I’m tee-total, but I still like to go dancing with my friends. A Shirley Temple is one of my favourite drinks, but for some reason, some bars like to add vodka or rum, without even asking me which one. Because of this, I’ve learned to be specific.

I’m also used to non-alcoholic drinks being free at the clubs we go to.

Me: “Could I please get a Shirley Temple with no alcohol?”

Bartender: “What is that?”

Me: “Just orange juice, Sprite, and grenadine.”

Bartender: “We don’t have grenadine.”

Me: “That’s okay, just orange juice and Sprite.”

She mixes a drink and sets it on the bar.

Bartender: “That’s $5.75.”

Me: “For what?”

Bartender: “For the vodka.”

She says this as if it should be obvious.

Me: “No, I wanted no alcohol. I said just orange juice and Sprite.”

Bartender: *With attitude* “You didn’t say you wanted a virgin.”

I was especially confused because not only was I certain that I had specified no alcohol, but I had actually listed the ingredients for her. A version of this was, unfortunately, a common occurrence at clubs, but this one was definitely the worst one.

I know this store offers plain cold brew and vanilla bean cold brew, but the vanilla bean drink comes with milk. I love cold brew coffee and vanilla, but on this particular day, I don’t feel like drinking something milky.

Me: “Could I actually just get a regular black cold brew, but then add a shot of vanilla to it?”

Employee: “So, a vanilla cold brew?”

Me: “No, I want black cold brew, but I just want a shot of vanilla syrup added to it.”

Employee: “Oh, sure.”

I pay and a few minutes later a drink comes up for my name, but it is a light tan colour because it has milk in it.

Me: “Is this mine?”

Employee: “Yes.”

Me: “But… I ordered a black cold brew with a shot of vanilla in it.”

Employee: “Yeah, that’s what that is.”

Me: “But it has milk in it.”

Employee: “Yeah, that’s the vanilla bean cold brew.”

Me: “No, I know, but I wanted a black cold brew.”

I just get a confused look from the employee.

Me: “Don’t you guys just have plain vanilla syrup you could add to drinks?”

Employee: “Oh, yeah, I guess I could remake it.”

I understand that these employees just get stuck on autopilot sometimes, but I had hoped asking with a longer description rather than “vanilla cold brew” would snap them out of it. I guess not!

(I am a witness to this encounter. I’ve just finished up a personal appointment and have gone over to a popular fast food chain that serves mainly chicken. I’ve ordered and am waiting for them to prepare my meal. A woman in an interesting choice of clothes comes inside the restaurant with a take-out bag, looking agitated. I assume she’s about to complain about an error with her order.)

Lady: Excuse me, I need to have my order re-done.
Cashier: I’m sorry to hear that, what seems to be the problem?
Lady: Well I specifically asked for no thigh pieces. And there are thighs in here. I have a phobia of thigh pieces. I can’t eat them, I can’t see them – and there are some in here. So I need this order re-done with NO thighs.
(The cashier looks at her incredulously for a moment before handing the box back over the cooking counter to have it re-done. I stifle a laugh and cover with a cough. Two construction workers beside me have a little less restraint and are openly laughing.)
Worker: Did she just say she’s afraid of CHICKEN?
Worker #2: She does realise where she is, right?
Me: I guess she must have missed what the “C” stood for.

I work as a server at a diner. A family of five — four adults and one kid — comes in to have breakfast. I greet them as I would any other customer and get the drink order: one orange juice, two coffees, a tea, and a chocolate milk. I leave and then come back, but I realize I made a mistake: all of the drinks are in regular glasses and I don’t know which one is the kid’s drink. Before I can ask, the dad gets annoyed.

Customer: “Is that the kid’s size?”

Me: “No, I’m sorry; I forgot to ask which drink you wanted in the kid’s cup.”

Customer: “Well, obviously, it’s the chocolate milk! What kind of man-child would drink chocolate milk?!”

I say nothing but step to the side to glance at the table right behind me. An elderly couple and their adult son, who is six feet tall and built like a truck with muscles the size of my head, are all staring at the fuss this guy is making. In front of each of them is a glass of chocolate milk. He notices them looking, they notice him looking, and they all look at me.

Me: “I’m not allowed to comment on that, sir. Would you like me to get this in a kid’s cup?”

Customer: *Quieter* “Yes, please.”

I’m on my way out the door when my husband comes upstairs from his home office. I let him know I’m heading to the store to buy “something for the family.” It’s something I’ve researched for a couple of weeks but we’ve never actually discussed it. 

Husband: “Ooh, is it an automatic vacuum cleaner?!”

Me: “Out of everything I could buy, that’s your guess?!”

Husband: “Yep.” 

Me: *Pause* “Yes… it actually is.” 

How in the world he guessed it, I have no idea. In eight years together, I don’t think we’ve ever talked about it. It’s just something I decided on my own that would be nice to have. If only he could the guess lottery numbers that easily!