Customer: *Complaining.* “Why do you have the air-con on?”
Me: “Because it’s 40°C outside.”
A lot of people are still sat outside ’cause Australia, but anyway:
Customer: “I know [Owner]! I’m going to complain to him about how cold it is in here! There’s no one even in here anyway!”
Me: “Yes, I have six staff working in here right now, but they don’t count as people…”
Roughly every other Saturday, a bar in my city hosts a coffee morning for members of a certain alphabet-themed community. The coffee morning runs from 11:00 am to 1:00 pm, during which time the bar supplies free tea and coffee to attendees.
One day recently, the coffee morning overran. I had some really great conversations with a couple of people I hadn’t had opportunities to speak to before. As we were wrapping up, it was close to 1:15 pm. Since the bar also does food until 3:00 pm, I decided to stay a bit longer and get lunch.
I walked up to the bar, ordered lunch off the menu, and asked for another coffee. The person behind the bar adopted a world-weary frown and said:
Worker: “Just so you know, it’s after 1:00 pm.”
Meaning, “You will have to pay for your coffee now.”
Me: *With a smile* “Yes, I understand.”
Because I’m not an idiot and I can read both basic instructions and a clock, and because I had pulled out my card, a look of relief passed across her face.
Even though she immediately tried to disguise it, it was obvious that she had expected me to be an awkward, entitled idiot and argue over the £2.75 cost of a coffee. So glad I could show her that not everyone’s THAT person.
I go out for dinner with a few friends at a local sports bar-type restaurant. We’re all regulars at the restaurant, so we recognize most of the staff, but we’re also not THOSE customers who assume every staff member will recognize us.
We’re seated, and a server we don’t recognize comes by to introduce the specials and take our drink orders. Being a bunch of guys in our mid- to late twenties, we order a round of beers.
The server turns to my friend who has a baby face.
Server: “Sir, I’m afraid I can’t serve you.”
Baby-Face: “Why not?”
Server: *With a bit of a scoff* “You’re obviously too young for beer.”
Baby-Face: “I have my ID right here.”
He holds his driver’s license out, but the server doesn’t even glance at it.
Server: “How do I know it’s not fake?”
We immediately ask for a manager, but the server refuses to get someone, so we all turn to [Baby-Face], who stares at the server while taking his phone out of his pocket and making a call.
Baby-Face: *On the phone* “Hey, man. You mind coming out to table [number]?”
A few moments later, the restaurant manager appears. He looks EXACTLY like [Baby-Face]… because they are identical twins. The server realizes what’s happening and goes white.
Baby-Face: “Your new server refused to even look at my ID when I ordered a beer, and she basically accused me of using a fake ID when I tried to show it to her.”
Manager: “[Server]… head to my office. We’ll talk about the proper handling of ID for alcohol sales… again.”
The manager made an exaggerated show of checking [Baby-Face] — his identical twin brother’s — ID, to the delight of us and a few nearby tables who had witnessed the entire thing. He got another server to take care of our table for the night and headed back to the office.
We never saw our first server the rest of the night, and [Baby-Face] later confirmed that his brother — the restaurant manager — had decided to let her go after too many incidents over ID and alcohol sales.
I am a bartender at an outdoor cabana at a country club. It’s a very weird situation because I see the same customers every day, for hours at a time.
One day, our Miller Lite keg runs out and all we have is Natural Light. I switch the kegs and the tap and begin serving.
Rich Club Member #1: “Why are you serving us this cheap stuff?!”
Rich Club Member #2: “Yeah! With the amount we pay, we shouldn’t have to drink nasty beer!”
I call my manager and explain that the customers — most of whom have already prepaid substantially for beer all day — are getting angry. He comes down.
It should be noted that this manager doesn’t normally manage the bar; he’s usually somewhere else in the club but he’s having to cover. Not really knowing what he’s doing, but making an attempt to look competent, he switches the Natural Light tap (not the keg) to a Miller Lite one. I’m about to tell him when one of the club members from before marches up to him.
Rich Club Member #1: “[Manager]? Finally, they got someone competent over here! Get me the Miller Lite now!”
[Manager] pours him a glass of the cheaper, nasty beer from the Miller tap, and the club member takes a sip.
Rich Club Member #1: “Much better! You need to be here more often and train these bar guys!”
The same people came back, got the beer, and were overjoyed that we had “changed” it for them.
A group of young people are ordering alcoholic drinks, so I go down the line checking ID’s.
I get to one young lady, and she orders a Bellini. Her license is an out-of-state ID (California) and shows her as twenty-six years old. I’m looking at her face and I’m 99.9% sure this isn’t her ID. The photo looks like her… a little, but I can tell the woman in the photo is older than this child sitting in front of me. Then I notice the address on the license and – oh my god! – I recognize it.
Me: “So you’re from SOCA, huh? What a coincidence, I am too. This is really your ID? What’s the address on it?”
The girl reaches for the ID, which I’m still holding. I pull back so she can’t grab it.
Obviously Underage Girl: *Annoyed.* “I live in Hollywood.”
Me: “And the address?”
Obviously Underage Girl: “Uh, I haven’t lived there long, I’m bad at remembering the exact street.”
Me: “Hmm… well, just so you know, the address on this ID is 2301 N Highland Ave.”
Obviously Underage Girl: “Right! That’s it! Sorry, I just haven’t memorized it yet.”
Me: “This isn’t your ID. It’s fake.”
The entire table looks scandalized. Obviously underage girl asks what proof I have. She’s watching the ID in my hand; she clearly wants it back.
I pull out my wallet, which has my California ID. I hadn’t gotten a new license since moving so I put hers and mine side by side to compare. Right away I can see little differences in hers from mine, which is a real California driver’s license. I hold up my license so the table could see it.
Me: “As I said, I’m from California and I’ve only been here a few months. When I lived there, I used to go to the Hollywood Bowl all the time to see shows. Parking sucks but it’s a great venue. Have you ever been?”
Obviously Underage Girl: “No. And?”
Me: “The address on your license is the Hollywood Bowl.”
Obviously Underage Girl: “What!? No, I live in a house nearby.”
Me: “Then why does your ID have the actual address of the Hollywood Bowl? Plus, the woman in this photo looks like she has ten years on you. This card material feels thinner too…”
Obviously Underage Girl: “Okay, you’re right. We were just playing to see if you’d notice!”
She fake laughs.
Obviously Underage Girl: “I had it made as a joke. We wanted to see if you’d catch it!”
More fake laughing.
Obviously Underage Girl: “Forget the Bellini, I’ll have a coke. I’d like that back, please. It’s just a joke.”
Me: “It’s not a joke to order alcohol when you’re underage. You should have picked an actual house when you had this made.”
Another girl at the table pipes up:
Other Customer: “You don’t get to pick the address, just the city and state. He just gives you one when he makes it.”
The entire table turns on her:
Table: “Shh! Shut up! Oh my god, Becky!”
Her license went up on the wall of shame in the manager’s office. It’s funny to think that she probably would have gotten away with it had she not had a server that had literally just moved from Los Angeles.
