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Turning The Tables And Calling Their Bluff

, , , | Right | CREDIT: porkchop2022 | July 30, 2021

A party of six comes into our restaurant. The leader of the group wants two four-top high-tops pushed together.

Host: “We can’t do that because of social distancing; you’d be too close to the other table next to you.”

Customer: “Let me speak to the manager.”

She’s calm, just insistent, and it’s obvious she’s played the card before.

Me: “How can I help?”

Customer: “Can we push those two tables together?”

Me: “No, I’m afraid you can’t. We’re practicing social distancing and now you’re too close to the next table. You can have that table that’s for six in the corner, you can have that booth for six after we clean it, or you can have that table for six outside after they get up, probably in about ten minutes.”

All the while, I’m pointing to each table like I’m showing them emergency exits on an airplane.

Customer: “You can’t push those tables togeth—”

Me: “No, we will not be moving tables. You can have…”

And I point out the tables again.

Customer: “You know what I think?” *Begins turning to her friend* “You know what I think? We go somewhere else?”

I clap my hands together.

Me: “Thank you and have a great night!”

And I immediately turned around and walked away. The customer stared at the back of my head for several seconds before she shuffled out.

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For The Record, This One Has A Happy Ending

, , , , | Related | July 30, 2021

This was long ago, when I was a teenager. I’m in my sixties now. My stepfather was a perfectionist. I wasn’t allowed to shovel the walk in case I missed a spot and someone slipped and sued us. I wasn’t allowed to wash his car because I might scratch it. And I definitely wasn’t allowed to touch his stereo system. Back in those days, a good record player/radio with three-foot-tall speakers was expensive, but the sound quality was amazing. 

One day, my stepfather was listening to the radio on his sound system. 

Stepfather: “You know, if you listened to decent music like this, instead of that garbage kids like these days, I’d let you use my record player.”

Me: “Oh, really?”

I ran upstairs and grabbed the record my friends and I had been listening to every day since it came out the week before. Coming back downstairs, I put it on the turntable, switched it on, and dropped the needle… right on the song we’d been listening to on the radio, almost perfectly synced up. 

He takes a moment to think.

Stepfather: “Fine, you can use the record player.”

Me: “Thanks, Dad.”

Stepfather: “Not too loud, mind! You could damage the speakers.”

Me: “Yes, Dad.”

Stepfather: “And only decent music, like this. None of that hippie crap.”

Me: “Sure thing, Dad.”

Stepfather: “And not too late. Or too early.”

Me: “Right.”

Stepfather: “And mind the needle! If you wear it out, you’re buying the next one.”

Me: “Of course, Dad. I can do that.”

He finally ran out of stipulations.

Stepfather: “Well… fine!”

I sat back to enjoy the first of many evenings enjoying my records in the living room. And my relationship with my stepfather improved as he began to trust me more.

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Line-Jumpers Get Their Ride To The Back

, , , , | Right | July 30, 2021

My friend and I are standing in a long queue for a popular ride at a British theme park when a couple of teenage girls cut in front of us.

Friend: “Excuse me. But you need to return to the back of the line.”

Girl #1: “Whatever. I am not going to wait twenty minutes just to go on a stupid ride.”

Friend: “I am sorry, but we have all been waiting; you can wait, too.”

Girl #2: “Oh, piss off, b****!”

My friend is about to retort to that, but I grab her by the arm and whisper in her ear that I have an idea and that she should just let it go. As we get closer to the front of the line, I wait for my opportunity to get my revenge.

The girls stop at the front of the line, and as we are just about to get on the ride, I flag down the operator.

Me: “Excuse me. Those two girls in front of us cut the line further back, and when we tried to tell them to go to the back of the line, they call my friend a b****.”

Girl #1: “WHAT! NO, WE DIDN’T! SHE IS LYING! SHE JUMPED THE QUEUE! SHE AND HER FRIEND DID!”

At that moment, the people in the queue behind us confirmed my story, and the two girls got sent to the back of the queue, shouting obscenities as they went.

The queue had now stretched to a forty-five-minute wait time.

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Some People Shouldn’t Be Nurses

, , , , | Healthy | July 30, 2021

I am newly eighteen, so at my doctor’s office, I have to fill out new paperwork — confidentiality and whatever they make you do. I’m a short, very light-skinned girl with bright blonde hair which is naturally dark brown but I dye it. My mother is from Cuba and her father is from Spain, so I am 50% Latina and Hispanic. I definitely don’t look it, which isn’t normally a problem. It’s more like a fun trivia tidbit about me.

On one of the papers I am filling out, it asks if I am Hispanic/Latina. I check yes, because I am. I give the nurse the paperwork and wait in the room for a doctor. I can hear some nurses outside the door in the office area talking rather loudly.

Nurse #1: “She’s got blonde hair and blue eyes — perfect Aryan. I think she checked the wrong box.”

Nurse #2: “Change it for her. Obviously, she got it wrong.”

Nurse #1: “Maybe she’s trying to scam us. One of those people begging to be oppressed.”

For the record, I have deep brown eyes, not blue. But I’m very upset about the conversation I’m hearing. My ethnicity is not for them to decide or discuss, and my patient records are supposed to be confidential, not talked about in front of or to anyone.

The nurse comes back in and hands me the clipboard.

Nurse #1: “I think you marked that wrong — the Hispanic/Latina question.”

Me: “Uh, I am both Hispanic and Latina. I’m Cuban and Spanish.”

Nurse #1: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Are you sure you should be gossiping about your patients’ medical files to other nurses and whoever else can hear right in front of the door?”

She left without another word. I’ve considered switching from that office for a while, but I don’t go enough for it to be a huge problem. I’m still bothered by this incident, though.

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A Nugget Of Kindness Is All That’s Needed

, , , | Right | July 30, 2021

I’ve been working for about three weeks. I am working back cash, which is where you take orders and take money at the same time.

Me: “Hello! Welcome to [Location]. How may I help you?”

Customer: “Yes I’d like a $3 bundle, large fry…”

The customer continues before I have a chance to ask which bundle she wants; we have three. I can’t enter anything else in, so I just click nuggets and fry for the bundle.

Customer: *Rudely* “Why are the nuggets on there? I don’t want nuggets.”

Me: “I’m so sorry about that, ma’am. We have three $3—”

Customer: “I don’t want nuggets! Take them off!”

Me: “Yes, I’m sorry, I can’t take it off without adding something else—”

Customer: “Take them off now! I don’t want them! Get them off! Take them off!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, what would you like? I have three bundles; I cannot take the nuggets off without—”

Customer: “I DON’T WANT THE NUGGETS! I SAID TAKE THEM OFF!”

Me: “I will as soon as I can get something else—”

Customer: “TAKE THEM OFF NOW!”

I have anxiety, and typically I can handle it well, but I start tripping over my words and can’t figure out how to tell her I can’t take it off without putting something else in the order as she keeps interrupting me. My manager comes back and takes over.

Manager: *To me* “I’m about to make this woman mad.” *To the customer* “I’m sorry, ma’am. How can I help you?”

The customer respectfully gives her order, but again, she doesn’t state which bundle she wants. My manager is able to tell her what our bundles consist of and finishes her order.

Manager: “All right, ma’am, your total is [total].” *Switches to a passive-aggressive tone* “And we have a newbie taking your order today, so please be patient and respectful next time. Thank you.”

The customer comes to the window and I cash her out as my manager takes other orders next to me.

Customer: *Smiles* “It’ll get better, dear.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: *Still smiling* “It’ll get easier.”

She then drove away. My job is only stressful and hard when people like that come through the drive-thru. I was perfectly fine before she started screaming at me. We proceeded to get packed afterward and I wasn’t able to take a few deep breaths and collect myself for two hours. I’m very proud of myself for not having a panic attack!

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