Person Wonders "What Is The Best Case Of 'You Just Picked A Fight With The Wrong Person' That You've Witnessed?" And 30 Netizens Reply

When I was in the 3rd grade I had a bully, Lester Furman, a 4th grader, who would ambush me on the way home, push me to the ground, sit on my stomach, pummel me for a few minutes, then get up and laugh at me while calling me a sissy. He was considerably bigger than me and I was afraid of him.

My sister, who was in the first grade was usually a block or so behind me because I didn't want to get caught walking my little sister home. My friends would all make fun of me if I did. Mom had always told me to walk with her but I seldom ever did.

This particular day, She came upon Lester sitting on me, pummeling me as usual. She was carrying her metal, square-sided, Cinderella lunch box that she'd gotten for her birthday. She ran to my rescue and hit Lester as hard as she could, right along side his head with her metal lunchbox. He fell off me holding the side of his head. Blood was going everywhere. She had caught him right on the ear and cut him real good. He ran off crying and howling.

Lester never bothered me again and I walked my sister home every day after that. We laugh about it every time we get together.

I hope Lester reads this.

I was just a girl, probably about 10. My Dad was driving the family to my Grandmother’s place for Sunday dinner. Dad stopped behind a car at a red light when it happened…

Now to know my Dad was to love him. He was all of 5 feet tall, had polio as a child so was bent over with a hump back and had an undeveloped leg in a brace. He was a talker, could converse with anyone. He sang and played the guitar, he boxed with my little brother and built a mean fire when we went camping. He couldn’t chop wood or put up a tent or anything that required muscle, but he could and did, entertain his friends and family as they did it for him. Not one person ever resented helping my Dad. He had a way of making everyone feel comfortable, like he’d known them forever. So… he was a gem.

This day was just like every other Sunday. Except for what happened at that light. I don’t really remember what caused the problem but my Dad did something that pissed off the guy driving ahead of him. This guy slams his vehicle into park and gets out of the vehicle then starts stalking over to Dad’s door. My Mom is worried but not him. He got out of his door, walked all 5 feet of himself up to this brute, stuck out his hand and said something like “I seemed to have annoyed you somehow.” I don’t remember the conversation but I do remember the guy shaking my Dad’s hand and apologizing for getting mad over nothing. Yup, took the wind right out of his sails in a few seconds. Quite the guy.

When my 5-year old granddaughter, who is biracial, and I were walking through a department store (35 years ago), a young “man” very obviously of the old skin-head ilk came our way. Just as we crossed paths, he cleared his throat and spit at my granddaughter.

I’m a quiet, pacifistic woman by nature, but ugly behavior really makes me crazy mad. Spitting at my granddaughter, though? Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no.

With all my strength, I swung my purse and hit him in the back of the head, and he went sprawling. I yelled for help and waited while stepping on his [privates]. Then it got worse.

My one and only violent episode and I’m still not sorry.

During basic training (5 decades ago!) we had two guys from New York City who you could say were diametrically opposed. One was loud and blustering and claimed to have been the warlord of some NY street gang. We nicknamed him “Warlord”. The other was college educated and going to OTS (Officer training school) after basic. He was soft spoken and smoked a pipe during smoke breaks. We called him “the professor”.

The warlord seemed to hate him from the first week, maybe because they were both from New York City with obviously different backgrounds. He was always making insulting remarks to him or trying to intimidate him. The professor never took the bait and would just smile and nod with a “just keep it up” look.

Near the end of basic we were allowed some recreation on Sunday afternoons and one outlet was the gym. There was a boxing ring in the gym and after another round of “you’re just a cowardly wimp” from the warlord, the professor suggested they “might work out their differences in the ring”. Warlord was all in. The gym instructor fitted them with headgear, mouth shields and gloves and dinged the bell.

The warlord came in snarling and the professor hit him with a very fast series of left jabs, then dropped him with a solid right. He hopped up and was dropped again just as easily. He didn’t rush up the second time and the instructor called out that was enough. As they removed the headgear and gloves, the professor calmly said, “The next time someone isn’t interested in fighting you, don’t assume it’s because he’s afraid. Maybe he was a two-time New York State Golden Gloves champion and just didn’t think you were worth the bother.”

I was 16-17. I was a big kid. 6ft 2. 210. Most of it muscle. I started boxing. I was in love with Rocky. The real Rocky from Brockton named Marciano not the one in the movies; though; he was cool too. Anyway, I could hit pretty hard but I didn’t listen very well. I had a great coach. Former army boxing champ. Patience of a saint. He started sparring me against other guys in the gym. Sparring went at levels: quarter speed, half speed and full speed. Meaning at quarter and half you were supposed to not hit as hard as you could. You were supposed to be learning. Learning things like how to move, foot work, combinations, etc., etc. I always went full speed — as I said I had a problem with listening. I ran through a few guys and thought I was the next great White hope. Coach kept warning me. Take it easy. Watch your wind. Learn. Keep your hands up. Jab, etc. but in my mind I was ready for Holmes.

Then one day I show up to the gym and there’s this skinny little guy in the ring. He was about 5 inches shorter than me and maybe a buck fifty soaking wet. Coach tells me that this kid is my sparring partner for the day. I said “huh, coach, really?” Coach says “well you need a workout. He needs a workout. Let’s get going, etc.” So I head to the lockers, tape up and change, but Of course I don’t wear my head gear because, well I was too good for head gear. Etc. Coach steps out of the ring and as he’s stepping out he says. “Just don’t hurt him” I go to say “okay” back and that’s when I noticed that coach wasn’t talking to me. I found this interesting.

Anyway. Recorded automated bell rings and I do my usual Clubber Lang swinging for the fences imitation. This little guy just stands against the ropes and takes all my shots in his arms and shoulders and gloves. He covers up well. I never get his head. He never throws a punch back, not one. Our Sparring rounds by the way were 2 minutes long, not 3 minutes (thank goodness). The bell chimes: first round is over. Minute break. Then round 2 which is a repeat of round 1 with me throwing haymakers and Shorty covered up tight taking my shots in his shoulders and mitts and not returning fire. Ding ding. Round 3. See previous rounds.

Okay. Here comes round 4. I’m completely spent. I throw a punch but my arms are so heavy that my glove just lightly taps his gloves which are covering his face. Then, and this is the part I’ll never ever ever forget, Shorty lowers his gloves just enough so I can see his eyes and … he winks at me. It was at that moment that: 1. I almost peed my shorts and 2. I Learned to listen. Shorty took maybe 30 seconds to destroy me. And unlike me, I’m sure, mercifully for my sake, he was going half speed. It was a tremendous lesson in humility and one I needed and one I’m grateful for to this day.

My adorable very tiny 10 year old granddaughter asked to go to the local park by herself to meet some friends. Her father caved in and allowed her to go as the park was only a block away from their home in a very good neighbourhood. This was a big step as she is an only child and as such has very protective parents. She returned after less than 5 minutes and when asked why she didn’t stay at the park, she replied that it was because her friends weren’t there. Fast forward six months and the conversation goes like this:

“Remember when you let me go to the park and I returned right away”

So as the story tumbles out, as she was walking to the park, a man started walking right behind her and she didn’t feel good about it, but she got really a lot more than uncomfortable when she went through the gates of the park and the man was even closer and right behind her. What the man did not know, is this little fireball was only a few weeks away for testing for her black belt in Taekwondo. She has this awesome twirl with a back kick that she used on the unsuspecting man. So my son asks “So what happened next and why didn’t you tell me about this”. Her answer was that she was scared to tell because she used her taekwondo outside of the gym and about the guy, she kicked him solidly in the ba…, (that part of the body that no man likes to be kicked in) and that the last she saw of him he was lying on the ground rolling, moaning and crying.

We have no idea what his intentions were, but, no man should be within foot range of a 10 yr old girl when there is no one else around. Her spidey senses were screaming that she was in danger and she acted exactly as she had been trained to do (well, maybe she could have aimed for a different part of the body).

So again, you just never know……

One summer during college I went cross country with a friend who was one of the most physically powerful people I ever met. He was 6’4” of pure muscle, a collegiate east coast heavyweight wrestling champion and was the captain and a defensive lineman of our college’s football team. He was about 265 pounds when we went cross-country, and there was not an ounce of fat on him. His biceps were twice as big as my thighs and his chest was so big if you hollowed it out you could probably take a nap in it.

He used to tell me how random people would try to pick fights with him. He was a gentle giant, smart and accomplished (he won a few academic awards from our school and became a surgeon). The last thing he wanted to do was fight.

We stopped in New Orleans. We were sitting at a bar, minding our own business. A guy walked up to my friend out of nowhere, tapped him on the shoulder. The guy was maybe 5’10” and pretty average looking. When my friend turned the guy said “You know, I could take you.” My friend replied “I am sure you can” and turned back to talk to me. The guy felt dismissed (which he was), so he took my friend’s shoulder and turned him slightly around, and said “Let’s step outside. I want to show you I can kick your a*s.” I was sitting there incredulous, but now I believed all my friend’s stories. My friend said “No need to go outside. I already said I believe you can take me.”

Now people were watching from all around us. The guy was stuck. He said “You are just saying that. You don’t believe me. I want to show you! Or are you afraid?” My friend got up – he towers over the guy and looked like he could squash him like a bug – and he said to the people sitting around us: “Hey everybody? You see this guy? He says he can take me. I told him I was sure he can. He doesn’t believe I am sincere. So I tell you all sincerely” - and here he jabs his finger in the air at the guy - “THIS GUY “ -and then he points to himself - “can take ME.” And then my friend turns his back on the guy and sits back down, turns to me, and starts chatting.

The guy is standing there and everyone is looking at him like he is an a*s. Because of the just-on-the-edge-of-sarcasm way my friend said it, everyone in the place knew what he was doing. The guy though, had no idea what to do next. Finally, he slinks away.

It was masterful. He defeated the guy utterly without laying a finger on him. He was secure in his ego and did not need to prove anything. My admiration for my friend grew a lot that evening.

A woman called my newsroom crying. Nobody wanted to deal with her. So they sent her to me. She was crying and hard to understand, but the basic story went this way…

She had bought a used car. She needed it badly to get to the THREE jobs she held to support her children by herself. No husband. Less than two weeks after buying the car, it broke down. She called the dealer who had told her it had a 30-day warranty.

He told her he couldn’t help. But, she told him, you said it had a 30 day warranty. His response — too bad. When she complained, he told her — “lady, you’re dealing with the big boys now.”

She was crying as she told me this. I was — to put it mildly — angry. My response to her — let me call you back.

I called him. I explained the problem and when I did not get what I considered a good response, I “explained” things to him:

He needed to respond appropriately to her and solve the problem.
If he did not respond appropriately, I would have my entire investigative news team look into his operation.
He did not like that.
Cautionary note here: My response - YOU picked the wrong person to fight with, and no, NOW, you’re playing with the Big Boys, expletives to follow…
He took back her car. Gave her a slightly newer model without any problems. She called crying and thanked me. I may have cried a bit too.

PS - I didn’t do the story about him. I wonder if I should have?

So, I’m Asian. As is my dad. He’s been an entrepreneur all his life, kind of forced to since he had immigrated to Canada…as there was no recognition of his certificates and licences.

When he and mom were in their 60s, they purchased a bar in a small northern Ontario town.

Most of the story below was relayed to me except for the last 5 minutes of what happened.

As with any place there’s always some yahoos who think they are king sh!t. In this case they were: two power linesmen (roughly 35yo, 6 ft+ 200 lb+) who came in while my mom (4′ 11″ 90 lbs soaking wet ) was helping close (2:00 a.m.).

They went into the men’s room. I assume they used the facilities, but then proceeded to destroy the newly installed toilet stalls and rip the brand new doors from the stalls that had literally been installed the weekend before. (I helped install them.)

According to one of the waitresses, Mom went into investigate. Shouting ensued and she stumbled backwards out of the doorway of the men’s bathroom, landing on her butt. I assume my mom had been pushed out.

The waitress told me that one of the guys had grabbed her by the face and shoved her out of the way, and told to “shut the f*ck up.”

The doorman was nowhere to be seen and the bartender called my dad, who happened to be working in the back office. He came running out and saw my mom holding her face and crying. He was quickly told what happened. In the meantime the two guys had exited via another door.

I saw my dad come running out of the bar as I was driving over to see if I could help close the place. (I was working shift work at the time and 2:00 a.m. is roughly my “lunch” time.)

I heard him yelling at the two guys who towered over him (5′ 5″ and 150 lbs). They stopped and turned around. I slammed on the brakes and parked, almost in the middle of the road. The exchange went something like this in a matter of less than a minute...

Dad: You guys just come out of my bar?

Two guys: Yeah, what’s it’s it to you, you f’ing [insert Asian slur]?

Dad: You push my wife?

Two guys: Yeah, f*ck you.

Dad: (Physical action: 3–5 rapid slaps to their faces, so fast that I couldn’t see other than he slapped them, but I did hear them…. I was about 5 feet away at this point.)

My dad then grabbed them both by the ears and started pulling them back to the bar, saying: “My wife is old enough to be your mother, you do this to your mom?”

Silence.

He marched them back into the bar, and he made them apologize to my mom. I suggested calling the police and laying charges but he said no. However, he told them to come back in the evening for the next 5 days and fix the doors.

They did.

With my wife. I couldn't fight my way out of a paperbag. We came out of a London theatre and this guy told us he had a knife and was mugging us. He ignored my wife and was threatened me. Next he was on his back and in a choke hold with my wife shouting to call the police. She is a black-belt judo master. As he was carted off he shouted at her “there was no need for that”.

The manager of our local Marks and Spencer retired and instead of promoting his deputy, the powers that be sent in someone from outside to take his place. Then he made his Big mistake.

My mother took a sweater back, the dye had not been set properly and I had returned from a university trip bright green (neat trick from a black roll neck). My mother went to get her money back and he refused to consider it (customer service knew my mother well and was all set to give her the money when he came along and intervened). I guess he only saw a smallish oldish lady with a foreign accent whom he could push around.

She looked at him and asked where the manager was, he replied that Mr X had retired and he was now the manager so it was no good my mother trying to invoke a past friendship, “No,” replied my mother, “It just means that I have to break you in. “

For twenty minutes she gave him a quick tutorial on British consumer law. I remember a large number of shop staff passing by to witness his humiliation.

My mother got her refund and an apology from him and a twenty pound gift voucher from the head office when she complained to the MD himself saying that she did not expect to have to train their people in basic management procedures.

Dude, age 37, sexist as hell, has a theory that only very few women are smart. Very few. He could maybe count them on one hand.

He, on the other hand, is the love child of Stephen Hawking and Albert Einstein high on NZT.

We are at a party, all PhD students, the women’s section seriously looked down on by this Dude. He of course has to start an intellectual fight over something one of the girls is majoring in. He dies to prove that she has grey spots in her logic/theory. Girl is super chill, Dude makes very little sense actually. He is mostly arrogant. Finally he names a study written by a female author, says Girl should only talk with such confidence if she is as smart as that woman. Yeah, the author lady is one of the few super intelligent “females” he would be able to accept as a partner in all terms.

Girl laughs and pulls out her laptop to show Dude how the study is actually her own article. She wrote it. She is the super intelligent author lady.

Laugh rumbles for minutes, Dude leaves a contrail behind in his rush to get out, trying to act hurt.

My eldest grandson had lived with me since he was born. My daughter had recurring grand mal seizures that were unexplained and uncontrolled that started shortly after she gave birth to him. The only way she dared hold him was seated in the center of the bed with me in the room. To make matters worse, after a seizure she was pretty much unresponsive for a couple of hours.

By the time they figured it all out and corrected things my grandson was nearly six years old. When she married, he insisted on staying with me as I had been his primary caregiver. It tore her apart but out of love for him she agreed.

A few years later we were all at his school carnival and my daughter overheard several people including a couple of teachers (not his) saying how he lived with his grandparents because his mom was a druggie and a prostitute. Well, my grandson had walked up and heard them as well and unloaded on them like only a furious nine-year-old could. He informed them that his mom let him live with us because she loved him, he had a room at both houses that he moved freely between, and that they were all mean, rude, and stupid and to shut up.

He then grabbed his mom’s hand (only then did they realize who had been standing next to them) and off he marched with her in tow to where I was. I didn’t see any of it but as I worked at his school as a full-time volunteer, I sure got a blow-by-blow account in the teachers’ lounge the following Monday. I think everyone was shocked as he had never been anything but polite until then. The teachers involved apologized to us and wrote an apology to my daughter as well. He just turned 33 years old and still has his family’s backs. Love that boy!

My brother when he was ganged up on by five guys.

At the end of my brother's senior year of high school he switched schools. For his last two months he attended the local public high school. He was a loner. Because of this some of the guys at the new school decided to pick on the Catholic school boy after school. Yes my brother and I both went to Catholic schools the majority of our lives.

When these five fellow students decided to do this was after school just off the school grounds. The five of them surrounded my brother and told him that they were going to give him an a*s whipping. They picked on the wrong person to decide to pick on.

At the time, my brother was a first degree black belt in Shotokan karate and a second degree in a different style, in which he taught classes multiple times a week. His typical weekend consisted of karate class on Friday evenings followed by weight training Saturday morning before the advanced black belt class he attended Saturday afternoons followed by regular karate class Saturday night and a repeat of this on Sundays. He regularly attended matches in the area where he would punch through 2x4's, bricks, cinder blocks and concrete slabs bare-fisted.

So after school the five of them surrounded my brother just before I was to pick him up. When I arrived I saw him surrounded as the five were attacking him. To this day he says he does not remember what happened as his training just took over. With not much more than one punch each, my brother took down each one of the five. He walked away; they ran or crawled.

Next day the five students accused my brother of assaulting them. The school cameras caught what had happened. When this was reviewed by the school officials and the school cop, they laughed and told them five on one and he assaulted you? True story 1993.

My daughter came out of the womb fearless. It’s a mixed bag of emotions for me. Sometimes I’m so proud of her I could burst. Sometimes she scares me.

When she was three I attended a community event that included a bounce house. Some friends of mine were there with their boys who were ages 5 and 9 at the time. They were typical little boys who liked to play rough. My daughter has the energy and endurance of a set of triplet boys…

She doesn’t know these boys well as they are older. But she’s happy to play with them and the other kids in the bounce house. Everything was fine until the 9 year old boy started bullying a special needs teenage girl who was also playing in the bounce house.

He kept shoving her down before she could stand up. My tiny daughter saw the scene and it made her mad. So what did she do?

She pushed him away from the teenager and yelled at his surprised form on the ground: “You are a meany-butt! You are supposed to be nice and not hit people! Say you’re sorry! Now!!!”

He was more than twice her size. He got to his feet and stared at her then he turned to the other girl and apologized.

I was sitting beside the bounce house observing everything, ready to intervene if I needed too. But at age three she had it under control and was already fighting injustice.

Several years ago, while I was working at a local automobile dealership, I had the pleasure of meeting an elderly gentleman and his 17-year-old granddaughter. The elderly man had just bought his granddaughter a new sports car for her high school graduation. He said she had earned it by being a straight “A” student all the way through school.

I didn’t see either of them for several weeks. One day the grandfather came in for an oil change. While we were talking I asked how his granddaughter was. He said she was doing fairly well but she had been jumped in a parking garage by three large men who tried to steal her car, and had several scrapes that she received from them. I told him she was fortunate she only had a few scrapes. I asked had they recovered her car. The grandfather laughed. He asked me if I had read in the paper about three men being hospitalized due to a car jacking incident in a downtown parking garage. I told him I had seen the headlines but hadn’t taken the time to read the story.

As it turned out the three men were the three who had tried to steal his granddaughter’s car. One had two broken arms, a broken leg and eight cracked ribs. Another had both his legs broken, one in two places and a fractured skull. The third one had both his arms broken and a broken leg.

He said when the police arrived they were begging people to keep her away from them.

This young lady is only 5′3″ tall and might have weighed 90 pounds soaking wet. Of course she had been training in the martial arts since she was six years old.

I think they picked the wrong car to try to steal.

In 2009, an elderly man moved to a suburb of Richmond Virginia to be closer to his daughter. He was an army retiree and had flown the American flag at his house ever since childhood. He would raise the flag in the morning and take it down each night in a ceremony to show his love for his country.

When he moved to the new house, he erected a flag pole to continue this practice. The homeowners association notified the man that the flag pole violated HOA “aesthetic” guidelines, he was asked to take it down immediately or face a lawsuit. (It looks bad, take it down or else!)

The threat seemed intimidating but the man was not daunted. The HOA didn’t pick a fight with just any old man, they picked it with Van Thomas Barfoot, a retired army colonel that had fought in three wars for his country (WWII, Vietnam, and Korea). He received 3 purple hearts for wounds in action, a bronze star, a silver star, and a medal of honor for his heroic actions in WWII.

The medal of honor is a really big deal in this country. It is the highest military honor, recipients are carefully vetted and must have clearly demonstrated “conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of life above and beyond the call of duty”. Col. Barfoot had always fought for his flag, he fought to keep it flying high through his actions, and fought to keep its colors true with his blood, he wasn’t going to give up.

The cause immediately garnered the support of the public, veterans groups, the state senator, and this even came up during a white house press briefing. Needless to say the HOA realized they were outmatched, backed down, and Col. Barfoot kept his flag pole.

Afterwards, Col. Barfoot told reporters “All my life, from childhood to now, I have been able to fly the flag, in the time I have left, I plan to continue to fly the American flag.”. Sadly, that time amounted to less than three years when he passed away in 2012. But Barfoot’s final fight left a legacy in a new Virginia state legislation that prohibited homeowners associations from barring the proper display of the U.S. flag. (Signed into law by Gov. McDonnell in 2010)

In a famous resort hotel in the US, a rich doctor was trying to sneak his underage children onto an adults-only penthouse floor. On the elevator was a quiet elderly woman who was also going to the top floor. The woman politely said to the doctor “I don’t think they allow children on that floor.” The doctor turned to her and said: “Mind your own business, you old bag!”

The woman was taken aback but did not reply. When the elevator arrived at the floor, the woman went one way and the doctor and his children went another.

The woman happened to be Chairman of the Board of a multi-billion dollar global conglomerate that has holdings on several continents including, you guessed it, the famous resort hotel.

She called the resort’s manager and said: “I want that man and his family out of the resort in ten minutes. Make it happen.”

The doctor got nasty, threatened to sue, etc. But the staff had their instructions and no authority for discretion, so they were indeed leaving, no matter what at this point.

The most fascinating part of watching the family packing up and leaving was the kids' expressions. They had obviously become accustomed to their father pretty much always getting his way in life. I’ll never forget the look of shock on their little faces when they discovered that day that their dad did not rule the world. They learned that no matter ‘how big a fish’ you may think you are, there is always a ‘bigger fish’ out there, and you never know when it will pop up and swallow you whole.

My grandfather was once a lightweight boxing champ. He was healthy most of his life, but like everyone, he grew old. At 90 years old, though, he still liked to go dancing. He took his girlfriend to their elder community's weekly dance. We went to join them for dinner and just visit them a while.

While I was up getting them plates from the buffet, two scummy men came in. They had been drinking and were looking for some old people to bully - no joke. They were in their late 30s/early 40s. They stopped at my grandpa's table and started talking about his girlfriend. My grandpa stood up and told them to leave. I looked over and saw this jerk spit on the floor and shove my 90 year old grandpa.

I saw my grandpa stumble backwards against the wall, and I dropped the food tray and started moving towards him. It felt like slow motion.

Before I could get there, I saw my grandpa push off the wall and punch the guy square in the jaw. The man landed on his butt and slid backwards nearly all the way across the room! No one could believe what we saw, especially not the two creeps. His friend went over and helped him up, and everyone watched them leave with their tails between their legs.

I finally went back and got the food for them, and we sat and talked about what happened while they ate. After a bit, the two idiots came back with the police. They pointed by grandpa out to the officers.

The police didn't believe their story, and we all acted like we didn't know what they were talking about. 😂

I sure miss that wonderful, strong old man. ❤

I’ll try to make this short. I was 16 years old and had a job at McDonald’s. On our breaks, we were always allowed to take free food to the break room and eat. The typical fare for just about everyone was a Quarter Pounder, fries, and a soda. One of our floor managers, Mark, was this young dude none of us liked. He thought he was too cool, and was usually quite the jerk. He had tried asking me out on a date several times, but I turned him down every time. (I was pretty cute back then and had a lot of boys after me.)

Anyway, one particular Saturday, I was working and so was Mark. When it came time for my break, I grabbed just a small container of orange juice and headed to the break room. I was sitting there chatting with a friend, when suddenly Mark bursts into the room and says to me, “You’re fired!” I was in shock. I was young, this was my first job ever, but I managed to squeak out the word, “Why?” Mark said, “For stealing orange juice!” I couldn’t believe it! But I had nothing else to do but grab my stuff and leave.

When I got home, I told my parents what had happened. My dad, a big, tall, burly, intimidating guy, immediately said to me, “Get in the car!”

My dad drove me back to McDonald’s, not saying a word the entire way there. When we got there, he said, “Come with me!” I was scared!

We walked in and my dad went straight to the counter. The manager saw us coming, and his eyes were big as saucers. All of my coworkers looked like deer caught in headlights! They had witnessed the firing earlier. We all had no idea what this big guy, my dad, had in mind.

So, my dad points to Mark, and says, “I want him to help me!” So, Mark, trying to appear confident, comes strutting over behind the counter and says, “May I help you, sir?” Like my dad was a regular customer, there to order lunch. My dad says, “Yeah, I’d like an orange juice, please”. Mark went and got the orange juice and put it on the counter and started to ring it up, when my dad said, “I want to pay for two.” When Mark told him the price, my dad threw a five dollar bill down on the counter, more than enough back then to pay for two orange juices, and said, “This is for the orange juice she stole (as he points to me), and for the orange juice you’re going to clean up!” My dad opened up the orange juice and poured it all over the counter! The last thing my dad said, as he pointed to Mark, was, “And I’m going to stand here and watch you do it!”

ADDITION TO STORY: (Added in response to requests from a previous commenter.) Once the owner of the store heard about what happened, he fired Mark, and asked me to come back to work, which I did!