I work in a dog-friendly café. One of our long-term coworkers is working her last shift, and the mood of the entire day has been bittersweet. My manager, the leaving coworker, a few other coworkers, and I are talking at the end of her shift.

Leaving Coworker: “Oh, look, my husband is here to pick me up.”

All Of Us: “Does that mean he brought Stitch?!”

Stitch is their huge and derpy German Shepherd. He’s a big, beautiful idiot who was named after the cute but destructive little blue alien from “Lilo & Stitch” for obvious reasons. 

Leaving Coworker: “Yeah, I just saw him jump out of the pickup.”

Her husband comes in, and Stitch goes wild at the attention given to him by all of his friends. We chat a little with our coworker’s husband while she goes to the back to change. She comes out with her uniform shirt in her hands.

Leaving Coworker: *To our manager* “I’ll take this home, wash it, and bring it back at the weekend.”

Manager: “Nah, keep it. We have plenty. Keep it as a souvenir.”

Leaving Coworker: “Thanks. I will.”

She then places the shirt over Stitch’s head, and he looks extra cute wearing one of our uniforms. To complete the look, we put one of our work caps on his head and take a few pictures.

After this, most of us go back to our regular duties, and a customer walks in, looking at their phone. The customer then looks up, takes a look at Stitch in the café uniform, then looks at me, and then looks at Stitch again.

Customer: “I know the news is telling me that nobody wants to work, but this is getting ridiculous.”

I owned and ran an Internet cafe on a beach in The Philippines from 2004 to 2005. The town had no ATM, no telephone lines, and electricity for only twelve hours a day (if you were lucky). The Internet connection was via satellite dish and was only 128 kbps. I had networked up four computers to share the connection. This was before Facebook and YouTube, so most customers would log into Yahoo! mail and just write emails.

The town was a good eight hours away from the capital of the island. This, of course, was the case only if it had been dry recently because the roads were all mud, and those times only applied if the bus did not break down or get stuck in the mud, both of which happened frequently. The bus left once daily at around 8:00 am.

In 2005, I was able to add the ability to send faxes through the Internet. A man walked up to the cafe one day.

Customer: “I’ve heard around town that you send faxes?”

Me: “Yes, of course!”

Customer: “Oh, great. You’ve just about saved my life! How long does it take?”

Me: “I will scan the pages you need sent and then send them. It takes just a few minutes, and your recipient will receive the fax immediately.”

Customer: “Lifesaver! How much does it cost per page?”

Me: “It’s $2 per page.”

Customer: “That’s outrageous! I only need to send two pages, and it only costs twenty cents per page in [City]!”

Me: “Okay, well… it’s 3:00 pm. The next bus leaves at 8:00 am tomorrow. It costs $6. You may get there in eight hours if you are lucky. Then, you can send your two pages for forty cents. There is no return bus until the next day, so you’ll need to stay in a hotel, which will cost $40. You’ll need to have dinner, which will cost $20 or more. Then, you’ll need to get the bus back the next day for $6. And that’s without any entertainment in the evening, nor lunch, nor breakfast. So, you are looking at spending over seventy dollars and two days of your time. Or… you can just give me $4, and I can send your lifesaving faxes immediately.”

Customer: “Fine! Here’s $4.”

There were two separate faxes to two banks: the first one was to immediately cancel a cheque for $10,000 and the second one was for $20,000! And he was moaning about an extra $4 to send it.

Related:
Taxing Faxing, Part 40
Taxing Faxing, Part 39
Taxing Faxing, Part 38
Taxing Faxing, Part 37
Taxing Faxing, Part 36

I used to know a woman who moved slowly in her jobs. One job didn’t work out well; the other did.

[Woman]’s first job was mostly waitressing at the cafe she and her husband owned. They had great food. Her husband was fast. But after he died, she tried to keep the cafe open. It didn’t work out because she would complete one entire order before starting on the next. This meant that if you had four people at your table, the fourth would be just starting to eat when the first was finishing.

So, [Woman] ended up selling the cafe.

Her next job was as a phlebotomist at the same hospital where I worked. She was very careful and kind; people almost loved having her draw their blood!

Sometimes it takes a while to find your niche.

Customer: “There was a hair in my food!” 

Me: “I’m very sorry. We all wear hairnets in the kitchen, so that’s the first time that’s happened.”

Customer: “I don’t care. Comp my meal.” 

My manager comps the meal, and we all move on with our lives. Sadly, the next week, she’s back, and she complains about having a hair in her food again.

Manager: “May I see the hair?” 

Customer: “You don’t believe me?!”

Manager: “It’s just that we’ve never had this complaint before, and now it’s happened to you twice, so if someone in the kitchen needs training, I’d like to identify them from the hair.”

The customer does indeed produce a long blonde string of hair from her mostly-eaten salad. She is also blonde herself. The manager thanks her and comps the meal.

She comes back a week later, and this time, my manager and I are watching her like a hawk. We see her place one of her hairs in the bowl and make the same complaint.

Manager: “Ma’am, I saw you put that in your salad. We will not be comping your meal. Please leave.”

She kicks up a fuss, but she does leave. We are later informed by the district manager over the phone that she called corporate, complained, got a whole bunch of credits, and will be coming in tomorrow to use them. 

Manager: “She is intentionally putting her own hair in the food. We have seen her do this, and she is scamming us.”

District Manager: “I understand. Here’s what I would like to do…”

They discuss their plan.

The next day, the district manager herself is in the store on a “site visit”. The customer smugly walks in, orders her free salad, and enjoys it. Funnily enough, there’s no hair to be found in her salad when it’s free. 

The district manager stays all week, and the customer, now brazen with entitlement, is back a mere two days later. 

And guess who finds a hair in her food? The district manager goes over to her.

District Manager: “Ma’am, this is your last day eating in any of our cafés. You are putting your own hair in the food. You are banned from the whole chain. We are refusing your refund today, and I am informing all stores to refuse you service in the future.” 

Customer: “You can’t prove it’s my hair!”

District Manager: “The hair is long and blonde, like yours. This week, we are training all new staff, who just so happen to have black hair or have it shaved short.” 

Customer: “So, am I going to have to complain to corporate again?”

District Manager: “I have already explained to our corporate office that you cause us to lose money every week. You are absolutely not our customer, you are a liability, and you are no longer welcome here. Leave, now.” 

She left, and amazingly, she still called the corporate office to complain! They’d already been apprised of the situation by our district manager, so they told her that if she stepped foot into any of our businesses again (and the business owned multiple eatery chains), she would be arrested for trespassing.

I used to work at a bakery/cafe that had baked goods but also served full meals. Being in a college town, we had a wide variety of eaters, and we did the best would could to accommodate everyone.

It was around 12:00 pm, so we had a fairly busy crowd in the restaurant. When it comes to taking orders, after so long, my responses became almost scripted because I say them so much.

Customer #1: “I’m vegan. Do you have anything on the menu I could have?” 

Me: “We don’t particularly have anything specifically vegan, but we can most definitely alter most orders to accommodate within reason.”

Customer #1: “Like what?”

As I said, I become scripted, and we have vegetarians often, so my response was automatic.

Me: “If you’re okay with eggs or cheese, we have the breakfast veggie burrito.” 

Then, I remembered that she’d said she was vegan.

Me: “But we can make it without—”

Customer #1: “Oh, I can eat eggs and cheese.”

Me: “Uh… okay. Potatoes or fruit on the side?”

Customer #1: “Fruit, and a mocha latte with whipped cream.”

Me: “Sure thing. Just to clarify, you would like our breakfast veggie burrito — with eggs and cheese — with a side of fruit, and a mocha latte with whipped cream?”

Customer #1: “Perfect!” 

Me: “Okay, that’ll be [total]. Here is your number; we’ll bring the food to the table when you’re ready.”

The customer proceeded to wander to a table, and the next customer stepped forward.

Customer #2: “I know I’m not hip to all the things anymore, but I thought vegans don’t eat animal products.”

Me: “They don’t… but working in a restaurant, ‘the customer is always right’, and it’s both easier and quicker not to argue.”

[Customer #1] proceeded to enjoy her meal and mocha, leaving the plates clean, left a tip on the table, and said goodbye.