If There Was Ever A Guy Who Needed A Pizza…

, , , , | Right | July 22, 2021

Me: “Thank you for calling [Pizza Shop]! This is [My Name]; how may I help you?”

Customer: *Speaking slowly in a drunken raspy grumble* “…burritos?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, we don’t actually have burritos here.”

Customer: “Awww… subs?”

Me: “No, sir, I’m sorry. We have pizza, wings, cheese sticks… things like that.”

Customer: “Ohhhh…”

There’s a long pause.

Me: “Would you like some pizza today, sir?”

Customer: “Yeeaaahhh… what’s the smallest you have?”

Me: “That would be the small. It’s a ten-inch pizza.”

Customer: *Grumbles slowly* “Oohhhhh… I want sausage… pepperoni… and finely chopped onions.”

Me: “Our onions are actually sliced into thin strips. Is that okay?”

Customer: *Grumbles disapprovingly*

Me: *Stifling laughter* “So, no onions, then?”

Customer: *In low, raspy grumble* “Noooooo… Throw some hot peppers on there.”

Me: “Jalapeños or banana peppers?”

Customer: *Drunkenly* “Ba-na-na.”

Me: *Stifling more laughter* “Anything else on there for you, sir?”

Customer: “Finely chopped tomatoes.”

Me: “Our tomatoes are diced, so they’re in kind of little cubes.”

Customer: *Low raspy grumble* “Cuuuubes…”

Me: *Trying not to crack up laughing* “Will that be all for you today, then, sir?”

Customer: “Yeah.”

Me: “Okay, that’ll be [total], and we’ll have that out to you in about forty-five minutes.”

Customer: “What’s the price?”

Me: *Repeats the total*

Customer: *Low raspy grumble* “Ooohhhhh…”

The delivery driver has been standing next to me the whole time.

Delivery Driver: “I can’t wait to meet this guy.”

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We’d Feel Bad Writing A Funny Title For This One

, , , , | Right | CREDIT: b00mtown | July 16, 2021

I’m working an early dinner shift at a fancy, fine dining setting. A four-top reservation comes in — two older married couples in their fifties. They get a table by a window, watching the beautiful sunset. The place is still empty, the piano is just starting up, and it’s a calm, lovely scene.

While they’re being seated, [Husband #1] is intent on the wine list and wants to order before I’ve left the table after my first greeting. He picks out a decent $80 cabernet for the table and I signal to my back waiter to switch out glassware while I head down into the cellar for the bottle. I come up and go through the pouring and tasting and then serve each guest.

As soon as I put the bottle down, the man takes it and empties it among the four glasses, so each of them has a red wine glass that is super full, and everyone at the table is clearly not amused. I watch as [Husband #1] chugs his glass in a desperate series of gulps. His wife is saying his name quietly while the other couple just sits awkwardly with their fifty-gallon wine glasses, trying to sip them without spilling.

I come back to see if they are ready to order. Everyone is, but [Husband #1] wants to start with another bottle. I sort of agree, noting everyone’s glass is full but his. Everyone orders food and he mentions the second bottle.

Me: “Would you like to wait for it to be served with the food, or should I bring it straight away?”

Wife #1: *Suddenly blurting* “[Husband #1], you’re an alcoholic.”

The man immediately gets red in the face and doubles down on the order.

Husband #1: “We’ll take the second bottle now.”

Then, the other woman looks up at me.

Wife #2: “He drove us here. If you serve him, he will be putting our lives at risk.”

Husband #2: *Flatly* “Our lives are in your hands.”

[Husband #1] is about to blow a gasket, his face is purple, and he’s sputtering. I just pick up the wine list and channel my best blackjack dealer.

Me: “I apologize, but I am not serving any more alcohol at this table.”

[Husband #1] slammed his butter knife into the table, making a ruckus, but his wife kind of calmed him down.

They ate three courses, totally silent the entire time. They didn’t say a word to each other or anyone. The tension was unbelievable. In the end, they let [Husband #1] pay, and he tipped me zero on $400.

But hey, I saved their lives.

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She Is Everyone’s Number One Problem

, , , , , , | Right | July 14, 2021

My pub shift is uneventful, until a colleague notes that a female patron is unable to hold her head up and has had a bit too much to drink. Unfortunately, she did not come in to purchase her own drinks, but instead is benefiting from the generosity of the regulars. My colleague and I resolve to not serve her and provide ice water to her table.

An hour passes, and I watch her waddle through the bar, searching for the toilets. I direct her to the door, open the door, and allow her inside to do her business. At this point, I spy a regular easing a handbag over the draft pumps, trying to throw it behind the bar. I ask the regular what’s happening, and his response is simply, “I’m not dealing with that.”

Confused, I watch as the drunk patron returns from the bathroom, sodden. She’s wearing a jumpsuit, and the oblivious woman has not managed to get it off in time before wetting herself. Upon seeing that the regular has left her belongings behind the bar, she proceeds to collapse on the floor and wail. The regular was her date and has abandoned her.

At this point, it’s a little after 6:00 pm and our restaurant tables are beginning to arrive. I phone my manager who asks me to move the woman to the staff-only area so that she can have her breakdown in peace.

Unfortunately, when asked, this woman can’t remember her own address, nor her daughter’s phone number, nor where she put her own phone. Every detail she provides is then immediately corrected, and after a while, it becomes apparent that the sodden woman does not want help.

Finally, a consistent detail emerges. She lives in the next town over, fifteen miles away. She can’t remember her address, though. I phone a taxi and explain the woman’s state. I offer her my spare uniform to wear, knowing I’ll never see it again.

This phone call to the taxi is the most difficult one in my life, as the woman keeps interrupting me to say things like, “I’m not confused. I’m fine. I don’t need a taxi. I’ll drive!” 

The taxi service is reluctant, but as we are a pub and give them a lot of business, they agree to drop her off at her town’s train station. I pay for the taxi on the phone and tell the woman to wait in the staff room until the taxi arrives.

A few minutes later, I go to collect the woman, only to find that she has vanished. The people in the garden say she sprinted away into the night, soaked in her own pee. I manage to get a refund for the taxi but get thoroughly chewed out for wasting their time.

I think that I have heard the end of the tale of this woman, until the end of my shift at about two in the morning: I walk home, only to find that the police have taken up the high street and the local doctors’ office has been broken into.

It turns out that this woman is a doctor and broke into her place of work to sleep in her office. Why she didn’t use her keys, we’ll never know.

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Precocious And Precious!

, , , | Right | CREDIT: OctoberJ | July 12, 2021

This morning, Easter Sunday, I was working at my convenience store. A young man, about nine I’m guessing, rode his bike up to the store to shop for drinks for his family that was visiting. It’s a small town and I know his parents. He picked up an array of sodas and canned teas and came up to the counter.

Boy: “Where is the [Beer]?”

I had to pause for a moment.

Boy: *Very seriously* “I’m buying drinks for everyone and I want to buy a can of [Beer] for my dad because that’s what he likes best.”

Me: “You need to be twenty-one years old to buy beer.”

The boy just looked at his feet.

Boy: “Oh. Okay.”

He then revisited the pop coolers and found something else for dear old dad. It was absolutely adorable.

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Throwing Around Stupidity And Wine

, , , , , , | Right | July 5, 2021

Customer: “I’ll have a beer and a large pinot.”

Me: “Red or white, sir?”

Customer: “Pinot. It’s a wine.”

Me: “Yes, sir. But pinot grigio is a white wine and pinot noir is a red one. If you really want to get technical, we also sell pinot blush, a rosé.”

Customer: “My wife only drinks white wine.”

Me: “Pinot grigio it is, then.”

I make his drinks and he pays and walks back to his table. A few seconds later, his wife approaches.

Customer’s Wife: “God. How stupid are you? My husband ordered pinot. P-I-K-N-O-T. Everyone knows pinot is a red wine.”

Me: “Well, actually, miss—”

I never did finish my sentence because she threw the wine over me.

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