Now It’s A Party!

, , , , , | Right | September 20, 2017

(I work in a fine-dining establishment as a chef. Working in a college town, I get a lot of self-entitlement from customers. A drunk college girl bursts into the kitchen.)

Drunk College Girl: *yelling* “It’s Stephanie’s 21st birthday, and our waitress won’t sing to her!”

Me: “We don’t do that here.”

Drunk College Girl: “Well, why the f*** not!?”

Me: “Because it p***es off all the other people in the restaurant, and none of our staff have the time or the interest to honor Stephanie and her stupid birthday.”

(Guys at the next table slow clap.)

Going Crazy One Half-Pint At A Time

, , , , | Right | September 17, 2017

(We have a fairly strict policy about not serving drunk people. One tactic we have in place is a blanket ban on groups; i.e., if one person is unfit for us to serve, we knock back the whole group until the drunk person leaves. On Sunday, two drunk guys come in, so I say, very nicely:)

Me: “Sorry, chaps, not tonight. Another night perhaps, but not tonight.”

(They take it fine, but one of them tries to get my colleague to serve them. He says no, obviously, so the shorter of the two guys heads over to me.)

Man: “So, how come you’re saying no?”

Me: “Truthfully, you’re friend looks really unsteady on his feet, and he’s clearly slurring his speech, but as you came in together, it’s our policy to refuse the group. It’s not personal, but it’s not something I’m going to change.”

(He seems to think that was fair enough, but keeps asking for just a drink for him, asking me to explain myself again, and telling me that it is just his friend, not him. I am polite and firm, but am getting tired of this discussion.)

Man: “Besides, he’s only had three pints!”

Me: “Only three pints? All that proves is that your friend can’t drink, if that’s the state of him after three pints!”

(Luckily, he found it funny that I was making fun of his friend, shook my hand, and left. Not my most professional moment, but it worked!)

Wrestling With This Sale

, , , , , , , | Right | September 12, 2017

(I am a 17-year-old student, working part-time in a major supermarket chain as a checkout operator. Because of UK law, persons under the age of 18 must have approval from someone over 18 before they can sell alcohol, and my store requires that person to physically come to the checkout and type in their ID and password to authorize the sale. In this case, the customer is clearly old enough, ripped, and covered in tattoos.)

Me: “I’m really sorry to keep you waiting, but I’m afraid I have to get approval from someone over 18 before I can sell you this.”

Customer: “I’m over 18. Consider it approved.”

Me: “I’m afraid that it has to come from someone that works here, but I’ll have my supervisor over here just as soon as I can.”

Customer: *getting increasingly irritated* “Just put it through. They don’t have to know about it.”

Me: “I can’t sell alcohol without a code. My machine completely locks up as soon as it picks up alcohol, and I need someone over 18 to physically come here and override the lock-out. I promise you, my supervisor will just be a moment.”

Customer: “That’s a dumb-a** policy. Just type in their code or something.”

Me: “I’m afraid that’s actually the law. Section 153 of the Licensing Act of 2003 states that a responsible person is committing an offence if he or she allows a person under the age of 18 to perform the sale or supply of alcohol, unless the sale is approved by that or another responsible person. I don’t know my supervisor’s code, and if I was able to just sell alcohol, then the store could easily lose their licence, and both myself and all the managers could be fined.”

(At this point the customer loses it. It’s been less than two minutes since this entire exchange began, but he leaps at me over my checkout, grabbing me by the collar of my shirt and pulling me towards him.)

Customer: *shouting* “Listen to me, you f****** b****. I didn’t come here looking for a f****** lecture. Do you know who I am?”

(He shakes me a bit and moves right in my face, our noses about a centimetre from touching. A lot of people are watching, but none step in. I’m actually a black belt in three different martial arts, and more than capable of defending myself, but given that I am relatively new to the job and can see my supervisor on his way, I decide not to lash out.)

Customer: *as loud as he can* “I’m the f****** national wrestling champion. I’ve got hundreds of trophies, dozens of medals. What the f*** have you got you whiny c***?

(My supervisor arrives, taps the guy on his shoulder, and nuts him straight in the face. He drops to the floor clutching a bleeding, and probably broken, nose. My supervisor flips him onto his front and pulls both his hands up behind his back, zip tying his hands together, and pulling his phone off his belt.)

Supervisor: “Hey, when you’ve got a minute, can you get the police down here? No rush.”

(I love my supervisor.)

1 Thumbs
1,149
VOTES

Your Annoyance Level Is Up To The High Teens

, , , , , , , | Right | September 10, 2017

(I work the overnight shift alone from 10 pm to 6 am. I usually get the local cops in at the beginning of my shift, since they are starting their shift as well, and they also come by a few times a night, just to check in and say hi. Around 3 am one Sunday morning, another regular, who is shy and has a social disability, comes in to get his coffee and wait for his ride. As I’m finishing with him. two teenage boys come in.)

Me: *to regular* “Thanks for shopping at [Gas Station] and I’ll see you tomorrow.” *to teenagers* “Can I help you two with anything?”

Teenager #1: “Yeah, I’d like some cigarettes. [Brand].”

Me: “Certainly. I’ll just need to see some ID.”

Teenager #1: “I left it at the house. Can you let it slide this once? Besides, I only live right down the street.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I can’t sell to anyone that looks under 30 without an ID. Besides, if you live right down the street, then it should be no problem to get your ID.”

Teenager #1: “C’mon, man, just let it slide this once. I can tell you my birthday. It’s [date].”

Me: “Well, sir, if that is your birthday, then you are only 16. I can’t sell the cigarettes to you, but feel free to get anything else.”

Teenager #2: “Here, I’ll get them then. I just turned 18 and I have my ID.”

Me: “Sorry, sir, but I can’t sell them to you, since I know you are buying them for your friend, who I know is underage.”

Teenager #2: “But I’m 18!”

Teenager #1: “Don’t be a d***. Nobody will notice at this time of night.”

Me: “Sorry, but it’s not worth my job.”

(The two teenagers leave, and I see them go up to my regular, who is still waiting in the parking lot, and talk to him for a minute. My regular walks back in.)

Regular: “Can I get a pack of [Cigarette Brand Teenager Asked For]?”

Me: “I actually can’t. I know you don’t smoke, and I know those boys just asked you to get them cigarettes. Tell them I’m not selling them cigarettes, and they can’t get anyone else to buy them for them.”

(My regular leaves and talks to the teens. He gets picked up around five minutes later, but the teens are still loitering. I ignore them, as there isn’t anyone else in the store or parking lot, and start to mop while the store is slow. About 20 minutes later, the teens come in and get some nachos, making a mess in the process. As they come to check out, I notice the reek of alcohol.)

Teenager #2: “I’d like these nachos.”

Me: “Certainly, sir. Can I get you anything else?”

Teenager #2: “Yeah, I’d like a pack of [Same Cigarette Brand].”

Me: “I told you 20 minutes ago that I wouldn’t sell you cigarettes. Now, you need to pay for the nachos and leave.”

(They end up grumbling, but pay for their food and leave. However, they don’t leave the parking lot, and instead hang around eating their food. I ignore them again and start making coffee. About ten minutes later, one of my older regulars shows up. He stops to talk to the boys on the way in, and then comes into the store.)

Me: “Hey, [Older Regular].”

(All the coffee is fresh, and once I finish with the trash, I can take a break and come outside and chat.)

Older Regular: “You know those boys are asking for people to buy them cigarettes, don’t you? I told them I wouldn’t, and that you knew I didn’t smoke anyway.”

Me: “Okay, well, I’ve had about enough of this.” *I go outside and talk to the teenagers.* “You guys need to leave now. You can’t loiter here, and you can’t keep harassing my customers to illegally buy you tobacco.”

Teenager #1: “Well, why don’t you make us? We ain’t doing nothing!”

Teenager #2: “Yeah, and this wouldn’t have happened if you’d been f***ing cool about it.”

(Fed up with this, I call dispatch, and explain to them about the two drunk teens. Two minutes later, I have three cop cars pull in and corner these two kids. One tries to run and is caught almost instantly. My regular and I go outside to watch.)

Cop: *also a regular* “Hey, [My Name]. These two the only ones who were bothering you?”

Me: “Yeah. So, what are you going to do to them?”

Cop: “We’ll take them down to the station and throw them in the drunk tank. We’ll call their parents once they sober up. Usually putting the fear of God in them is enough. Call us if they ever show up on your shift again!”

(My regular and I walked away laughing. It certainly made the rest of my shift more enjoyable, and the teens had a great story to tell at school Monday!)

Welcome To The Performance Pad

, , , , , | Friendly | September 8, 2017

(I work as part of a performing troupe that sometimes gets hired for private events. I am working one such event as an atmospheric performer. I need to use the bathroom between sets; however, in the bathroom, I discover I needed sanitary items and don’t have any on hand. Just at that moment however, several guests walk into the bathroom, INCREDIBLY drunk.)

Guest #1: “This party is so much fun!”

Me: *from inside the stall* “Um, excuse me… would any of you ladies happen to have a pad?”

(From outside, I hear a lot of mumbling and a purse unzipping before one is passed under the stall.)

Me: “Thank you.”

(I finish my business and walk out of the stall. As I’m washing my hands, one of the ladies turns to look at me.)

Guest #2: “Oh my gosh, are you one of the performers?!”

(I nod politely.)

Guest #2: “Oh my God, oh my God! You were fantastic!” *turns to her friends* “Guys, guys, guys! I gave one of the performers a pad!”

Guest #1: *equally drunk* “Oh my God, really?”

(I left the bathroom at this point, still hearing them all yell excitedly that “she had given one of the performers a pad!”)

Page 1/3123
Next »