer arrived. That's when the man had a full-blown hissy fit. The man was still yelling about my parking and even barged into the room where I was treating the patient. I turned to the officer to get this man out from the room. Upon the officer's inquiry, the patient asked for the man to be removed, accusing him of trespassing. This clearly upset the man who insisted he was part of the HOA board and had rights to be there. More officers were called in, providing security so we could safely escort the patient out.

While all this was happening, I was inside the ambulance. As I got off, an officer approached, apologizing for needing another ambulance since they had to taze the man. Apparently, if someone gets tazed, they need to be taken to the hospital, because those taser prongs need to be surgically removed.

A few weeks later, I learned the man was charged with trespassing, assault on an officer, resisting arrest, and interfering with the scene of an emergency—all over a parking spot that I would've left within 20 minutes if he hadn't caused a scene. I don't know the final outcome—maybe he made a plea deal, because I was never summoned to testify.

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5. When You Assume…You Know The Rest

As someone who flew frequently, regular seat upgrades to business or first-class were pretty common for me. On the flight in question, I boarded later than most due to a prior connection. To my surprise, someone was already occupying my upgraded seat.

If you're a regular flyer, it's not a rarity for someone to be sitting in your seat. But this incident left a mark. I mentioned casually, "Hey, I think you're in my spot". The man nonchalantly said he wanted to sit next to his wife and suggested a swap without even glancing at me. I asked for his seat details.

He smirks and tells me his seat was in the last row, by the loo. Yes, I’ve traveled there a few times. Mind you, my seat was in the business class section. I've given up my seat to others plenty of times for the sheer joy it brings them.

But his arrogance made me not want to help him I refused and asked him to vacate my seat. His response was a defiant 'no', as he wanted to sit next to his wife. I suggested he switch with whoever was sitting next to his original seat instead.

Unhappy and cornered, he just glared at me. I decided to call the air hostess. She compared both our boarding passes and gave him a befuddled look. When he reiterated his intent, I echoed my earlier idea.

This visibly angered him. The flight attendant confirmed with his wife if she wanted to shift, to which she curtly said ‘no'. The hostess then firmly reminded him of his obligation to sit in his assigned seat, leaving him no choice.

It was a rather sorry sight watching him sulk to the back of the plane, clutching his belongings. His wife chose to sit quietly beside me while he sat alone at the back. We didn’t exchange a single word, which suited me just fine. It was rather audacious of him to assume that someone would willingly give up a first-class seat for one at the rear, next to the toilet.

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6. Mi Casa Es Not Karen’s Casa

Yesterday, I learned that my bossy Aunt Karen had passed on. Her husband rang me, inviting me to the funeral. I demurred, as did my older brother Mark. Karen was my mom's big sister who always found a way to meddle with my mother and her kids. She couldn't stand my dad and tried to persuade my mom that marrying him was a mistake.

She disapproved of the name that my parents chose for my older brother. The day before my birth, my great-grandmother passed on and when Karen heard that they planned to name me after her, she had a fit. She absurdly insisted that she had dibs on the name for her imaginary future kid and tried to argue that the name was too old-fashioned and kids would mock me.

She spoke ill of my and my brother's friend choices and managed to complain when I took up softball, because in her world "decent girls" didn't do sports. If she had a daughter who dared to play a sport, she would yank her off the team immediately. By the way—she never had kids. A day after my sweet 16, my parents went on a business trip to California.

My dad promised that when they returned, he would take me to the DMV to get my driving license. But that never happened. On their way to California, they slipped on ice, crashed, and didn't make it. For quite a while afterward, I was devastated. Attending my graduation seemed pointless because they wouldn't be there. In their will, everything was divided evenly between Mark and me.

At the funeral, Mark mentioned to my parents' production manager Tim that he would step in to take over the family business in a few weeks. Mark placed his trust in Tim to keep things running smoothly until then and to guide him through the transition. As for me, I tended to stay out of it while it provided me a secure summer job when I was a kid.

I simply cashed the profit checks until I eventually sold my half of the business to Mark, who still manages it today. Mark asked Tim to reassure staff that their positions were secure and there would be no drastic changes. Until one day, Aunt Karen showed up and began occupying my parents' office.

When Tim questioned her about this, she arrogantly fired him. Tim alerted Mark, who turned up with the family lawyer, a few officers, and the necessary paperwork to eject her. She insisted the business was now hers because it belonged to her sister.

Throughout her life, Karen never held down a steady job and has been married thrice. She evidently squeezed every last cent from each husband before moving on to the next. As I was leaving for school one day, I noticed her car and a moving van parked outside our family house. She informed me she was moving into "her" house…but that’s not the worst of it.

In a nauseatingly sweet voice, she offered that for a "fair" rent, she would let me live there until I graduate high school. I rang Mark, who again showed up with the family lawyer, officers, and the required paperwork to get her off the property. While this was happening, I was at school, so I didn't see it unfold.

In the evening, Mark gave me a business card (belonging to what seemed like an officer who had been involved in the earlier altercation). He instructed me to call the number on the card if I noticed Aunt Karen on or near our property and to report her right away. Interestingly enough, the movers charged her for their futile trip across town.

All this had me on edge; I became so worried that I didn’t even like our dog going out in the backyard when I was at school. I used to let her outdoor to play in the enclosed backyard during school hours. For a while, I kept her in the locked garage, and I'd clean up after her when I got home in the afternoon.

Eventually, Karen relocated to Colorado where she supposedly met and married the guy who called me to inform me of her passing and invite me to the funeral. I politely declined, choosing not to mention her antics. Mark reacted similarly when he got the call.

Besides Mark, myself, and Mark's baby girl, Karen doesn’t have any other living relatives. I still own the house (Mark gifted his half to me as part of the deal where I sold him my half of the business), but I still occupy my old bedroom. I miss my parents and think about them every day. Even though I’m 20, own a spacious house and have lots of money in the bank, I would trade all of it in a heartbeat to have my parents back.

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7. Shifting The Focus

I'm employed at a major grocery store chain in an upscale neighborhood. Though you might expect our clientele to be full of stereotypical 'Karens', you'd be surprised how warm and wonderful most of them are. However, one day as I was gathering shopping carts, I overheard one woman murmuring on the phone: "I just don't get why they come to our country when they can't even speak the language properly. Just look at this one here, she's probably a terrorist”!

I noticed in the window's reflection that she was trailing behind a young lady wearing a hijab and accompanied by a child. The young mom had just situated her son in a cart and appeared on the verge of tears. I didn’t waste any time and decided to intervene. I turned to the 'Karen' and exclaimed loudly, "Hey! Your prejudice is not accepted here! Just because I'm Irish does not imply any ties with the IRA"!

Both 'Karen' and the young lady wore shocked expressions on their faces. 'Karen' had the audacity to point at the young woman but I was already on a roll. Speaking to the young woman, I continued: "Did you hear that? This woman just branded me a terrorist! I may speak Gaelige, wear a Catholic cross, and I’m proudly Irish, but let me be clear—I AM NOT A TERRORIST"!

My manager sauntered over, drawn by the commotion. "This woman accused me of being a terrorist"! I blurted, turning to the young woman and asking for confirmation. My manager immediately understood the situation, reprimanding 'Karen' for her unacceptable behaviour and insisting she leave.

Having been rendered speechless, 'Karen' turned sharply and exited the store. Apologizing to the young woman for the raised voices, but affirming my pride in my identity, I stressed, "If you need any assistance while shopping, please don’t hesitate to ask me or any of our friendly staff”. The woman thanked me and rolled her cart away, her face transformed by a wide grin.

My manager later remarked, "Entertainment tonight: $0. Teaching Karen a lesson about discrimination: $0. Seeing that young woman walking away sporting a grin like the Cheshire cat: priceless".

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8. Giving Them A Taste Of The Local Hospitality

A couple of years back, I moonlighted as a local tour guide during my downtime from work. I had this two-week-on, two-week-off rotation going at my primary job, and while it paid well, having a little extra pocket change never hurt. Essentially, I showed folks the hidden gems of my hometown, places they wouldn't know existed or plan to visit.

I insisted on upfront payment, and clients signed a contract to safeguard my truck from any nasty spills or damage. Thankfully, it was smooth sailing with everyone appreciating and enjoying the secret spots I revealed to them. Except for one family. They appeared friendly when doling out the cash and signing the agreement. My rate, by the way, was $15 per hour + $75 ($35 for a half day).

That fee included a full gas tank and my time as your chauffeur around town. I also offered complimentary water and snacks. Essentially, you were signing up for exclusive local insights and interesting tidbits about the area's past. Loads of customers often told me they'd witnessed more awesome things on my tour than anywhere else before. Perhaps you could get a less costly guide, but I wasn't bothered.

As soon as this family paid up, their vibes shifted. They began treating me as inferior. I didn't mind much as I already had their money. I took them around breath-taking landscapes that usually leave visitors spellbound. But to my surprise, they just seemed unimpressed with every stop.

We visited a ski town (not Aspen) favored by celebs, and they were indifferent. I must admit their lackluster reaction stung a bit. They didn't cause any trouble during the day, but they shockingly expected me to cover lunch for them. As stated, you buy my time—meals are on you.

Things got intriguing when we returned to the city and I dropped them off at their hotel. The wife instructed me to park at the rear and leave the keys at the reception, for the "Smith family". I was taken aback. I patiently explained that this was my truck and didn't come with the package.

The wife arrogantly assumed that the truck was company-owned. I clarified that I operated solo and independently on my free days and that I owned the vehicle. But she threatened to report me to my superior. I calmly informed her that I was, in fact, my own boss.

Undeterred, the wife demanded to speak to my manager. I briefly considered driving away but thought of a more fun solution. I reached out to Dan, my supervisor at my regular job, who was well aware of my side job and had even recommended a few people. On answering, I handed over the phone to the woman, who smugly continued the truck argument.

Dan, known for his colorful language, gave her an earful. She retreated, returning my phone and mentioned that he wanted to speak to me before leaving. Dan checked if I was okay, and I thanked him for his help. Proving yet again that clients like them were few and far between.

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9. A Restraining Order In The Making

At present, I'm eight months into expecting my first baby. I've been occupying a secretary position on a hospital's inpatient ward for the second shift since I was 19, paying my way through college. Over the years, my colleagues have basically become a second family to me. I broke my pregnancy news to them when I was four months along, and all seemed pleased except Patty, who was oddly silent.

Gradually, Patty started to interact with me more, showing interest in my baby, my health, and upcoming plans. I let her know that my partner and I were looking forward to getting married, moving in together, and starting a family. For reasons unbeknownst to me, Patty reacted strangely to this, even suggesting I consider adoption. I immediately ruled out any thought of giving up my child.

Following that, Patty avoided me for weeks. Out of the blue, one evening post-visiting hours, I was greeted by a couple in their 40s. They arrived too late to see any patients so I told them they could return the following day. Startlingly, the woman told me they were excited to meet me in person and thank me for deciding to give them my baby.

Their statement left me thunderstruck. I was so shaken by the woman's attempt to pat my six-month-pregnant bump that I let out a loud scream, prompting the team of nurses to scramble my way. The couple then tried to explain to me, the security team and the on-duty nurses that Patty assured them I was willingly giving up my baby for adoption.

They further mentioned that Patty had promised them my baby as they had been dealing with infertility issues for many years. I assured them I had absolutely no intention of giving up my baby and told them to stay clear of me. I also mentioned that I didn't even know their sister-in-law, but they were adamant that I did. The very next evening, Patty approached my desk, furiously accusing me of mistreating her brother and sister-in-law.

Patty's outbursts led to her being banned by security, along with her brother and sister-in-law, from being around or contacting me at work.

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10. Eat Your Words

About half a year ago, I relocated to a different city for my new job. There, we work 12-hour shifts that run either from 8 in the morning to 8 in the evening, or vice versa. Being a passionate food lover with high-energy needs, I tend to prepare and bring a lot of food from my home (which includes breakfast, two time slots for snacks, lunch or a couple of dinners, and a spot reserved for sweet baked goods).

Usually, I enjoy sharing meals with my four team members, who typically grab their meals from the workplace's cafeteria. Guess you could say, I derive pleasure from sharing my food and often I pack extras for that very reason.

Recently, I received a call from a female colleague, whose husband happens to be part of my team, and she works in the opposite shift. The exchange didn't exactly start out nicely. She swiftly launched into a demand that I should stop bringing my home-cooked meals and should stick to the cafeteria food like the majority of employees.

To this, I firmly replied that I won't change my eating habits and that she really didn’t have the authority to request that of me. To provoke me further, she shared that for the past six months her husband has been juxtaposing her and my actions (specifically my cooking, presentability, and cheerfulness). I genuinely felt sympathy for her situation but stated that such an issue is best sorted out between the two of them, as it doesn’t really concern me.

Despite the tension, I reassured her that my homemade meals would continue to make their way to my workplace. In response, she threw out a rude insult and abruptly ended the call.

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11. What’s Mine Isn’t Yours

When my little sister was having a tough time, living recklessly and dabbling in risky behaviors, she found herself pregnant. She gave birth at just 18 years old, a mere few weeks before I turned 21. After the birth, she made it clear she didn't want to raise the child; she'd even neglect basic care tasks.

So, even though I wasn't planning on having kids myself, I made the choice to adopt my newborn niece. My boyfriend at the time, whom I had been with for three years, gave me a harsh ultimatum. It was him or the baby. He wasn't on board having kids either. Obviously, I chose her. He left and all of a sudden, I was a single mom.

As a solo parent, the first few years were a struggle, but we managed without any involvement from my sister. I never hid the truth from my daughter. She knew she was adopted, but I always told her how much I loved her and that I was her real mom. When my daughter was six, my sister, now sober, wanted to reconnect.

I agreed to it, but with a condition: she had to act as an aunt, not a mom, and she've agreed. Although it's been hard for her at times, I put a stop to any motherly behaviors. Now, my daughter is eight, and I've received a job offer in a different country. The salary is nearly double, and they're assisting with housing and school arrangements. It's an offer I can't refuse.

However, my family isn't taking this news very well. They're upset by the idea of me “stealing" my daughter away from them and argue it's unfair to my sister. My sister has even threatened to take me to court to regain custody.

I've consulted with lawyers, and they agree that she doesn't have a case since my daughter is legally mine. Yet, despite this, my family is insisting I'm being excessively heartless and that I should be prioritizing my sister over my career. It's an irony coming from a family that's spoiled my sister from the start—she's currently living with our parents, unemployed, while I moved out at 16 to complete my education.

My daughter is understandably sad to leave her school and friends but is thrilled about our upcoming adventure. Each night, we learn something new about our future home and we've even gone out to taste the local cuisine. We've also decided to make annual visits back, and she can always chat with her friends.

My family's stance seems to imply that my role was temporary and that I should hand my daughter back to my sister. Needless to say, that's not going to happen.

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12. Ex Vs. HOA: Who’s Worse?

I'll get straight to the point—my ex has a spiteful streak a mile wide. We finalized our divorce just before Covid-19 struck. We settled our mutual assets, sold our shared home, and I was spared alimony since she was unfaithful and our state has at-fault divorce rulings. Honestly, it's been a rollercoaster since the day it all blew up. It had all the usual drama—tears, half-truths, mind games, and threats before she packed her bags and left.

Looking back, I hardly recognize the woman I spent a total of seven years with, out of which we were married for five. In the last two years of our marriage, she secretly saw three other men, with the last one being a well-off foreigner from what I could gather.

Yes, I immediately took a health check and fortunately, the results were negative. She got pregnant from her last affair, but I refused to acknowledge the child as mine after uncovering the truth before its birth due to a call from her first affair partner. With the divorce settled in an at-fault state, she came off worse thanks to her aggressive tactics.

The sale of our house handed me a significant payout as I contributed more, allowing me to make a down payment for a new home close to work. It's modest, but perfect for a single man in his 30s. My ex popped over once, only to be refused entry. She blamed me for her financial downfall, of course. Not surprisingly, she threatened to drag me through the wringer with a lawsuit, but I wasn't mightily concerned.

She even stooped low enough to threaten to spin a false tale of me abusing her, but I quickly told her I'd counter-sue for defamation and was recording everything. My words hit her hard, but she still couldn't help trying to stir the pot given her new situation. We haven't crossed paths since then, but a new nuisance reared its head soon after—the Homeowners Association (HOA).

This can be short—this neighborhood has an HOA that I wasn't legally bound to join, confirmed by a real estate attorney. Despite their displeasure, they couldn’t force me to. The persistent HOA president tried to push paperwork on me before threatening action, which a letter promptly halted. This, however, spurred a series of attempts to draw attention to my home, resulting in repeated but unfruitful inspections.

Did I mention the HOA has a thing against barbecues and parties without prior permission? Meanwhile, my love for grilling and neighborly gatherings simply won my neighbors over. The president couldn't stand the music and friends over on weekends either and once trespassed my property to peep through my windows, denied it when confronted, but stopped after I got security cameras.

Things flared up when the HOA sent me fine notices and claimed I had joined their group. Upon contacting them, I received scanned forms with a non-matching signature that eerily mimicked my own. That's when I made a disturbing realization. Seeing the similarities with my ex's handwriting, it was clear she was behind this and a lawyer was soon involved. Over seven months, the HOA piled up weekly fines and threatened a lien on my house leading up to court.

With a smug HOA president and a lawyer clamoring to prove the inconsistent signatures, the president admitted my ex-wife signed them after the judge highlighted the irrational connection between my ex-wife and the HOA membership. With this confession, my lawyer alleged intentional fraud on the HOA's part which wound up with me suing for harassment, winning almost $10,000 after fees, which I decided to funnel into my mortgage.

The repercussions saw the HOA president deposed and slapped with a hefty penalty. While I wanted to press charges against my ex for forgery, she had fled the country and was somewhere in Europe, making any action impossible until she returns. While no longer bothered by the HOA and reassured of a cordial relationship by the new president, it all felt like a draining, time-consuming ordeal, minus the $10,000 reward.

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13. Turning The Tables

This story is about my friend's impressive encounter with a home intruder. Back then, she was raising her child solo in a Texas suburb. Despite some safety concerns, due to the mixture of shady people and animals in the neighborhood, my friend was prepared. She armed herself with a small pistol and completed some self-defence training to ensure her family's safety.

Time passed, her child turned five, and break-ins began plaguing the neighborhood. This led my friend to employ a security company to install cameras around her house. While reviewing some footage, she noticed a peculiar man hanging around her property. She saw him wander off and didn't think much of it.

Everything seemed fine, right? However, she soon found out that wasn't the case. A few days later, while working from home, she spotted the same man strolling into her backyard. She was terrified as she realized her kitchen door was wide open, and her child was in the living room. She hastily grabbed her pistol and rushed to the kitchen, just as the man casually entered her house!

There he was, energetically looking around, only to be met with my friend aiming her pistol at him. This man froze. She shouted: "Identify yourself, and why are you here"? The man, seemingly startled, grabbed his phone and called 9-1-1, pleading for help from a "mad woman with a pistol".

My friend was taken aback, but smartly didn't lower her weapon. She calmly told her child to go to their room, then persistently held her ground with the uninvited guest, who stubbornly stayed put. He boldly announced, "You're going to regret this when the authorities arrive"! But she just told him to leave her house. Yet, he remained until the officers arrived!

The sight of the authorities had this intruder shouting, “Arrest her, she's insane! Look, she's holding me at gunpoint”! My friend just calmly put down what she was holding and started trembling. She said, “This is MY house! YOU are the intruder"! The officer, dumbstruck, turned to the man and questioned, “You’re the intruder"? His response? “Well, her door was open, and then she pulled a gun on me! She should be detained”!

My friend retorted, “I have a proper license and this is Texas, you fool"! Shortly after, the officers detained the noisy man. To back her claim, my friend provided the authorities with earlier footage of him snooping around her property.

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14. Someone Never Learned “Sisters Before Misters”

My sister, now in her mid-30s, easily tops the list when it comes to being self-absorbed. In her world, she wears the victim's hat, can't possibly be at fault and thinks the world is in her debt. Lately, her attitude has taken a turn for the worse. She's admitted to our mother and me that she's now seeing another man, not her husband.

To be fair, her husband isn't a winner at all but that doesn't excuse her behavior. I believe nobody deserves infidelity, regardless of their character. An affair isn't a reasonable punishment; it's a complicated, grim situation that causes unnecessary distress for everyone involved.

We lost our grandmother at the end of August. It's been just a month since she's gone. Knowing she was gravely ill, we had time to sort some matters, like what would happen to her attached apartment at our mother's house. Everyone seemed to be on the same page with me moving in since the place was equipped with facilities for my disability.

But to my astonishment, I found out my sister had other plans. She thought it would be convenient if her secret partner moved in instead, using our mom's presence as disguise. I was outraged and disgusted.

We were starting to welcome my sister back into our fold, thinking she was genuinely affected and changed after our grandmother's passing, but it seems she had ulterior motives. Needless to say, I don't think anyone supports her idea. I'm flabbergasted that she considered it a feasible plan and expected us to aid her deceit. I want absolutely nothing to do with it.

She tries to rationalize by saying I didn't seem eager to move in. Perhaps I'm not in a rush to dwell in a place where I found my beloved grandma lifeless just a few weeks back. My apologies for not wanting to hastily discard traces of my grandmother from her home or hastily sort through her possessions.

The physical reminder that she's no longer with us pains me deeply, yet my sister expects me to brush it aside. Her lack of empathy is the last straw. I've decided to distance myself from her once again. Each time I hope she's changed, she proves otherwise, and I'm exhausted from this toxic pattern.

I wish her well, dealing with her certain divorce. It's going to be quite a story explaining it all to her kids.

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15. The Art Of The Deal

We've been on the hunt for a car for our youngest kid. While browsing online, we saw a cheap luxury car that was selling for much less than its worth. The seller claimed it had starting issues, but as my husband's a mechanic, we decided to have a look for ourselves. Sure enough, my husband spotted the reasons why the car wouldn't start almost instantly.

The car was in pretty good shape, sporting brand new tires, an almost flawless body, and an interior that just needed a bit of love. Even with repairing costs, it was still a bargain. So we bought it, much to our youngest's delight as their graduation gift. Fixing the car proved more straightforward than my husband first thought. This is where the crazy lady comes into the picture.

We head to the DMV for plates and registration. As we get the temporary tags and my husband puts them on the car, this lady approaches. She tries to get my attention, but I ignore her as I'm on the phone. She repeats, this time more annoyed, and when I finally acknowledge her, she claims the car is hers.

According to her, she had previously agreed to buy the car from the same owner. She accused us of forcing the owner to sell the car to us instead, demanding that we give her the luxury car in exchange for the one she ended up with. We asked her to leave us alone, but she insisted that she reported the car as stolen and that the authorities were on their way.

In reality, we were waiting for the previous owner due to a title transfer issue. We had to sort this out before we could officially claim and plate the car. The previous owner would then turn in her old plate and get a refund for the unused months. The authorities arrive five minutes later. The previous owner arrives just in time.

The strange lady starts accusing us of stealing her car, causing quite a scene. One of the officers happens to be a family friend. We explain the situation—we bought the car from the previous owner, and now this lady is claiming it's hers.

The previous owner confirms that she knows the lady—her peculiar neighbor. Apparently, the neighbor had indeed shown interest in buying the car, but with conditions the owner wasn't willing to meet. The neighbor wanted the owner to fix the car but still sell it at the low price, which was why the owner chose to sell it to us instead.

After checking our IDs, bill of sale, previous registration, and the car's VIN and finding no issues, the officer declares the case closed. The crazy lady still insists that the car is hers, earning a stern warning from the officers.

The other officer leads the lady away. We hand the plate to the previous owner and leave. Later on, we get a text from the previous owner: the crazy lady ended up in the back of the officer's car, still making a fuss.

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16. Know Your Worth

This situation stings a bit, because until now, I thought I could at least mostly get along with my sister within our family. However, given she's mom's kid too, her sense of entitlement probably shouldn't have come as a shock. Both she and her husband have important jobs—she's a law enforcement officer, he's a doctor. With schools and many daycare facilities closed, they need someone to watch their kids.

Unfortunately, finding a good daycare for the youngest child has been a challenge, mostly because he's already been kicked out of two. Currently, I'm stepping in to babysit them 4-6 times a week for 7-12 hours a day, depending on their parents' work hours. Initially, I was told I would be paid once they got their paycheck, and then when they received their stimulus check.

We had agreed (and this is even confirmed by text) that I would receive $85 a week, regardless of how many times I babysitted. But, when they finally got their stimulus check, my sister only gave me $55, insisting it was payment for the babysitting. When I challenged this, pointing out it wasn't what we'd agreed, she argued that I should be grateful because she'd been feeding me. But that was a lie. In reality, I'd actually been buying food for myself and the children's lunches.

She made out that the babysitting was just a fun, laid-back scenario, where I got to play video games with my nephews. Unfortunately, that's far from the truth. Her kids, who she knows well, can be real troublemakers. Much of my time is spent trying to keep the youngest from climbing shelves or escaping out the front door.

I even stopped letting the older one play with my gaming laptop after he damaged it by running with it and dropping it. When I confronted him about it, he just shrugged it off, saying I could just buy a new one if it broke. I don't bring my laptop over for him to play with anymore and he's been making a fuss about it.

These kids can be so aggressive and working around them is almost impossible. The only reason I agreed to this arrangement was to help my sister out, but I was expecting to be fairly compensated for my time away from my own work, which is commission-based. I know it's not a perfect solution, but I'm thinking of taking a few days off until they start paying me the agreed amount. Plus, honestly, I could do with a break from the kids.

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17. Not With A Bang, But A Whimper

My boyfriend and I moved into an old apartment last August. It has very creaky floors. The agreement we signed stated that we must cover 90% of each room (apart from the kitchen and bathroom) with carpets for noise control. But the apartment, formerly a college dorm, already had a thin carpet layer.

To muffle the noise further, we rolled out extra rugs. Around a month after we moved in, our downstairs neighbor arrived. Not long after, she started banging on her ceiling whenever she thought we were too loud. The early encounters happened late at night in the living room due to us moving around post-midnight.

Eventually, she confronted us and asked us to lower the volume during nighttime, which felt reasonable. The next time, we had just returned from the airport around 10 p.m. She interrupted my explanation, insisting it wasn’t our cat but us making the noise. We altered our schedules to sleep earlier but the banging continued.

Then we learned a bizarre thing around Christmas. She accused my boyfriend of tracking her movement inside her apartment. We laughed it off as a strange joke but the banging persisted, which frankly got annoying.

We had informed our landlord and superintendent about the issue, and they were on our side. Nevertheless, the banging got worse with the arrival of the pandemic. One Sunday, around 11 AM, as we started cleaning the apartment, she went ballistic, hammering on the ceiling so hard we thought she might damage it.

One day as we were leaving, she was descending the staircase. I was waiting with our dog for my boyfriend to join us. She walked back up and complained about my boyfriend again. That's when she really lost it. When we pointed out that it was me and the dog walking, not him, she denied it and slowed us down further by walking ahead. At the end of the staircase she stepped in our path, preventing us from leaving.

Unexpectedly, she followed us to the parking lot, still complaining. We were fed up. When she announced, "I’m serious, it’s done," I retorted, "What do you want us to do, crawl"? When she reminded me that she didn’t live alone, I took it as a threat and called the authorities.

The officers spoke to her first. Then they explained to us that it was a civil, not a matter for the authorities, but told her not to disturb us or knock on our door and that there's no problem with walking around in one's apartment, even on Sunday at 11 AM.

Bitter, she retaliated by making noise during early hours. We informed our landlord who promised to look into it. We also shared the issue with the folks who live beneath her and they reported the nuisance too. The banging has finally stopped, and it appears she might not have her lease renewed. We may even transfer to a better apartment in a few months.

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18. The Wicked Stepmother Comes To Life

Here's a little bit about my past. I only had a single parent: my mother, because my father was physically abusive. He was only allowed supervised visitation because of his behavior, but he never came to see me. My mother eventually explained the situation to me when I was in my mid-teens.

At the age of 20, my whole world shifted. A young woman, just a few years older than me, made contact with me. At first, I thought she was an old classmate, but boy, was I wrong. Eventually, I learned that she was engaged to my father and had a child with him. She was 23 and my father 57. After finding this out, I got in touch with my estranged father.

Our relationship remained distant since he was in New Hampshire, while I was in Iowa. Not long after reestablishing contact, my father passed on. His fiancee, who I'll refer to as "stepmom" for simplicity, lost custody of my half-brother due to her struggle with substance misuse. He was placed for adoption and at the time, adopting him was not feasible for me.

In the years after, I met my husband and had a lovely daughter. Currently living in my house is me, my husband, our newborn baby, and my 56-year-old mom, who is immune-compromised but just wants to help with our daughter. I shared some pictures of this happy crew on Facebook.

Shortly afterwards, I got a comment from my "stepmom", advising me to check my messages. I found this waiting for me. She wrote: "I am coming over tomorrow to meet my granddaughter. Can't wait! I'll stay in the guest room". Given the distance between us and the fact that our guest room is occupied, I politely declined for safety reasons.

Fast forward to the next day, I hear a knock at the door. To my shock, it's my "stepmom". Even after being denied entry the previous day, she asserted her right to meet her "granddaughter". After enduring her antics, I firmly asked her to leave.

The following day, she showed up again. This time my husband dealt with her and threatened to involve law enforcement authorities. This managed to get her to leave, but not without throwing a tantrum. That night, she texted me complaining about being denied the chance to meet and hold her "granddaughter". I felt compelled to make it clear to her that she's not the child's grandmother and that I do not trust her with my child, especially due to her history with substance misuse.

Furthermore, she had lost custody of my half-brother, so how could I trust her? More importantly, her intentions did not align with the health and safety of the people living in my home. Soon after, my phone was bombarded with her unreasonable requests for money for her hotel stay. I ignored these requests and blocked her.

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19. The Best Revenge Is Walking Away

So, let me take you back to when I was 18—that's almost 16 years ago, around 2004-2005. This was a time before iPhones, but good ol' Nokia 3310 were around and I owned one. My parents were keen on staying connected. Six months of my life were spent working at a chain restaurant (let's call it 'C'). It was a brand-new outlet, and the only structure existing for blocks around us was its sister-restaurant next door, owned by the same investors.

Our restaurant was in an affluent white neighborhood which attracted a good crowd. Originally, I was hired for takeaways, but I quickly expanded my skill set to a variety of tasks in the restaurant, and ended-up clocking the most hours because of it. However, this job was the pits—the absolute worst. Initially I hopped between takeaways, quality assurance, hosting, and sometimes waiter tasks, but eventually landed up cleaning tables—or bussing, to be precise.

I was told I would move off bussing once they hired permanent bussing staff. Little did I know, that day would never come. The issue was, they couldn't keep bussers. They hired rapidly, but people didn't stick around and their average time on the job was just two weeks, training included.

Eventually, word got around about the treatment of bussers at our restaurant, and nobody showed up for interviews anymore. There was a hierarchy here, and sadly, bussers came last, after managers, servers, bar servers, and restaurant servers. Every time I suggested that others help by clearing some dishes off their tables, people snubbed me.

I tried explaining that I could bus an entire restaurant solo if everyone helped clear their tables, but my words fell on deaf ears. Instead, I was left to completely clean every table, a task taking longer than it should have.

After two months of hopes to move off bussing, it was a hectic Saturday evening. Around 6:30 pm, the restaurant was packed, and half of the tables were yet to be cleaned. Bussing all these tables alone was taking me about five minutes each because nobody was helping clean their tables. This was causing an hour-long wait for customers, and I was frantically working to keep up.

I'd advised the bar waiters that unfortunately, their tables might not get cleaned due to the restaurant rush. Unsurprisingly, they weren't pleased. When I tried explaining the situation to the assistant manager, I was told to manage both, but with the focus on the restaurant.

A server named Karen, who considered herself top-notch, constantly criticized me despite my hard work. Despite several complaints to the management, she was never reprimanded and continued making my work-life miserable.

One particularly awful night, Karen was serving in the bar area and she was playing the blame game as usual, criticizing me for my work, even though I had cleared over 300 tables that night. Due to the heavy dine-in rush, I was unable to prioritize her tables. This led to a heated exchange between us, following which I decided to quit.

I stormed off to the back of the restaurant where we used to process take-away orders, wrote a frustrated note to the management about the unfair treatment, and left without telling anyone. My phone rang after about five minutes of driving, but I simply announced, "I quit" and hung up.

Apparently, the dinner rush that followed my exit was the worst ever experienced, with the restaurant still dirty at 2 am. Due to delays, they had to turn away around 40 families, and many people left due to prolonged waiting times. Chaos ensued, leading to corporate intervention.

There was some restructuring, the manager was moved to a different role, while the assistant manager was fired. Karen received her first warning, got demoted to less desired shifts and ended up leaving.

Just the day after my hasty exit, my best friend found me a job opening at a big video game company that resulted in my pivot from bussing tables to beginning a career in programming. Today, I have 14 years of programming experience and currently work as a senior programmer for a sheriff's office. It's funny how life works, isn't it?

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20. Persistence Doesn’t Always Pay Off

My cousins attend an exclusive private all-boys school for grades 6-12, here in the northeast US. Given the school's prestige, it's not a shock to come across some privileged families. But to be clear, my cousins aren't among those; they apply to grants and work on campus to cover the $60k annual fees.

My elder cousin, the school's student body president, gets a 1200 square-foot room that includes a kitchen, bathroom, living space, balcony, and office. Others only get two beds, closets, a desk, and one small window in a 150 sq foot room.

His younger brother, due to his relation to the president, lives in the spacious room instead of normal dorms. Residing with them is the student body treasurer, who's allowed in the room as he's a buddy of my cousin. With three guys cohabitating, the room was brimming with video games and snacks.

As a new semester dawned, the student officers were on duty to help with orientation, assisting in settling first-year students. That's when trouble started. While the younger cousin was engrossed in his PS4 game, an entitled mother and her son showed up. After enquiring for her son's dorm, younger cousin calls his elder brother for assistance. While waiting, the new kid comfortably joined the gaming session and got a room tour.

On elder cousin's arrival, things escalated. While guiding the entitled mother to her son's room, they encountered her defiance on the size of the room. Her son got excited about the video game collection, with screaming demands for Fortnite. Amid the chaos, the younger cousin's forced to lock the game cabinet to stop the rummaging kid.

What followed was a showdown with the entitled mother demanding a room similar to my cousins' for her son, and efforts to allow her son to stay in their room. In the midst of this, the entitled kid declared it his room and reached for a soda. On being blocked, he screamed about sharing. Finally, they resorted to pushing them out and locking the door.

Unfortunately, later on, it was automatically assumed by friends that the entitled kid was a new roommate. This caused the kid to be allowed in again, and elder cousin had to force him out. When the mother came back with a guard, everything boiled over. Luckily, the guard was aware of who resided in the room and escorted the mom away. As a concluding act of reluctant hospitality, they had to guide the entitled kid to his room.

As time passed, bonds were formed with the entitled kid's roommate, with the latter often opting for sleepovers in their room to avoid the entitled kid. This led to incessant pleas and crying by the entitled kid to be included, and mornings beginning with him sleeping outside their door.

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21. He Was Diabetic, She Was Diabolical

I'm an ordinary 16-year-old guy who loves video games, hanging out with friends, and working a great job. However, I also deal with type 1 diabetes, diagnosed just over a year and a half ago. Thankfully, I manage it well, which impresses my doctors.

Leaving that aside, I'm a junior in a cozy high school in the heart of Kansas. One critical step is that I have to take insulin 10-15 minutes before eating to let it take effect. At school, lunchtime presents two choices: a chicken salad or a cheeseburger. Choosing the cheeseburger, I take my insulin and join the queue.

There are two designated tables each bearing two to-go boxes filled with food. I reach out for a box from the left table. Hardly had I taken a few steps when my friend tells me that I had picked up the salad. I returned the box and reached for the other one, but the lunch lady sharply stops me. "Hey, don't you dare"! she yells, giving me an appalled look as if I'd done something awful.

Inquiring what's wrong, she insists I take the salad because I already picked it up (even though I hadn't even opened the box). I attempted to clarify that I have diabetes and had already taken insulin. She dismissively shakes her head, replying saccharinely, "I'm sorry, that's not my problem. Take the salad and sit down now"!

Her further insistence left me frustrated, leading me to grab the salad and share the shocking episode with my friends at our table. With the venue lacking any vending machines, I had no access to the requisite amount of carbs, unless I poached someone else's cheeseburger.

One wise friend suggested seeking the principal's help before the insulin fully kicked in. A little anxious because I had taken insulin over 10 minutes ago, I rushed to the office and explained my predicament to the principal and counselor. Having a good rapport with the principal, he accompanied me back to the cafeteria and confronted the lunch lady.

Requesting her to give me the cheeseburger since I really needed it, she retorted, "But he already took a salad. He can deal with it". The principal exasperatedly handed me the cheeseburger box and instructed me to sit down. As my friends and I ate, we could just overhear him reprimanding the lunch lady about her attitude and reminding her of the importance of empathy towards mine and other diabetic students' situations.

And that was that. He left her with that impactful message, and I ate my meal in peace. Thanks to these events, I can only hope she'll know better next time.

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22. One-Sided Sibling Rivalry

As a teen, my initial plan was to buy a scooter for zipping around town. But my world changed when my dad gifted me a bike engine kit on my 15th birthday. He motivated me to aim for a car, prompting me to work odd jobs and save up even after I moved in with him.

My dad roped in his brother, my uncle, who was a driving instructor back in the 90s, to teach me to drive. I gradually got better, and once I turned 16, we scheduled a driving test at the DMV, which I passed in one go, thanks to the practice. Soon after getting my license, my dad proposed a part-time job for me at his business, which I happily accepted, knowing it would double my savings.

My dad had set up a room for my sister, even though she lived with my mom. It took a few persistent persuasions from my dad to get her to visit once a week. She mostly spent her Saturdays playing video games at our place, probably because she didn't have an XBOX 360 or a flatscreen TV at mom's.

After six months of working at my dad’s business, he proposed the idea of buying a car. He said he'd assist with buying a reliable used car. The excitement, however, turned into a total disaster.

I found a silver ‘98 Toyota Camry with under 50,000 miles, but a vandalized rear bumper, some broken windows, and cracked windshield, on sale for $3,500. My dad bargained it down to $3,000, considering the repair costs. I bought the car and sent it straight to a local auto body mechanic, who was a friend of my dad. The car looked brand new when I picked it up.

Now having purchased my first car, life was great! That is, until my younger sister couldn't fathom that I had a car while she didn't, even though she was only 13. She complained to our mom, causing a stir, and resulting in an unpleasant phone call with my mom. She accused me of being unfair, forgetting that my sister was too young to get a learner's permit, let alone a car.

Our mom insisted that I support my sister’s feelings saying I should lend her my car or teach her driving when she's old enough. I fiercely refused, given that I bought the car with my own money and now lived with my dad. Her reaction was devastating. She called me a jerk and hung up.

My sister's visits decreased after that. One day she threw a tantrum and dirt on my car, which I washed off. But then she started to act weirder. She arrived with her usual big backpack, but oddly she wore the same clothes when she left. When I walked into the den, I discovered our gaming systems wrecked and missing discs. It quickly clicked—she had stolen the XBOX 360 and carried it inside her backpack.

Dad was angry and called mom, but she supported my sister's actions and said it was because I had a car. She even had the audacity to say that my sister didn't want to visit anymore. Dad was heartbroken. After his earnest efforts to bond with his daughter, he was shocked that she hated him because he had divorced mom. Now, he had to put up with her damaging our property as a sign of her "compensation for her pain". Yet, Dad decided not to fight for her custody, believing she should want to come back on her own.

Over the next decade, my interactions with my sister and mom reduced significantly. Dad didn’t bother to get the XBOX 360 back and even replaced the broken stuff. But it hurt him deeply. He left my sister's room as it was, hoping for her to return, but she never did. And by the time she did, it was too late. 

My sister, who once acted poorly, is no longer the same person. She feels remorseful and wishes she can turn back time and apologize to our dad. But sadly, our dad passed on and she could only express her apologies at his grave. It was heartbreaking.

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23. Nursing A Grudge

Twenty-eight years ago, I experienced motherhood for the first time. A joyful day marked by the birth of my healthy son, followed by the hospital releasing us after a day. My emotion was pure elation as I left the hospital with my newborn, my husband and my mother who came to assist us for the first week. However, a few days later, things took a frightening turn.

We noticed my son’s skin acquiring a worrying yellow hue. My mother suggested it could be jaundice, recommending extra sunlight. Our worries landed us in the pediatrician’s office where the doctor decided my son needed hospital care under blue lights. He was very specific about his instructions.

He advised me to head straight for the hospital where I would be spending the next few nights. Arrangements were already set up for us thanks to his call ahead. My duty was to breastfeed him every two hours, followed by pumping to ensure an ample supply. I was to sleep in-between. As my childhood doctor who had just delivered my son, his reassurance mattered greatly to us.

Despite his comforting words, I was on the verge of tears. The thought of having potentially contributed to my baby’s plight was overwhelming. I was struggling with breastfeeding which deepened feelings of failure and frustration. Overwhelmed by hormones and an uncomfortable confrontation, I was a mess.

Arriving at the hospital, I was rushed upstairs where a few familiar faces from my recent discharge greeted us. At the counter, I met the unfriendly nurse who reluctantly paused from her paperwork to entertain us. I detailed the doctor’s instructions and the insistence on breastfeeding. Her response was the suggestion that my son needed blue lights and formula, declaring my breast milk insufficient. The room fell silent, my heart ached with the struggle to hold back tears.

After gathering my courage, I spoke up, asserting myself and declaring my doctor's insistence on breastfeeding. Both my mom and husband watched in surprise. This attempt to stake a stand was met with contempt from the nurse but she finally escorted us to a designated breastfeeding spot.

The spot was a cold and dark room filled with unused equipment. I was taken aback, barely wrapping my head around breastfeeding, and now under unwelcoming circumstances. The nurse left me with a stern 20-minute time limit, increasing my distress. My baby was ill, now I had to feed him in a cold, dark room, seated on an uncomfortable chair without my familiar pillow to assist. This pushed me to breaking point. I broke down in tears, apologizing to my soundly sleeping son.

Expecting the nurse to return, I stayed beyond the allotted time until another nurse found us. She was kind and helpful, shocked at my ordeal, and moved to fix the situation immediately.

With her help, I saw hope. I apologized for not having fed my baby within the given time and was immediately taken to a private room set up with everything I needed. I was able to feed my son, get him under the blue lights, rush home to grab a few essentials, and return for his next feed. I left behind pumped breast milk in case I was late.

Back at the hospital, I was greeted by a disturbing sight. The nurse was feeding my son formula despite my explicit instruction otherwise. The protective mother instinct kicked in. I confronted her, demanding my son so I could breastfeed him. She insisted formula was better, accusing breastfeeding of prolonging hospital stay. Unwavering, I took my son for his scheduled breastfeeding session.

This cycle of feeding, pumping, and sleep became my routine for three nights and four days. On day four, I finally took my rosy baby home but not before my doctor admonished the nurse for her inappropriate behavior.

Two years later, I returned to the same hospital to deliver my daughter. Nurse Ratchet was on duty but I ensured she stayed away from my new baby. I stood my ground, learned to express my needs, and protect my family against unwarranted intrusion.

This challenging journey taught me the importance of standing up for myself and putting my trust in my instincts as a mother. It was an experience underscored by the arrogance of a nurse who thought she knew better than a doctor and a mother, spoiling what should have been one of the happiest moments of my life.

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24. Not All Leeches Live In The Water

My wife's aunt, Louise, is an extraordinary woman. She lived in San Francisco with her late husband since the 70s, but after his passing, she sold her million-dollar home and moved back to her childhood home in rural Southern California. Now in her late 60s, Aunt Louise is the mother of three children, all in their 40s.

Her eldest two are well-rounded individuals, but her youngest, Kay, is quite the handful. Kay ticks every box for a narcissistic personality diagnosis. Her actions over the years could fill a book. Kay's husband Pedro was always financially stable. About a decade ago, he started earning significantly more money.

Instead of saving, Kay believed more income meant more spending. Soon, she was purchasing new cars biennially and indulging in lavish cruises and the newest tech gadgets. Her spending spiraled out of control, leading her to regularly ask her mom, Aunt Louise, for money under the pretext of various excuses.

The exact amount isn't known, but rumor has it Aunt Louise has given Kay more than $20,000 over the years. Kay and Pedro managed until the pandemic led to a financial crunch. When Pedro lost his job in October and had to start anew, money-related fights escalated.

Two weeks ago, unable to handle being told "no", Kay declared she wanted a divorce. Being in California, she anticipated the courts would rule in her favor, awarding her Pedro's car, their house, his 401K, and significant alimony. 

But she overlooked one critical point. Pedro had been consistently withdrawing from his 401K to pay credit card bills. Additionally, the numerous house-related documents she had been signing over the years were to refinance their home for the same reason, leaving little equity. And with Pedro having to restart his career, alimony wasn't going to be substantial.

Kay, following her usual pattern, turned to her mom, Aunt Louise. Louise suggested reconciliation. If that failed, she offered help to get Kay back on her feet—covering rent and potentially some car payments. A mere two hours later, a text from Kay appeared on Aunt Louise's phone, asking for $100K to buy and furnish a ritzy condo.

Aunt Louise clarified that her offer didn't include such a substantial amount. Kay didn't take it well. She lashed out at her mom with insulting words, even hinting that Aunt Louise should sacrifice her stocks because she wouldn't need the money when she's gone.

Despite her finances, Aunt Louise lives on a fixed income. Undeterred, she stood her ground, catalyzing Kay's social media manipulation attempts targeted towards Aunt Louise's character. My wife is keen to help her aunt. In fact, she hopes to confront Kay about her unreasonable demands and behavior.

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25. Even A Blind Person Could See That This Lady Sucks

Sadly, I come across people who don't understand my situation quite often. As a blind person with a guide dog named Gumbo, I deal with ignorance daily and, particularly, the entitlement of some parents. With my folks being more vulnerable to COVID, I've been venturing out on solo shopping trips. Yesterday was one of those journeys.

Shopping while blind is more complex, requiring assistance from staff. Having Gumbo by my side sometimes prompts awkward encounters. One recent incident was particularly troubling.

A child's excited squeal, "Can I pet that cute doggy"? preempted our meet-up. As usual, I calmly explained that Gumbo was a working dog and couldn't be petted. The child didn't protest. She was curious rather than entitled, and asked a few questions before moving on.

I was wrong to think that was the end of it. After I finished shopping, I took a lunch break in the food court. That’s when I bumped into the child and her mother. I overheard their conversation about Gumbo and me. The mother seemed displeased with what her daughter learned about guide dogs.

Despite being a common experience for a blind person, the mother's confrontational tone took me by surprise. “Why did you tell my daughter you’re blind”? I calmly explained and received a flat “You’re not blind” in return. She was insistent that I let her daughter pet Gumbo, and became more aggressive when I refused.

I explained that blindness varies across individuals, but she was not having it. Her agitation grew when I used my phone, citing that as "proof" that I was lying about my blindness. Eventually, she threatened to involve security.

Enjoying my lunch, I wasn’t really bothered until her return, entailing an unwanted discussion with a security officer. Despite my obvious stress, the officer asked me to verify my disability. This was ridiculous, so I asked to be left alone.

Still, the officer sided with the woman, who determined I was ambulatory by my unclouded eyes and phone use. In the resulting argument, I tried to educate her about varying symptoms of blindness, but the security officer was unhelpful, so I decided to leave.

Just as I started to exit, the woman grabbed Gumbo's harness to stop me, insisting I let her daughter pet him. I panicked and began to call for help. Another security officer arrived, instructed the woman to let go and assured me that everything was all right.

Once her hand was off my dog, I quickly commanded Gumbo to find the exit. Thankfully, I remembered to collect my shopping from customer service before escaping. Such aggressive encounters are sadly part of my daily life as a blind person.

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26. When Family Is The Real Dead Weight

My brothers have always been fit while I took after the chubby side of the family and was never active outside of swimming. By the time I joined the army, I weighed 246 pounds.

While I took good-natured ribbing for my weight from my family, it became relevant when I was stationed at an army base filled with fit bodybuilders. I lacked a combative role due to an early medical issue, which was no longer present, and was steered towards machinery maintenance instead.

Seeing the fit guys made me realize my potential for fitness. I scrutinized my diet, consumed mainly water, started jogging, and trained in Krav-Maga with a friend from the base. I lost a significant amount of weight and built muscle. My journey initiated with a friend offering me to use the garrison gym.

I was happy with my progress but my family seemed indifferent. Comments dwindled to occasional remarks about my shrinking size. My fitness goal was personal and not for the praise.

When I turned 22, I balanced civilian life, university, and a part-time job. I joined a nearby gym. My older brother, once the epitome of fitness, started to gain weight which changed our dynamic at family events.

At a family meeting eight months later, my mom made a devastating ultimatum. She claimed to be proud of me, but suggested I cancel my gym membership due to financial strain. I reminded her how I self-funded my membership and education, owing to scholarships and savings.

She insisted my brother needed the gym more due to his burgeoning weight gain, and I was told to quit for his sake. Despite the uproar, my gym habits held fast while mom's attempts to sabotage my diet failed.

Mom's mention of our dad having an issue with my fitness habits seemed suspect since he had his own gym membership till recently. I moved out four years later and ended contact with all three of them.

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27. A Wild Karen Appears

This happened around 9:00-10:00 AM this morning. My grocery list took me to the supermarket where I planned to pick up items for lunch and dinner. Since it was early, the store was pretty quiet with only self-checkout and one manned register open. As I approached the counter, I noticed a lady in her early twenties holding a sleeping baby, her basket filled with baby formula, diapers, some over-the-counter baby goods like rash cream, and various pharmacy-paid prescriptions.

She beat me to the counter. Right then, an irate Karen stormed out of a nearby aisle and into the checkout line behind me. It was the oversized sunglasses, the infamous Karen haircut, and the too-small-for-her yoga pants that gave her away.

At this point, the store clerk, the young mother, and I were all wearing masks, keeping in line with protocol. However, Karen seemed unfazed by the rules. Despite the floor markings for social distancing, she decided they didn't apply to her either.

The young mother was struggling with the baby, her purse, a diaper bag, and other baby gear. The cashier had barely started to scan her items when Karen began to loudly grumble about "unprepared shoppers" who didn't even have their wallets ready for payment. For good measure, Karen violated the poor girl's personal space with her almost-touching cart. As expected, the racket woke up the baby who immediately started crying.

The young mother hurriedly tried to quiet her baby while retrieving her wallet. Even the fuss from the baby she disturbed and the clear discomfort of others in line didn't stop Karen from launching another monologue. At this point, I'm pretty fed up with her attitude. Her breath was fogging my mask, but the last straw came when she rudely told the young mother that "she should make that brat be quiet".

She then turned her attention to the young mother's attire claiming that if she didn't dress like a "tramp", maybe she wouldn't be in her current situation. The young mother blushed, the cashier stood in shock, and the baby cried louder.

Enough was enough. Early morning, poor health, and a bad mood pushed me to bypass Karen, throw my card at the cashier, telling her that I was paying for the young lady's bill. This got Karen's attention, so I told her as loudly as I could to "shut up".

Karen stood stunned while the young mother thanked me, turning her full attention back to her infant. As Karen rang up her items, her nasty disposition appeared again. When the cashier asked for her payment, Karen turned to me expecting that I'd cover her bill too. I pointedly told her, “No, I don’t entertain people who unnecessarily disturb babies".

After this, I offered the young mother a lift home since the bus service wasn't exactly reliable in our area. She was relieved and accepted my offer. During our short ride, I found out that her family, including the little one in her arms, was new to town. 

They moved because of her husband's job and once his full salary kicked in, they would fill up their home with everything the baby needed. Before we parted ways, I gave them my niece’s address for a yard sale that was due to happen over the weekend.

As soon as I got home, I rang my niece to let her know about this young couple explaining that they could pick anything they liked and that I'd cover any expenses they couldn't meet. Karens, in my opinion, have no right to judge others based on their attire or place in the queue. How dare they? Talk about nerve!

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28. So Angry My Head Is Swimming

At 30, I crossed a milestone and purchased my first home; a lovely four-bedroom, two-bathroom beauty complete with a fenced backyard and inviting inground pool. This house is my sanctuary. My factory job sometimes demands I work grueling shifts—usually around 12 hours, five to seven days a week. 

These tough hours are worth it, though. Over seven years I saved every penny in pursuit of my forever home. Moreover, I'm lucky to live amidst a friendly neighborhood community where everyone looks out for each other. In just one year, I was already on a first-name basis with everyone within a couple of blocks.

It was then when a neighbor asked if her children could sometimes use the pool. Sure, no problem at all! I work long hours and don’t use the pool during this time. All I asked is she inform me before using my pool and ensure her children clean up after they’re done. The arrangement went swimmingly, at least for the first month or so.

It wasn't long before other families noticed and also started to ask if they could use the pool. Nervous about having too many kids in my space at once, we convened to discuss. We finally agreed that nine families, with 12 kids in total, could use the pool given a lack of public pools in the area. I didn’t mind sharing as long as they adhered to a few rules, like not entering the house unattended and cleaning up after themselves. Everyone did—at least for a while.

Incidents started creeping in six years later, just as I was departing for my vacation. I let everyone know I'd be out of town for four days, so the pool was off-limits. However, my flight got delayed and I had to return home, only to find a strange couple in my pool in the middle of the night. They were a friend of a permitted family, who’d heard I was out of town and hopped the fence. Unbelievable. I called the authorities, pressed charges, and made sure they'd never set foot on my land again.

Another disturbing incident occurred 17 years later after I'd closed the pool for one week for a family reunion. As I was picking up my family from the airport, I was alerted that there had been an intrusion in my house. And you will never believe what they did. A new neighborhood family member had broken into my house because her child needed the bathroom while they were unlawfully in my pool. Result? Her arm and the kid's foot were bloodied, not to mention the home mess they left behind.

Of course, I didn’t let her ridiculous accusations and threats of suing deter me. I pressed charges and took her to court, where she eventually had to pay for the damage. She left the neighborhood within months, her credibility shredded.

The original group of neighbors feared I'd permanently close the pool after that nasty incident. However, I reassured them I wasn't about to let one miscreant ruin it for everyone else. I decided to put up security cameras for my peace of mind, which everyone was fine with. The first couple of days of the family reunion were a bit challenging, but we managed to bounce back and have a fantastic time cleaning and preparing for the rest of our visit.

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29. The Lights Are On, But No One’s Home

In my twenties, I purchased my first apartment and rented a room to a Polish man. I was dating a girl we'll call Gia at the time, who lived with two other girls, including one named Karen. When Gia and I broke up, I lost touch with all of them. Things worked out well for me, so I bought a suburban house but allowed my tenant to remain in the apartment at our original rental rate, with the agreement that he won't sublet.

In this arrangement, my mortgage gets paid, and I have a tenant who looks after my flat, while he gets a two-bedroom apartment for 50% off. After a few years, the tenant and his girlfriend decided to move back to Poland. When I visited to deal with some paperwork, I noticed a heap of moving boxes in the spare room.

I was curious and asked, "Are these your girlfriend's things? Will they fit in the car"? I was in for a surprise. He said the stuff belonged to Karen, who had made arrangements to leave her things while they were still there. The plot thickened. Apparently, Karen is still friends with this guy's girlfriend and caught wind of their sweet rent deal.

She falsely claimed that she'd talked to me about taking over the flat. The whole matter took a confusing turn. I hadn't spoken to Karen in years, and she was already planning to move into my place without saying a word. It puzzled me how she planned to pay rent, considering that she hadn't reached out to me. Plus, who would give up charging the current market rate?

I was intrigued but sure didn't want a disastrous courtroom battle over squatting rights. So, I sought advice from my solicitor, who suggested changing locks, installing a security camera, and prepared for the moment when Karen finds out she can't move in.

Similarly shocked by the audacity, my tenant agreed to leave two weeks early and even helped me install a doorbell camera. Later, Karen showed up to move in, and she wasn't alone. Gia was with her, and they had a key.

I felt foolish for forgetting that Gia probably still had her key from our dating period. I hadn't expected her to keep it, considering how we ended. But, I should have changed the locks back then. Now, my tenants had unknowingly been sharing the apartment with my ex. When Karen and Gia tried to open the door, they realized the lock had changed but still attempted a few times.

They had some choice words for me and kept trying the keys. Even though I was monitoring through the doorbell camera, I stayed silent. Eventually, they gave up and left. Meanwhile, I received phone calls from unknown numbers, including one from Gia’s father.

He was a decent man who I was friendly with, so I politely asked him to contact my solicitor if it was regarding the flat. Upon investigation, I found out that Gia and Karen's other roommate is getting married soon, which might be the reason why Gia and Karen were looking for a low-budget place.

The situation got sillier when Karen, Gia and Gia’s dad met with my solicitor to present their so-called strategy. They somehow decided that they could assume the tenant's lease agreement without me, using the copy they had and my payment details from it. They even believed they could just scribble their names on it and make it official while ignoring the strict terms against subletting.

My solicitor, of course, revealed to them the inaccuracies in their scheme. They gave up their argument within minutes, leaving her practically in fits of laughter. The massive ignorance they displayed regarding rental agreements baffled me, considering their age.

To cut a long, bizarre story short, Gia’s dad has agreed to hire a removal company to collect the boxes. I'll be present during the process and ready to shield myself from any unwanted encounters. Regrettably, I had to spend around 350 pounds on solicitor fees. But, on the bright side, I've got an entertaining video of my ex's failed scheme and a hilarious account of their meeting with my solicitor.

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30. If A Tree Falls In The Suburbs…

Ever since I graduated college, I've lived apart from home. When my parents retired recently, they used their hard-earned savings to construct their dream retirement house in the city they've been calling home for the past ten years—New Orleans. Even though I live away, we're a close-knit family, and we talk every week. Their enthusiasm was contagious when they selected the perfect plot for their house.

The plot they chose in a pristine neighborhood was left empty when an old house was torn down. The previous owner, who owned several properties in the city, decided to sell the land without a structure as he believed it held more value. My parents instantly grabbed the attractive deal as soon as it hit the market. However, it wasn't long before they realized that their dream retirement house would be neighbor to a notoriously cranky woman, whom we'll call Karen.

The problem started when a majestic oak tree standing on their property had to be removed to enable the construction. As lovers of nature, it hurt my parents to chop down the splendid tree, yet it was standing square in the middle of their lot, obstructing the construction. So, they had it removed by a professional service.

Days after the tree removal, my laid-back dad, who always tries to keep things friendly, decided to introduce himself to the neighbors. When he approached, Karen barked back at him for removing the oak, blaming him for ruining her life and refused to disclose why she felt the tree was hers. No matter how many times my parents tried to get an answer, they got no response and it remained a mystery.

Many other neighbors, like a sweet elderly couple next door to Karen, corroborated that Karen was unpleasant to everyone in the neighborhood. According to them, Karen had pushed them to sell their house and move elsewhere because of her constant negativity.

Karen lived up to her unfriendly reputation causing trouble at every turn. Whether complaining about the noise of construction or incorrectly accusing the workers of being "illegal aliens," she tried to meddle with my parents' construction project at every chance she had.

Although she tried to stall the construction, my parents' dream house finally was complete after the holidays. Surprisingly, Karen kept silent for a while, probably grieved over her failed attempts to defuse the construction.

But with the recent winter storms in southern US, her tranquility was short-lived. One such furious storm uprooted her backyard tree crushing her new Jaguar standing underneath it. Unable to believe the reality, Karen let out a guttural scream discovering her crushed prized possession.

Finally deciding to leave, Karen put up her property for sale. The entire neighborhood, including my parents, gladly bid her farewell from their beautiful new porch.

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31. Comically Entitled

This story unfolds back in the days of the 90s when I was running my second comic book store. It was a lazy afternoon as I was busy sorting out the inventory when a lady entered. It seemed pretty unusual for those times. She sported a hairstyle that I later came to know as the "Karen Cut," wore oversized glasses and a trendy skirt of that decade.

My first thought was that she might be hunting for a gift for her child, so I offered to help. She inquired if I buy boxes of comics. I explained that I typically don't, unless there's something useful. However, I proposed to look over what she brought. Together, we ferry huge boxes from her car to my store. These boxes could generally hold around 250-300 comics.

Surprisingly, the comics were well-kept and seemed to be in good condition. The collection included popular ones like X-Men, Hulk, Ghost Rider, and others. Thinking I could probably sell them, I made an offer of $100 for all, which she gladly accepted. She left and I started sorting and pricing them later.

Perhaps 20 minutes later, a young boy, around 12, wandered into the store. He saw the comic boxes and asked if they were for sale. I told him they were, but still needed pricing. He started browsing through them and suddenly had a puzzled look. When I enquired, he revealed: "These are my books”. I was surprised and asked him to prove it. Impressively, he proved his ownership by stating the unique codes he had written on each comic.

Describing his mother, he portrayed the image of the lady who had just sold me the comics. I assured him he'd get his books back, and called his mother via the phone number he provided. Upon answering, I explained the situation to "Mrs. Karen," asking her to return the $100 and retrieve her son's books. However, she lost her cool, yelled at her son, and promised to get me detained if he ever reentered my store.

Her son was heartbroken and simply whispered, "She sold my books". Not heeding to him, she screamed, "I DON'T WANT THIS IN MY HOUSE. GET OUT NOW"! After this drama, I gave him some time to calm down, and in the meantime, another lady and her son, who knew him, stepped in. They were appalled by the situation and offered him a ride home, promising to have a word with his mother.

Before leaving, the boy gave me green light to do whatever action necessary–even if that involved calling the authorities. But I decided to try another approach. Later that evening, I rang them up, interacting with his father and explaining the whole ordeal. "She did what”? he bellowed. Even after repetition, he couldn’t believe it. Anticipating that Karen was on the phone, he shushed her and thanked me for informing him, promising to make amends.

Over the course of fifteen minutes, I saw him, the son, and an indignant Karen approaching the store. Upon entering, he ordered her to return my $100. She opposed, refusing to have comic books at home and swore she would get me detained. In the climax, she tried to smash my display case and displace the computer, but was restrained just in time. Finally, her husband paid me back with a little extra for the inconvenience and apologized for her outrageous behavior.

The story ends with Karen threatening to burn the comics, her husband assuring they’ll be safe at his workplace, and her relationship with her son being totally ruined. From visiting infrequently, the son only allows her near when his father is around. All this, because of comic books.

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32. Mall Misfortune

My mom is of Filipino heritage, but she was brought up in California and doesn't have any accent. My dad, on the other hand, is Caucasian. I happen to resemble my dad closely, with my lighter skin, and I don't appear Asian in the slightest. This peculiar incident took place when I was just an infant. My mom recently relayed the story to me as my husband and I are preparing to become parents ourselves. It's the most preposterous tale I've ever heard.

Picture this: my family was out shopping at a mall, and I was nestled comfortably in my stroller. Predictably, along comes a "Karen". While my dad had momentarily stepped out to use the restroom, my mom decided to take a rest and wait for him. Karen, struck by my cuteness, initiated a conversation with my mom, asking how old I was. When my mom replied that I was five months old, Karen seemed confused by the lack of resemblance between my mom and I, and erroneously jumped to the conclusion that my mom must be my nanny, or even a babysitter.

My mom, of course, was taken aback, correcting Karen by stating that she was my mother. When Karen rather boldly stated that I didn't look anything like my mom, my mom pointed out that I had taken after my father. Undeterred, Karen went as far as suggesting that my mom might have kidnapped me since my father wasn't around. My mom was naturally perturbed and frightened by this accusation, particularly when this outrageous woman attempted to remove me from my stroller.

Karen announced her intent to find my "real parents". Thankfully, my dad returned from the restroom just in time to witness part of this interaction. Upon demanding an explanation from Karen and insisting that she leave the stroller alone, Karen saw my resemblance to my dad. She quickly backtracked, murmuring that I did in fact look like my dad before slinking away. Despite this ordeal ending on a somewhat peaceful note, my parents still reported the incident as an attempted kidnapping. But the outcome regarding this Karen remains a mystery to us.

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33. The Wannabe Firer Becomes The Fired

I have a job at a hospital that focuses on elective surgeries, and my boss is a top expert in his field. Once, I had a phone conversation I’ll always remember. The caller, sounding rather entitled, shouted, “I need to make an appointment for surgery that I was told by the doctor to schedule for next week via email”. Feeling puzzled, I responded, “I apologize if there’s been a misunderstanding, but our doctor isn't available next week. His next slot for consultations isn't until May”.

Ignoring my explanation, she responded, “I am a judge, and I was instructed by the doctor to call to set up an appointment. I demand to have my appointment next week”. Recognizing her frustration, I said, “Alright, let me check on this". With her on hold, I went to ask my supervisor if there's any information I might have missed about this last-minute appointment.

They said no, but suggested that the patient forward us the email for confirmation, as the doctor was in surgery at the moment. This is usual in our office to avoid mix-ups with schedules and appointments, especially when we’re fully booked.

Upon returning to the call, I politely asked, “Could you possibly forward the email to us? We don't have any record of an earlier appointment for you and I need to validate this before scheduling”. Something in her snapped with this request, and she blew up.

She retorted, “How dare you question me! I am a judge and this is outrageous and unprofessional. I've corresponded with the doctor by email. Are you really doubting my words”? I simply agreed. She continued, “This is unbelievable. You will schedule my surgery for this specific date”. By this time, I was completely fed up with her attitude.

I then said, “Alright, let me confirm with my boss when he's out of surgery, and then I’ll get back to you regarding your appointment”. She sneered, “Just a word of advice, careful with your tone next time," and then hung up. Later, the doctor emerged from surgery and relayed that he'd received an email from her, blaming me for being rude and crossing her privacy. Luckily, I was way ahead of her. 

However, having a heads-up, my supervisor had been listening in on the call on speaker phone, providing me with a much-needed witness. My boss clarified that he hadn’t promised an early appointment, but had suggested she contact the office for a possible earlier spot through the waitlist.

Realizing that this judge was creating false stories and throwing tantrums, I asked my boss if we really needed to keep her as a patient. I breathed a sigh of relief when he agreed.

Though I was glad to not have to interact with her anymore, I felt sorry for any other doctor who might cross paths with her. Unbeknownst to me, my supervisor had contacted patient advocacy. They decided that her behavior was sufficient to refuse her as a patient throughout the entire hospital.

Now, my boss, supervisor, and I have to call her to convey the hospital’s decision of discharging her. Honestly, you shouldn't mess with karmic justice.

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34. The Shining, Hospital Edition

When I turned 20, I underwent a tonsils removal surgery. Everything went smooth initially, but after I came around from the effects of anaesthesia, I noticed blood oozing from my mouth. It was a case of post-operative bleeding. With no delay, I was whisked to the Emergency Room (ER) and another surgery was planned for the next day. But the unforeseen happened.

The doctor slated to oversee my second surgery got into a car accident on his way to the hospital. Because of this, my surgery got postponed for three long days. Meanwhile, I was shifted from the ER to a regular hospital bed. I was battling pain, hunger, and continuous bleeding. To add to everything, the patient lying in the next bed had a whole troupe of boisterous visitors (probably relatives) who never seemed to lower their decibel levels.

Gathering my courage, I requested them to reduce their chatter, and that surely ticked them off. I told them: "Hi folks, any chance you could talk a bit softly? I'm trying to catch some sleep, but your conversations are loud and despite the curtain, I can hear everything". Instantly, the patient brushed off my plea saying: “Don't mind her. No doctor or specialist has visited her since her arrival, only nurses. Obviously, she's not critically ill, she’s just overreacting since she's not getting any visitors”.

I attempted to explain: "Actually, the reason is"... Just then one of their relatives spotted my self-harm scars and quipped: “Ah, I see. Looks like the psych ward ran out of space so they stuck you with genuinely sick patients”. Everyone got a hearty laugh at this supposedly hilarious comment. I could feel a wave of fresh bleeding coming, so I knew it was time for another round of hydrogen peroxide rinse.

I told them: “You’ve nailed it! I was merely trying to...wait...apologies...I think…” Mid-sentence, I opened my mouth to unleash a wave of blood directly onto my hospital robe, right under their shocked eyes. The sight was no less than a scene from a horror movie. I was in excruciating pain and screaming inside, but couldn't resist sporting a toothy grin smeared in blood out of defiance.

After my somewhat victorious moment, I retreated to my bed, preparing to call a nurse for pain medication and a hydrogen peroxide rinse.

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35. Karen Finally Gets The Manager

This is a story from my days in customer service. I was employed at a moving company that also had a storage facility. My job was specifically handling complaints and disputes, and was the kind of job where if your problem escalated up to me, it typically wasn't going to be a great day for either of us. Nearly all the cases I handled were escalated to me due to the customer giving our staff a hard time.

Jump to July of 2020, one of our busiest summers, and a case lands on my desk. There's a woman, let's call her Karen, disputing her bill. She had been calling customer service daily demanding to speak directly with the CEO or CFO. I don’t get why customers ever think they'll get through to them, but regardless.

Karen's complaint was about an inconsistency between her bill and the document we had provided. She claims the amount's not matching. Now, mistakes can happen but as soon as the agent couldn’t immediately resolve her issue just as she demanded, she started ranting and demanded to speak to a higher-up.

Dandy. Just what I needed on a busy day. I dial her number. She answers, and after I introduce myself, she wastes no time in calling our company incompetent and stating she'd been on the cusp of filing a complaint with the Better Business Bureau.

I apologize for the delay and explain the situation to her, in view of the current climate and high demand of people moving causing backlog across all departments. I assure her I've reached out to address her concerns and try to get a resolution as soon as possible.

Karen's response? She thinks I am calling to refund all the money she has spent with us over three years. I am taken aback by this bizarre request as she had used our storage facilities for almost three years before getting her items shipped a significant distance. Her total bill had come out to around a hefty $15,000, as we aren't one of the cheaper options in this industry.

After I clarify that I am there to address her specific inquiry and not to issue a massive refund, she loses her cool. So much so that I have to hold the headset at arm's length as she bellows a string of expletives at me. After she calms down a bit, I resume the conversation barely managing to get a word in.

The conversation leaves me puzzled since none of the figures she was quoting matched any on her account. Then, eureka! The document she had must have been a quote, and the discrepancy was tax. She'd been looking at pre-tax prices on the quote. The real hiccup? She wanted the taxes refunded.

I explain to Karen that taxes are inescapable and are added on top of our charges. Also, all taxes and fees are clearly outlined in the order document provided during booking. She isn't having any of it and calls us thieves. I kindly tell her to take the tax issue up with the state senator.

She decides she wants to speak to my manager. I let her know that I'm the highest-level authority on the matter who interacts with customers. Basically, I'm the person she's been asking to speak with and inform her that a refund is out of the question.

Karen warns me that she's going to write poor reviews and file a complaint with the BBB. I inform her that any such grievances would land right back on my desk as I was the one who handled her dispute and that doing so would achieve nothing.

She decides she'll take the matter up with her bank, I wish her luck and we end the call. What follows is an exchange of information with our accounting department and our social media departments documenting Karen's dispute and her threats.

Fast forward to September, her bank denied her dispute after we provided them with all the documentation outlining the charges and taxes. More so, the BBB dismissed her complaint once we sent them a transcript of our call. Her negative social media posts didn't last as she faced backlash from other users and eventually deleted them.

I didn't hear from Karen again and in view of her antics, our company blacklisted her. It's a relief to know that I'll never have to deal with this lady again.

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36. El Brusco Despertar

Recently, I embarked on an eight-hour journey with my child from the US back to our homeland. To ensure a comfortable trip, I secured first-class tickets for both of us. Interestingly, the airline called our group last to board the plane. Upon arrival, I found that a woman, around 40 years old, and her kid had occupied our seats. I calmly alerted her, but she ignored me.

Since we were the last ones boarding and the plane was ready to depart, I had to inform the flight attendant about the issue. In response to the attendant's explanation, the woman repeated “lo siento no entiendo”—which translates to "I'm sorry I don't understand" in English—persistently. It was clear that Spanish wasn't her native language, however, she feigned ignorance.

Here's where it gets entertaining: as a Spanish speaker myself, I spoke to her in Spanish, clarifying that they were in our seats and needed to switch to theirs. Her face turned red, and she openly expressed how she was a single mom and how I should be respectful towards my elders, all in clear Spanish.

She suggested I move with my son to economy class because she felt entitled to the first class seats. I informed her that she was not significantly older than me (I’m 27 and she appeared to be in her 40s), and I showed no interest in her story about being a single mother; after all, we had both paid for our respective seats. Ultimately, I had the unique pleasure of acting as her translator, informing her that they needed to move to their original seats or risk being removed from the flight.

Reluctantly, they moved to their assigned seats. Before departing, she made a parting remark in English, blaming 'my kind' for ruining America. I brushed it off with a laugh, and advised her to enjoy her flight.

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37. The Karen Is Coming From Inside The House

This tale is about my mom, who happens to be a real life Karen. Sadly, I've spent a good part of my life managing her antics. One incident dates back to my teenage years, I was around 15. We decided to dine at a quaint local joint that offered all-you-can-eat buffets. To note, my mom has untamed long, thick, and curly hair, an attribute that plays a pertinent role in this story.

Our meals arrived as we settled down to eat, and things were surprisingly quiet. My mom, usually quick to find fault, hadn't started nit-picking. Suddenly, the silence broke. "Look at this, there’s a hair in my food”! she dramatically declared, pointing at her meal. I noticed, "Mom, that's YOUR hair”. She bustled, "AH, NO. That's not MY hair”!

With her theatrics growing more exaggerated, the murmurs from the surrounding tables grew louder. The situation grew more awkward as my mom continued to perform, painting me with increasing waves of embarrassment. Following this artificial uproar, our waitress appeared, drawn by the ruckus.

Checking in, the waitress asked, "What seems to be the issue here”? My mom fired back: "There is a hair in my food”! The waitress managed a nonchalant, "Um...ok”? My mom, feeling slighted by the perceived dismissive tone, retaliated: "So what do you plan to do about it? We demand our meals on the house. This is awful service”. Remaining unruffled, the waitress offered with a grin: "I'm sorry you're not happy with our service. Would you like to discuss this further with our chef”?

Feeling triumphant, mom snapped, "Yes. I would”! I was perplexed; why was the waitress so unfazed? The reason soon unfolded. A gentleman emerged from the kitchen, making his way to our table, causing my mother's triumphant smile to evaporate.

The chef had a gloriously bald head. Glistening bare, not a trace of hair. The chef greeted with a friendly: "Hi there, how can I assist you tonight? What seems to be the problem”? Once mom managed to stutter: "Well...there's a hair in my food”, the chef responded with a smile: "I'm sorry about that ma'am, but as you can clearly see, unless I've miraculously sprouted a full crop of hair within the last few moments, that couldn't possibly be mine, given I am your chef tonight. Is there anything else? I should get back to work”.

He quickly returned to the kitchen before this circus could continue. I took the opportunity to mouth an apologetic “sorry” to him as he left. I didn't dare to engage mom post this, but rest assured, I had a secret smile to keep me company for the rest of the night.

Entitled peopleShutterstock

38. Picking The Wrong Side

A couple of nights back, a friend who was staying at my house went after me. In the middle of the night, I had to escape to my neighbor's place to call the authorities. While she was getting detained, she was in my living room making videos, boldly telling the authorities she wished I would die in a fire. Initially, I thought I'd ask the prosecutor to substitute charges for mandatory mental health help on Monday morning.

This friend is seriously mentally ill, often violently reacting to things. I can vouch from personal experience that ending up behind bars isn't the solution. One of her pals, who'd been repeatedly persuading me to drop the charges against her, argued that it could leave permanent damage on her record and ruin her future.

But something changed my mind. Another friend sent me a screenshot of a disturbing post she shared when I was running for help. She was falsely accusing me of attacking her and posted my address on Google maps. As a single mom, this is the place I call home and where my kids live (although they weren't home at the time of the incident). It goes without saying, had they been home, I wouldn't have left them behind while seeking help.

I told her friend that I was going ahead with the charges linked to her attacking me; not just that, I planned to show that screenshot to the officers and ask for additional charges, if possible. His response was to Google my address, screenshot it, and tell me, "Anyone can Google your address. A conviction shouldn't mess up her life forever".

All I could think was that anyone who physically attacks you, tries to harm you, and then posts your children's address online just might deserve it. His audacity surprised me. Who does he think he is?

Entitled peopleShutterstock

39. A One-Sided Deal

My family has a couple of rental cabins in Michigan, but our main one is set on a hillside by a lake, offering a bird's eye view of the surroundings. With all of us siblings now having our own kids and being in our 30s, the place is in frequent use from April through November, having only a few vacant weekends.

Down the hill, we have a neighbor—a couple from out west. They replaced the previous quaint old cottages with an out-of-place, modern city-style house. Due to the size of the house, their yard is practically nil. They often appeal to us, greatly desiring, if we'd agree to sell them a fraction of our own yard.

But we value our yard immensely, having space to host major family events like weddings or reunions, accommodating over 100 people and still retaining room for outdoor games. And even though our landscaped yard is separated from their wild, forest-like surroundings by just a simple chicken wire fence, we have consistently declined their request to buy a portion.

Just last weekend, my dad got wind from a local that our troublesome neighbors were snooping around our vacant cabin with some unknown folks. Acting promptly, my dad gave a ring to the local authorities, some of whom he enjoys a cold one with during the summer months. They headed out quickly to investigate.

They found the intrusive neighbors attempting to set up a makeshift kids' winter playground. Having been asked if they had our permission, they falsely claimed they were actually in the closing stages of buying our land to convert it into a small snow park. Contradicting her lie, the authorities stated they knew the true owners—us—and that they were trespassing. They were all slapped with trespassing tickets and the authorities warned them of the potential repercussions should any children be injured during their illicit presence.

The authority recommended a restraining order if they were found trespassing again. And it's not their first trespassing violation—they'd been caught on our dock and even helping themselves to our veggies in the summer garden. We've planned to enhance our surveillance with additional cameras once the weather warms up, as currently we only have cameras overseeing the entrances and garage areas.

Entitled peopleShutterstock

40. Karma Comes For The Evil Twin

My twin brother Sebastian and I have always had a strained relationship. He made my childhood really difficult, constantly putting me down and causing trouble while our parents favored him. Despite us both doing the same amount of housework, he always got extra cash for it. On our birthdays, he'd get better gifts, and we'd only ever go to see the movies he wanted. The only people I could rely on were my older sister Jane, cousin Kai, and best friend Isaac.

When I was 17, my first girlfriend betrayed me by having an affair with Sebastian. She even got pregnant and ran away when Sebastian didn't want to deal with fatherhood. That period of my life was incredibly painful.

However, things started looking up when I started seeing Daniel, a boy from my college. I realized I was bi and, despite the initial shock of coming out to my parents, I found comfort and acceptance in my relationship with Daniel. Things turned sour when my parents kicked me out after Sebastian, unable to accept my sexuality, made them uncomfortable.

I was taken in by Isaac and his parents, experiencing familial love for the first time. Eventually, Daniel, Isaac, and I shared a flat and things started to get better. Fast forward to the present, Daniel and I are now happily married.

Out of the blue, I got a call from my sister informing me that Sebastian was in the hospital. Seeing my parents by his side, oddly happy to see me, was surreal. To my shock, Sebastian, looking frail and weak, told me he had kidney failure and didn't have much time left.

Inevitably, he asked me to donate a kidney for him. I refused outright because of our difficult past. Despite his pleas and our parents trying to guilt-trip me about it, I stood firm. They didn't empathize with me when I needed them, so why should I now?

Leaving the hospital, I felt a huge relief. My sister understood my decision and I returned home to my supportive husband, content with my choice. The next news I received was of Sebastian's passing. While I didn't grieve much, it sparked harsh accusations from extended family claiming I was a bad person for not saving Sebastian.

This whole saga ended up raising doubts in my mind about my choice, especially with me and Daniel wanting to start our own family. However, after everything, I've realized that if the roles were reversed, I'd probably have been left to die. Sebastian's unfortunate end was ultimately due to his unhealthy lifestyle.

I won't be seeing my parents again, and I'll ensure that my future children never meet them. My best revenge will be proving that I can be a better parent than they ever were.

Entitled peopleShutterstock

41. None Of Her Business

When I was between 10 to13 years old, my mom was regularly going to the hospital because she had bipolar disorder. Fast forward to when I was 15, my mom's health had improved. She was living at home and even holding down a job. Then, during my last year of high school, a teacher started pulling me aside during classes. Initially, she would chat casually about my fair grades, but things soon took a troubling turn.

She began to ask increasingly personal and intrusive questions about my mom's mental health, even sharing her own experiences with her mother's illness, which was the same as my mom's. She further began to probe into my life at home, filling me with confusion and discomfort.

This continued on for three months. After some time, I had enough of her constant interruptions during class, so I finally stood up to her. I asked her to stop pulling me away from class and to leave me alone. As I was leaving, she got ahold of my arm and threatened to contact the CPS if I kept withholding information.

I informed her that she was free to call them, assuring her that they wouldn't find anything wrong and would just waste their time. A few days later, I was pulled out of class again. But this time, it was the principal who escorted me to her office where my parents, a CPS worker, and I were to discuss the issue. I recognized the CPS worker as she used to come to our house when my mom was unwell.

Everyone talked it out and concluded that there was no issue at home. Still, the entire situation was pressuring enough to bring me to tears. My parents were livid; they wanted to understand why the teacher felt it was her place to question me about personal family matters. Sadly, they didn't receive a satisfying answer. The professor remained silent but gave me an angry look.

The CPS lady was upset that her time had been taken up and demanded the principal to take corrective measures. The school barred the teacher from being alone with me or pulling me out of class. Eventually, she was transferred to another class and later fired for harassing and assaulting another student.

Entitled peopleShutterstock

42. The Meat Of The Matter

So, I'm in my sophomore year of college, living with three roommates—Dan, Max, and Olivia. Our shared space includes a living room, kitchen, and importantly for this story, a fridge. Typically, we each occupy a shelf and share the rest of the fridge. However, the shared living situation gets complicated due to our dietary needs—I don't have any, while Dan is gluten intolerant, Olivia is a purposeful vegan, and Max is a vegetarian due to his allergies and health issues. And here's where the conflict started.

Max and I are pretty tight since we're pursuing the same major. Early on in our cohabitation, Max noticed someone was moving his food to Olivia's space in the fridge. Due to his severe social anxiety, Max asked me to talk to Olivia about it. Olivia assumed that we had bought her those groceries because they were plant-based.

To keep things simple, I told her Max was just vegetarian without mentioning his medical conditions. Olivia apologized, moved Max's food back to his shelf, and seemed glad to have another plant-based eating roommate. But things got a bit tense occasionally, with Olivia pressuring Max about adopting a fully vegan diet.

Fast forward to yesterday, we were having a Chinese takeout night. We got a beef dish that Max is fond of, and is able to eat, for the group and one especially for him. When Olivia saw Max enjoying it, she decided to help herself, but Max intervened, telling her it contained beef.

She was confused and questioned why Max was eating it. Max replied that it was a dish he could eat, upon which Olivia berated him for eating meat. Max had to explain his dietary choice is due to his health reasons. Olivia, however, dramatically left the room, claiming Max shouldn't identify himself as a vegetarian then.

Today, the tension continued with Olivia acting cold. To ease up Max, Dan and he went out, while I stayed to talk to Olivia. She vented about feeling betrayed, believing Max and she shared a common cause. I dared to remind her that blaming Max for her feelings was wrong, and that’s when she oddly compared Max's actions to being persecution. 

I was taken aback and left to join Max and Dan at the arcade. When we returned, we made a disturbing discovery. Our shared space looked like it had been ransacked. Max's stuff was scattered in the living area, meat products were discarded, and a full carton of milk had been emptied. Olivia's shelf was cleared out and any food that was vegan-friendly, including Max's and some of Dan's, was missing.

Needless to say, we called our Resident Advisor who agreed this chaotic behavior was unacceptable. Thankfully, she reassured us that she would speak with Olivia and seriously consider having her relocated. Now, we've spent all our grocery budget and are left with a sparse kitchen thanks to Olivia's volatile reaction.

Entitled peopleShutterstock

43. Nightmare In First Class

So, we're off on a family trip and we're traveling first class for the very first time. We occupy seven out of eight seats next to the pilot's cabin, with a random person seated with us—and we've landed ourselves a real nightmare traveler, a true "Karen". Right from the beginning, Karen doesn't go unnoticed. We're boarding with my father-in-law who’s wheelchair-bound when this lady gets on the plane under the "needs extra time" excuse.

Ironically, she has no trouble moving about and, it turns out, she slips in early to stuff not just her overhead bin, but some nearby ones too with all her carry-on baggage. On top of this, the flight gets delayed due to short staff, and Karen insists on having a drink before we even take off. When the flight attendant denies her request, she begins moaning to us about the poor service in first class.

I'm already thinking, "Could you please be quiet"? Then she asks, "Couldn't we just leave without the missing crew member"? Funny thing is, we were waiting for the pilot. When the delay turns lengthy, we're allowed back into the terminal for a stretch, only to find upon our return that Karen's economy-class friend is sitting in my daughter's seat.

Despite us practically coughing to draw their attention, they are completely oblivious to our presence. Eventually, after my daughter, my mother-in-law, and I all express that they've taken our seats, they finally move. But airborne at last, the ordeal isn’t over...

Karen begins knocking back the wine. Already clearly inebriated, she spills her fourth glass all over my teenage daughter, without so much as an apology or a napkin. Next thing, she's demanding yet another drink from the flight attendant.

Not to forget, my daughter later tells me that Karen hoarded all the complimentary items she could lay her hands on. Even more, she's drinking with her mask down, but the second I lower mine to sip some water, she grabs my arm and orders me to put it back on.

Seriously? She's fussy over masks, but totally fine touching strangers? Oh, Karen. Eventually, I relay everything to the flight attendant who stops serving her, but Karen continues to fuss, annoying my daughter endlessly and complaining non-stop about the airline. Poor girl—she was honestly concerned about the possibility of Karen throwing up on her.

Entitled peopleShutterstock

44. Now That’s A Long Distance Call

Roughly a decade back, I observed a scene where a lady left her smartphone atop her car and drove away. As I trailed her, I saw the phone swoop off the car during a busy journey on a single lane highway. Despite the slight risk, I seized a safe opportunity to retrieve the device—miraculously, it was perfectly fine. After a glance at her background picture, I saw she looked around 20, a redhead with a boyfriend.

As I continued with my day, running my chores, her phone received a call about 30-40 minutes later. I relayed the entire episode to her, right from it coming off the roof of the car, my picking it up, and noted she might have left it while possibly refuelling or similar. Her reaction? "Ok, can you deliver it to me at my workplace, a pizza shop"? To that, I responded hesitantly, "I am quite a distance away—about an hour round trip from there. How about we meet at the nearest Dunkin Donuts"?

Slightly irritated, she countered, "That’s too far for me, plus I am unfamiliar with your area. Let's compromise and rendezvous at this restaurant midway". My reply: "That's hardly a midway point. That restaurant is still in your vicinity. Alternatively, you can collect it later". She bristled: "I can't spare the time for this”, and handed the call off to her boyfriend. He was even more annoying. His tone of voice escalated, "Man, what's your issue? Just return her phone".

As the exchange grew more heated, with her boyfriend adopting a more confrontational tone, I decided to hang up, owing to their rudeness. Figuring I’d handle it later, I turned off the phone and left it in my bag. Then I came up with a plan. I kept it with me for the next day as I planned to visit my grandfather who lived two hours away. When I reached granddad's town, I turned on the phone, contacted the girl’s father, and recapped the entire situation.

He was noticeably apologetic—seemingly, a familiar situation for him. I explained that due to their impolite behavior and unmasked threats, the phone could now be collected from the local station in my grandfather's town. His response? "So, she's in for a six-hour round trip this weekend. Sorry for the hassle, once more".

Entitled peopleShutterstock

45. You Had One Job

I'm the owner of a restaurant. Lately, delivery orders have skyrocketed and I've spent the last month recruiting new drivers. One of them, who we'll name Jen, had her first shift this past Saturday. She's a 22-year-old college student, blonde with seemingly good manners. At 6 pm, she walks in to start her shift and within 10 minutes, the first delivery order is ready.

It's a steak meal with two side veggies, a salad, and a chicken wrap. The food is ready, packed and placed on the counter for delivery, but Jen just stands there, so another driver, we'll name him Ron, grabs it and heads out. While Ron is gone, another order comes in. This time, it's 4 sizeable bacon cheeseburgers, 2 big portions of fries, and four large milkshakes.

Once again, the food reaches the delivery counter and Jen is still standing idle. That's when the general manager asks her what's holding her back. Her answer was unforgettable. She responds, "I can't deliver food with meat in it! I'll wait for the next vegan meal". Now bear in mind, a good 80% of our menu contains meat. We do offer some salads, sides, and even meatless Impossible burgers and meatloaf.

Nonetheless, these vegan options are typically ordered along with other meat-containing dishes. So the manager calls me over, explains the situation, and I confirm with Jen about her refusal to handle meat orders. After that, I send her home and she's not scheduled again. Ron and I wrap up the remaining deliveries for the evening.

Apologies, but you cannot expect to be paid for simply standing at the counter for five hours a day.

Entitled peopleShutterstock

46. Fences Don’t Always Make Good Neighbors

After settling into my new house, I found a interesting flyer stuck to my mailbox post. It came from my neighbor, the one who bought the beautiful model home you see when you enter our neighborhood. The note was for us, the members of our Homeowners Association (HOA).

The neighbor was telling us how our HOA fees were being used to sue him because he didn't take down a fence in his yard. The builder had originally placed the chestnut rail fence when the house was being built, and the neighbor never gave it a second thought. However, the HOA officers had a different view—they gave him 24 hours to remove the fence or face action.

Having had my own run-ins with the HOA, I decided to visit him and chat about it. I explained to him that any existing feature at the time of buying the house, like the fence, was permitted under the 'grandfather clause'. So his fence was perfectly okay. I showed him the clause in our HOA guidelines to prove it.

Back then, I was working as an editor for a local paper. I asked my neighbor if he'd mind me covering this situation in a news article. He agreed and off I went to discuss the idea with my managing editor. Together, we decided to create a series on HOAs and overly strict enforcers, using this incident as the starting point.

The series ran for seven weeks on the editorial page. Meanwhile, the court case played out and, happily, my neighbor emerged victorious. The court asked the HOA to cover his attorney’s fees. My neighbor admitted he wouldn't have minded removing the fence if they'd politely asked. He was a retired US Army colonel and wasn't used to taking orders like that. Now, thirty-six years later, the fence proudly stands.

Crazy NeighborsShutterstock

47. Check Out This Piece Of Work

Over my many years working as a cashier, I had quite a few encounters with this one customer. She had a funny routine. She'd watch me scan her mountain of items, and once I hit total, she'd start searching for her checkbook in her purse. This was no quick affair. As she took her time, a line would inevitably form, everyone's patience draining by the second, mine included.

Once she finally wrote the check, I'd process it through the register and store it securely in the cash drawer. I'd hand her the receipt which she'd take, before thrusting her hand back towards me. At first, I was confused, was she looking for a high-five? Instead, she coughed to get my attention and asked, "Where's my check"? Slightly bewildered, I responded, "In the drawer, where I just put it after our transaction".

This wasn't the answer she wanted. She demanded her check back, citing potential identity theft if the check was left behind. I explained our process to her—we keep the check securely in a safe before our armed guard delivers them to the bank for deposit.

She refused to listen. At hint of her threat to cancel her purchase if she didn't get the check back, I saw my opportunity—we were nearing my last week at the job anyway. I got back her receipt, reversed her transaction, and promptly handed her both the nullified receipt and her precious check. "Here you go, I've reversed your transaction and here's your check. Good luck at the next store,” I said while starting to unbag her items.

Her confusion was apparent, with her jaw almost reaching the floor. "But those are my items," she argued. I replied, in my most professional tone, "You did tell me you'd rather take your business elsewhere if you can't keep your check. So, I've reversed your purchase and here's your check". Redirecting my attention to the patient line, I called on, "Next customer, please".

My beautiful next customer started initiating small talk about her cereal purchase. By then, the manager had arrived and initiated the process of re-checked out the previous customer's items in the next aisle. Once more though, she could not claim her check. The audience was hooked on the unfolding drama, myself included.

The climax was when she exploded in anger at the manager for not returning the check before storming out, her cart full of purchases. As she continued her speech, her cart slammed into a doorway, prompting laughter from a few young spectators. All in all, it was an unforgettable day.

Entitled peopleShutterstock

48. The Metric System Doesn’t Care About Your Entitlement

A few years back, my wife and I, both from Manchester, embarked on a mini-world tour for our honeymoon. Our journey took us to Iceland, where we were a bit let down to learn that the famed Blue Lagoon was essentially a large, man-made, outdoor swimming pool filled with runoff from a geothermal plant. After some quick online research, we came across a place about 90 minutes from Reykjavik called the Secret Lagoon.

The location was breathtaking, embodying all we imagined a natural hot spring to be. It boasted a steam-covered pond, a river beside it also shrouded in steam, and an array of small bubbling pools of water and mini-geysers that sporadically shot water into the air. The attraction sat on private land and was equipped with changing facilities and showers, and roughly £12 granted you entry.

Between the pond and river was a section delineated by rope. Within this area were small, deep pools, accompanied by a sign that read "Warning, water is over 90 degrees. Do not enter at your own risk". The sign likely translated poorly, indicating "no entry" or "we're not responsible if anything happens". Regardless, my wife and I, leaning against the pond's edge nearby, watched as a man approached, read the sign, and stepped over the rope.

As the man neared the hot pools, a lifeguard hurried to him, yelling, "Stop! You can't go in there"! The man, sporting an American accent, quipped, "Whatever, buddy, I can do whatever I want". The lifeguard attempted to explain that the water temperatures ranged "between 90 and 110 degrees," even pointing out the "do not enter" sign. Unfazed, the American countered, "No, the sign says 'enter at my own risk'. It's not that risky; it gets hotter than 90 degrees in Nevada every day".

This left the lifeguard perplexed. In an attempt to clarify, I yelled, "Oi mate, it's Celsius, not Fahrenheit". This only served to confuse the American more, who declared, "I don't know what that is, but I'm going in". For clarity, 90-110 Celsius equates to 194-230 Fahrenheit. A five-minute argument ensued between the American and the lifeguard before the American decided he’d had enough.

Barely two steps further, he tried to step into the hot pool, only to yelp in pain after dipping a toe in. Looking quite embarrassed, he made a hasty retreat to the changing rooms. The lifeguard sighed and returned to his post. Quite the remarkable display of recklessness.

Entitled peopleFlickr

49. The Audacity Of Having Your Own Life

This tale takes me back a few years. I was residing in Colorado at the time, having just welcomed a new baby into my life. My family circle included my husband, our five-year-old with autism, and me. My husband was an oil field worker, often away for a week to three weeks at a stretch—sporadic and unpredictable but the pay was decent.

I have a brother who holds an old-fashioned belief that women should always be dressed in skirts or dresses, and their opinions should be non-existent. His wife seems okay with this, I, on the other hand, am not—I've got a thinking brain despite having grown up with him.

I'd not had any substantial contact with him for months, just a cursory congratulatory text on the birth of my baby. Until one day he's on the phone, checking whether I was busy. When I answered, "Not really, what's up"?—the request he put forth was so absurd, it almost sent me into fits of laughter.

He asked, "Can you make it to Florida to look after my kids and wife for a few months? We're in the middle of moving and my wife is expecting. Too exhausted to lift anything or manage the kids".

My response was, "Are you kidding me? I have a baby and a five-year-old to look after, plus my husband's job keeps him away for extended periods". He suggested, "Get your friends to help out. I need you here".

When I refused, the phone went quiet, most likely out of shock—he was unaccustomed to a woman standing up to him. His final words to me were, "Then what use are you"?, and with that, he ended the call. I wouldn't hear from him again for roughly half a year.

Entitled peopleShutterstock

50. Get The Message, Stephanie

So, this tale actually started about two years back. My job is providing somewhat specialized tech and project assistance at a university for a large department. My colleague, let's name her Stephanie, is one of those individuals who always in a rush, thinking she's of high priority. I got on her bad side when I was out of the office on an approved leave.

I had taken two weeks off to take care of my mom who had just undergone surgery for cancer. I was very transparent about the reason for my absence to prevent any misconceptions about me being on a holiday. Clearly, Stephanie was aware of why I was away. When she was informed that I wasn't present, her reaction was far from understanding. Instead, she ended up dialing my personal number, which is only meant to be used for emergencies.

She kept calling and calling until finally, I answered, only to be scolded by her for not being able to cater to her urgent need. When I explained the reason behind my absence, she dismissed it, instead accusing me of stalling her work and threatened to report my continuous absence. She completely disregarded the fact that there were other people who could help her, or that this was my first time taking a long leave.

True to her word, she reported me to the Dean. As proof of my claim, I handed over my approved leave forms and my call log showing her ten consecutive calls. Stephanie was minimally reprimanded for her actions then.

Fast forward to the present day, I'm about to depart for my dream job, which I'm excited about! I emailed the department, thanking them and announcing my exit. There's talk about not replacing me to save costs, stirring discontent among the employees who I support. Thankfully, my team is reasonable, their fury is aimed at the management and not at me.

Stephanie doesn't fall into that reasonable category. She sent me a Facebook message, though we're not friends there. I accepted the message, driven by mild fascination. And her sense of entitlement continues. She accused me of being selfish for leaving my job despite everything the department allegedly did for me. It seems as though she thinks I owe them my service. That's just hilarious!

As she continued her messages, her spelling deteriorated. I can't help but enjoy the image of her so flustered that she couldn't type correctly. Stephanie's theatrics surely won't be missed.

Entitled peopleShutterstockSource: 

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