Ever met someone who thinks the whole world revolves around them? Someone who thinks everyone should accommodate to their needs and they're the most important person in the world? If not, that's pretty lucky. Unfortunately, not everyone is that lucky.
People on Quora share the most entitled person they've ever met. Content has been edited for clarity.
“Do You Pay My Bills?”
“I walked into a local Chinese restaurant made popular by the simple fact they don’t use canned vegetables in their fried rice. The food is actually good.
Grabbing the nearest seat by the fan, I was facing a table that hosted a teenage boy with someone whom I supposed to be his mother. They were seated directly under the fan. The perfect spot on a hot tropical day. After placing an order of wonton soup, fried fish, and fried rice, I had to wait.
In between drawing table salt-art, a middle-aged woman walked into the restaurant and went directly to the table that seated the boy and his mother.
‘I’m going to need your table,’ she told them in Tongan.
The boy looked at his mother, and his mother understandably looked annoyed.
‘What? I’m sorry, but there’s plenty of tables around here,’ the mother replied.
The middle-aged woman walked off with a strut towards the counter and told the cashier something inaudible from where I was sitting. Whatever it was, it was obvious that things weren’t going her way. Walking back towards the woman and her son, she repeated what she told them before, only adding:
‘I’m having a meeting here in 10 minutes. This table, I need it,’ the woman explained.
After being told no once again, the woman then exclaimed ‘Do you even know who I am?’
Now, I have to hand it to the woman who was seated, she just leaned back on her chair and nonchalantly replied without losing eye contact, ‘Why? Do you pay my bills? Bug off.’
Serves her right.
And with that, I silently thought to myself, Yeah, bug off.”
“The Rest Of Us Were Stunned”
“My wife and I, newly married, were at the airport waiting at the gate for our flight to London. It was our first stop on our honeymoon in Scotland. Our names, along with about 12 other people, were called to come to the counter. We were told the flight had been overbooked and our seats were no longer available. We could take the option of taking some cash and a flight out the next day or wait in case any seats freed up. For us, the only option was to wait because we had a connecting flight from London to Glasgow. Most of the other passengers decided to wait as well.
Soon enough, they announced a seat had freed up. An expensively dressed woman pushed her way to the front of our group. With a heavy accent, she demanded the seat because, as she said, ‘I am a very important person, and I must make the flight.’
The airline representative immediately handed over the ticket and she hurried on board. The rest of us were stunned and looked at each other with shock and dismay. Would the airline really make the decision to give away the last ticket because this lady was the loudest and most obnoxious in demanding it?
We turned back to question the airline representative who, with a big smile and a pause for dramatic effect, told us, ‘The rest of you can fly business.’
Wouldn’t you know it, but as we took our seats, the lady who had grabbed the last ticket was sticking her head out of the curtain that separated business from coach demanding that she too deserved to fly business. The stewardess firmly told her to take her seat. We enjoyed the spacious seats and complimentary drinks all the more knowing that justice had been served. Sometimes, being the nice guy does pay off.”
“How Are You?”
“I was 23 years old, heavily pregnant, cashiering at Walmart. She was attractive woman in her 40s, dressed in business attire.
She came to my register.
I made the usual pleasantries ‘How are you?’ and began ringing her up.
Her items included potted plants, bags of soil, and fertilizer. As she was not chatty, I began letting my mind wander while I scanned. Then, I did it. I had the gall to SIGH while checking her out. Yes, apparently unknown to me, I had sighed.
This infuriated the customer began to berate me. I remember what she was wearing that day because she pointed out her business attire, specifically her heels. She was irritated that I had not put her soil in her cart, instead sitting it on the bag holder at the end of the register while I scanned. Obviously, given her footwear, I should have gotten it right into her cart. Never mind the large child I was growing inside me.
Sometime around her saying ‘Do you know who I am?’ a manager appeared. I was crying at this point. The lady informed us that she owned her own landscaping business. She had never experienced something as heinous as a cashier who had spent hours on her feet sighing at her. My manager sent me to break while she dealt with the lady. I did not get into trouble for my sigh.”
“Of Course I Do, Senator”
“When was younger, I was waitressing in a little hometown café to start saving money for college. It’s the kind of restaurant where the nearby business owners eat lunch every single day, and it’s pretty much always the same crowd.
During a very hectic lunch shift, a party of six unfamiliar men in business suits came in and sat in my section. I recognized one, but not the rest. As I had two other orders to take before theirs, I gave them water and menus and said I’d be with them in just a minute or two. The well known guy just happened to be a Senator.
He stood up, grabbed my sleeve, and told me they were in a bit of a hurry. He said they really needed me to take their order first. I told him there were two other tables who had sat down ahead of them, and that as promised, I would be right back to take their orders.
That’s when he got indignant and said, ‘Do you know who I am?’
I said, ‘Of course I do, Senator.’
He then informed that I would be taking their order ahead of the other tables (all regular, daily customers).
I turned around and in a loud voice, I announced to the entire dining room, ‘We have Senator X dining with us today and he would like to be served ahead of all the rest of you. Would that be okay with you all?’
The guy sat back down, turned bright red, and never said another word. He waited his turn just like everybody else….and left me a very nice tip.”
“Excuse Me, There’s A Line”
“Nearly everyone in Washington D.C. thinks they are someone special or important. Or that they work for someone special and important, and that should grant them special privileges. One of the most egregious ones was when I was standing in line at Subway to get a sandwich. It was a very busy location in the heart of D.C. There was ALWAYS a line out the door around lunchtime. This dirtbag walks right past the whole line and right up to the counter.
The guy in front of me, who he cut in front of politely said, ‘Excuse me, there’s a line. It starts outside.’
This dirtbag shot him a look that plainly said, ‘I’m more important than you.’
He then said, ‘I work for (insert moderately famous person here) and I’m busy. I don’t have time to wait in line.’
I just laughed and said, ‘Really? Well, I work for (definitely more famous person). I’m busy too, but I had to wait in line like the rest of the people.’
He looked at me like I had just slapped his mother. The guy in front of me just ignored him and started giving the person at the counter our order. The guy eventually stormed out without getting any food, clearly enraged we didn’t kowtow to his obviously superior life.
I worked for someone in D.C. that I’d be willing to bet almost everyone has heard of. That and $5 got me a footlong at Subway, but only after I waited in line with the rest of the plebes.”
“He Didn’t Like That”
“I was working as an operations officer at an airport. I was handling an arrival flight when this heavy-set, older gentlemen rushed through the aircraft door and demanded to know where his VIP handler was. The problem is that this particular airline did not provide a VIP (Very Important Person service). Even the founder of the company was given an economy class service and had to wait in line like everybody else. What’s more, VIP service is not given to just everyone. It’s only heads of state/heads of government, high-ranking government and military officials, high-ranking diplomats, foreign guests of the state and others who have been designated as VIP are given that service. Basically people with a large entourage that tails them everywhere. Everybody else is a CIP (Commercially Important Person) and has to pay for it.
Regardless, I contacted the VIP handler to ask whether they were expecting someone. Negative came the answer, but they said they’d assist given how much trouble this guy was causing. They said they’d be there in about 5 minutes.
He didn’t like that. He started shouting that he wasn’t going to wait nor walk to the rotunda. He shoved me aside and proceed to climb down the Jetway stairs that are used by the ground staff. Now, this was a problem. There are very strict safety rules and regulations that govern how an airport operates, and a civilian walking about without supervision, without a personnel card with credentials on and without a high visibility jacket is a big no-no. There are also insurance reasons that says a passenger can only disembark the Jetway through the rotunda and nowhere else.
I go after him, trying to stop him by talking. It doesn’t work, so I have to get physical. I get in front of him, trying to block his way. He tries to shove me aside and continues to shout that he’s a VIP and that he wants VIP service.
At one point he yells, ‘Do you know who I am?!!’
I don’t care if you’re the Sultan of Brunei. You can’t just walk onto the apron willy-nilly, I thought to myself.
‘Well, I’m a retired MP (Member of Parliament) and I will use the VIP service!’ he screeched.
‘Wait, so you’re not even an actual VIP?’ I asked in disbelief.
‘Give me your name! I want your name!’ he yelled back, still trying to get through.
It’s here on my personnel card that gives me the authority to walk about on the apron as I please, which you lack. Now get back onto the Jetway and go through the rotunda as you’re asked.
He got more physical and louder until eventually the VIP girl came to take him to the terminal.
Still to this day, I’m waiting for the police to pound on my door for mishandling a retired MP.”
“What Is Your Problem?”
“I was in college, nursing school to be exact. I worked part-time waitressing and bartending at our local Hooters for the last two years of college making pretty good cash. I worked my butt off at school and at work. One fine Saturday night, in came one of my last tables of the night. It was four pretty big dudes. As it turns out, they were WWF wrestlers (now WWE) and they had just performed nearby in Hershey, PA. I played dumb, because I do that sometimes in these situations, but I was polite, friendly, and chatty as normal.
At some point they asked me, ‘Don’t you know who we are?’
My response was, ‘Are you guys wrestlers or something?”
They confirmed and told me more, of course. They ate, they drank, and we chatted.
Once they were fat and happy, it was time for the bill. The one fella looked at me, serious as a heart attack and said, ‘Aren’t we going to get a discount? We are kind of famous, you know.’
Wrong thing to say to a sleep deprived nursing student in little orange shorts at the end of a busy Saturday shift.
My response was, ‘I didn’t even know your names until you walked in here. I think the whole world knows who Hooters girls are and everyone knows nurses save lives. Maybe you should buy me dinner instead.’
Smile. Hold. I am not sure they thought I was terribly cute, but they gave me the cash for the bill. I kept their change, they didn’t ask for back, or I am not sure I would have gotten a tip.
After they paid, they stayed a bit. At some point, one of them went to use the men’s room. He walked by this older gentleman at the bar and promptly kicked his bar stool out from under him and the man hit the ground. I was waiting for my manager to react, but he didn’t. I helped the customer up who was okay.
Then I got in Saturn’s face, poking him in the chest, ‘What the heck is your problem?’
His answer, ‘He looked at me.’
My response, ‘Well, now I am looking at you and I am considering calling the police because you just assaulted my customer.’
I reminded him he was on my turf and not in the wrestling ring. I informed him little old me (5’2″ and maybe 110 lbs at the time) wasn’t going to put up with his nonsense and neither was my weak manager (who was hiding in his office). He was full of apologies and changed his tune pretty quickly, thankfully.
These guys were awful people.”
“It’s Not Fair To Everyone Else”
“I was taking a final exam at my university. It was one of those monstrous classes that fill a lecture hall. The professor gave us the 10 minute, 5 minute, and 1 minute warnings as the end of the exam neared. As time ran out on the 3-hour final, he started to stack the exam booklets. I was already leaving the hall, happy to have gotten my exam in under the wire as the final student came running up. She really was quite late with handing in her exam.
‘Here’s my test,’ she said.
‘Sorry, you’re too late. Exam is closed,’ the professor said as he started leaving.
‘But I’m done. Just take it,’ the girl pleaded.
‘You are nearly 5 minutes late. Everyone else got their booklets in on time. I’m not accepting it. It’s not fair to everyone else.’
‘What?!’ She says raising her voice. ‘Do you have any idea who I am?’
The professor pauses, no doubt trying to remember if some chancellor’s or senator’s daughter was in his class.
‘Uh, no,’ he says tentatively.
‘Good,’ she says and slams the stack of booklets he was carrying onto the floor. She then bends down and shoves her booklet into the mess of a pile on the floor and runs out.”
“Not Good Enough”
“I was the manager of a bookstore. The small community where I lived was holding a conference of published authors. In storms a man to my store.
He stomps up to the counter and says, ‘I want you to set up an area out there, in front, for my book signing.’
We already had a book-signing stage, not in the doorway, as he’d have preferred, but close. It was just off to one side. I politely showed him the well-marked, slightly elevated platform with tables for three authors to sign at once and plenty of room for lineups, which were unlikely to form, but I liked to be prepared. Each table had the name of an author who’d already requested (not demanded) space.
He looked askance at the area, swung around and huffed, ‘Not good enough.’
I asked, ‘Not good enough for whom?’
‘For me. Do you know who I am?’ he said in disbelief.
I did, but my back was up. He’d had one book published about an account of a fictional baseball team.
‘No, sir. Should I?’
He gave me his name and added, ‘The other bookstore has done far better by me. They seem to recognize my importance as the keynote speaker.’
That was news to me. I whipped out the brochure that listed the events and showed him. ‘Are you this person?’
It was a distinctly female name. I kept my thumb over the small picture beside the blurb.
‘She’s the keynote speaker. She’s written over two dozen books and has millions of copies in print in a variety of languages,’ I said.
‘That’s ridiculous. A romance writer? Mass market, formulaic books like that aren’t decent literature. No real patron of literary arts wants to hear from a woman peddling imaginary coitus to bored housewives. The magazine ads claim ticket holders will hear from a local author in the keynote speech,’ he finished.
This was true. The ads had had been written and placed long before the final decisions were made.
‘I am local,’ he finished in triumph.
He was not, but lived several hundred miles away.
I lifted my thumb from the picture, full color, revealing the face and red hair of the keynote speaker, letting him see he was talking to her. It was me in the picture.”
“You Can Lose Your Job Tomorrow”
“It was when I was in grade 12, I was working an overnight weekend shift at McDonald’s. Weekend nights are the most hectic at McDonald’s. All the hammered people come in at once. That particular night was one man with his ‘wife.’ He is as hammered as he can be, and he had ordered a bunch of food. After we gave him his order, he continued to stand around talking to other customers. It ended up with him giving his food away to some other guys. My manager, the other workers, and I all watched him do that. A couple of minutes later, he comes back to us and starts asking for his order saying, he didn’t get it yet.
Because we all witnessed what had happened, we refused to give him another order because he was the one who gave it away.
He proceeds to be rude about the situation and goes, ‘Do you know who I am? You’re just a bunch of useless workers working at McDonald’s. If I want, you guys can lose your jobs tomorrow morning.’
He then he tells us about who he is and that we should google him. It turns out he owns lots of bars where around downtown area of where I lived, but we still refused to give him anything cause of his rude attitude. After a while his ‘wife’ walks in and is asking what happened, but she’s just a hammered girlfriend.
The two of them rambled on about how their mom is waiting in car with their kid for their food so if we could, to please make it for them. At that point we had enough, told the guy we were going to call the cops if he wasn’t going to leave.
I don’t know if he remembered what he did, but had we recorded what he was doing and saying to us. If we released the video, it probably would’ve messed his entire business up.
We were just a bunch of high school kids working overnight shifts, so who are you to judge?”
“I Could Smell The Drinks On Them”
“I was working at a bar in North Vancouver as a floor manager on a busy night shift. It may have been a Stanley Cup playoff night, which were always the busiest shifts to work. In British Columbia, it is against the law to serve drinks to anyone who is obviously hammered or to continue to serve someone past the point of being hammered. Obviously, if bars were strict on this rule, they wouldn’t make any money, but there is a spectrum between someone who is ‘a little gone’ and ‘completely smashed.’ Someone who is on the lower end of the spectrum, but still polite and happy is more likely to get served than someone who is trashed, angry, and belligerent. Obviously.
As a manager, I always had a policy of letting my servers be the judge. If they thought someone was too trashed to continue to serve, or to serve at all, I never went against their judgement. This extended well beyond the customer being hammered. If they were uncomfortable in any way serving someone, I never made them. If it was a matter of them giving the server the wrong ‘vibe,’ I’d sometimes serve them myself. However, if they were being openly rude, too hammered to function, or offensive in some other way, it was my job to ask them to leave, and ensure they did. I’m not a physically imposing guy or particularly good at confrontation, but I can keep my cool and muster an authoritative demeanor when I need to.
That night, one my servers who was working on the patio, which was easily the largest section, came to me and said that they weren’t comfortable serving a new table that had just come in– two men who I would guess their forties or fifties. They were somewhat rough around the edges, for lack of a better descriptor. When I approached the table, I could smell the drinks on them. We hadn’t served them at all yet. It was pretty obvious from the way they carried themselves they were already heavily hammered, and so we couldn’t serve them. I informed them of this, and as most people in this situation tend to do, they argued about it. They had arguments of ‘we’re not trashed’ that eventually devolved into the pair telling me how stupid I was. Eventually one of them calmed down, looked me square in the eye, and the following exchange occurred:
‘Who the heck are you?’ one of them asked.
‘I’m the manager on duty tonight, and I need you and your friend to leave,’ I responded.
‘Do you know who I am?’ he replied
‘No, I do not,’ I answered.
‘Good,’ he said.
And then he and his friend got up and left without any further argument or complaint. No idea who they were, or why they thought they were people of importance, but for the rest of the night I half-expected to be the target of a gangland-style execution.”