Things Are Heating Up But Not In The Kitchen

, , , | Right | April 12, 2021

It’s a super busy Valentine’s Day night. There is a small gap in reservations for one spot, and an old couple who is looking for a seat asks if they can sit until my next reservation comes. They seem sweet enough, and I get them settled with their coffee and tea and get their appetizer going.

The man starts to complain about the vent above them blowing cold air.

Customer: *Yelling* “Why would you purposely put on the AC when I am here?!”

Because our restaurant is part of a larger building with many other stores inside, we don’t have control over the temperature of the restaurant. And when there are a lot of people in the building, it tends to automatically switch to cold air as a safety mechanism for making sure the cooks in the kitchen and the servers running around don’t get overheated.

Me: “I don’t have the power to fix this problem; however, I would be more than happy to speak to my general manager to see if there’s anything they can do.”

He talked to them and explained the predicament, and the angry man yelled at me again when the manager left. His wife agreed that it was chilly but tried to tell me to just ignore her husband, who was still yelling at me.

Twenty minutes later, their main meal came out, and the man was red in the face. He said his meal tasted fine but that he would not be leaving the reserved booth that I had graciously let him sit in until the heating problem was fixed.

I got my other manager to talk to him, and they ended up comping an appetizer for him. His wife begrudgingly made him leave just in time for my next table to arrive.

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His Sexism Goes The Whole Nine Ounces

, , , , | Right | March 8, 2021

I work at a small and very popular bar on a beach. During the summers, lineups are usually two hours and we are busy open to close. However, during the winter, we usually only have regulars come in, as no one is going to the beach

A few days before Christmas, I have a man come in, and off the bat, I can tell that this is going to be a long night. I only have him and one other customer.

Customer: “I’ll have a red wine, nine ounces.”

I go to get the wine and come back. Our wine glasses are tall and slim, so sometimes people get confused.

Customer: *Looking stunned* “I told you a nine-ounce. Are you not listening?!”

He continues to yell at me.

Me: “Yes, sir, it is a nine-ounce. I measured it out.”

Customer: “Listen, sweetheart, I need to speak to the bartender. Is there a man that can serve me?”

Me: “Sir, I am the bartender. And it is nine ounces.”

Customer: “I need to speak to a man. Clearly, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

I give up and grab my supervisor, who is ALSO a woman, and she tells him it is nine ounces. The customer goes back and sits down. I go to the back to calm down, as I have anxiety and don’t appreciate it when customers get in my face and yell at me. After a few minutes, I go check on him.

Me: “Is everything going okay?”

Customer: “The wine is room temperature. I know my wine. It is supposed to be cold.”

Me: “Sir, it’s a red wine. It’s not refrigerated.”

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Forget Those Details, What Planet Are They On?

, , , , , | Right | March 3, 2021

I work in a call center sending taxis to customers. This conversation happens several times every Friday and Saturday, no exceptions.

Me: “[Taxi Company]. May I have your phone number, please?”

Caller: “Umm, hang on…” *To other partygoers* “Does anybody know what my phone number is? Okay, it’s [number].”

Me: “Okay…” *Types in the number* “Are you at [address]?”

Caller: “No, umm… Does anybody know the address here?” *Pauses* “Okay, it’s [Address].”

Me: “Is that a house or an apartment?”

Caller: “Umm… is this a house or apartment?”

Yes, they seriously ask this.

Caller: “It’s an apartment.”

Me: “Okay, can I get the apartment number?”

Caller: “Umm… does anybody know the apartment number here? Okay, it’s [number].”

Me: “Thank you, and who’s the cab for?”

Caller: “Umm… hey, who’s taking the taxi?”

Seriously, why would you phone for a taxi when you knew literally none of the information? Amazingly, they usually got picked up anyway.

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Has Some Serious Bag Baggage, Part 7

, , , , | Right | March 1, 2021

The company I work for has recently decided to go completely bagless. It can be a little inconvenient, but for the most part, no one’s really cared all that much. Today while I’m working the till, a customer walks up with two six-packs of beer.

Me: “Would you like a cardboard flat to carry it out in?”

Customer: “No, just a bag is fine.”

Me: “Oh, sorry. We don’t have bags anymore.”

Customer: “Seriously?! So, if I come in and buy three bottles of wine, am I just supposed to put them in my pockets?!”

Me: “We have flats and boxes, and we sell reusable wine totes for $1.”

Customer: “Then I guess I’d better find somewhere else to shop.” *Storms out*

Me: “…okay?”

Related:
Has Some Serious Bag Baggage, Part 6
Has Some Serious Bag Baggage, Part 5
Has Some Serious Bag Baggage, Part 4
Has Some Serious Bag Baggage, Part 3
Has Some Serious Bag Baggage, Part 2

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Big Mistake! Big! Huge!

, , , , , , , | Working | February 26, 2021

My well-to-do aunt has ended up in the hospital. I’m the only family member who lives in the same city as her, so I step in to help her in every way I can. She has given me $500 to buy anything she needs, so I’m in a high-end clothing store holding a pair of men’s pyjamas pants — the only thing that will fit over the cast she has on her foot.

There is a man at the counter being served with a very complicated order. The woman helping him has to open a mountain of packages individually and scan the contents. Another man is standing in line and a woman comes off the floor to help him. He pays quickly and leaves, but so does the woman who helped him. I had taken his spot next in line, and it’s late at night so the man at the counter and I are the only two customers in the store, so it’s obvious that I’m ready to pay and go.

The floor woman floats back and forth from the floor to behind the counter, very careful to not make eye contact with me. I wait for far too long, and the sixth time she goes behind the counter and walks away again, I drop the pyjamas, making her look over at the sudden movement. When she looks over at me, I scoop up my planned purchase, lock eyes with her, and take two big steps to stand in front of the counter where she’d helped the other man.

With a rather discreet eye roll, she steps back behind the counter and takes the pants to scan them, but I walk away — past the first woman still working on the complicated order, who looks so apologetic, even though none of the events were her fault.

I go across the road to a lower-end store and buy a similar pair, pulling off the tagging and “losing” the receipt so my aunt doesn’t know it is a cheaper brand.

To be honest, I came from work, so I wasn’t dressed to the level that might be expected in that store, but I make some decent cash myself and have been known to shop there for my needs. I find it amusing to Pretty Woman them sometimes, standing in jeans and a band shirt and dropping $5,000 for some stuff I want, but I was stressed with my aunt’s injuries and wasn’t going to put up with their attitude this time.

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