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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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Some Managers Will Drive You To Drink (With Or Without ID)

, , , , , | Working | June 28, 2021

In the beginning of summer, my entire family likes to spend a week at the beach. We’ve been doing this since I was a child and there’s a particular restaurant that we love to eat at as it always has good food and good service, and it’s only a few minutes walk from where we stay. On this fateful night, my husband and I are having dinner with my parents. We’re seated at a table, and after a minute or so, our waitress arrives.

Waitress: “Hi, guys! Welcome to [Restaurant]. My name is [Waitress] and I’ll be your server this evening.”

Me: “Hi, [Waitress], how’re you doing?”

Waitress: “I’m all right. I’m sorry if there’s a bit of a delay in your food; we’re a little busy tonight and this is my second night on the job, so I’m still figuring things out.”

My family is very friendly and understanding, so we assure her that’s fine and it seems to put her at ease. We order drinks. My mom and I typically don’t order alcoholic drinks as we don’t like the taste, but we’ve eaten at this restaurant several times and both like their strawberry daiquiris, so we order those.

Waitress: “All right, can I see everyone’s IDs, please?”

Everyone hands over their IDs, except for Mom, who typically leaves her purse in her car and forgot to grab it before we walked to the restaurant.

Mom: “I’m so sorry. I think I left my wallet at home.”

Waitress: *Suddenly very anxious* “Ma’am, I can’t serve you alcohol without seeing your ID.”

Mom: “That’s fine. I’ll just go with a lemonade, then.”

The waitress leaves to get the drinks, and when she returns, we place our food orders. By the time the food is brought out, we’ve finished our drinks and Dad orders a mango daiquiri for himself, which Mom asks to try when it arrives.

Waitress: “Ma’am, I can’t serve you alcohol without seeing your ID.”

Mom: “I know, I’m happy with my lemonade. I’m just going to have a sip from his; I don’t need my own.”

Waitress: “I’m going to need to see your ID.”

Dad: *Firm but respectful* “The mango daiquiri isn’t for her; it’s for me.”

The waitress dithers for a few moments, then leaves. We discuss quietly how it’s a little silly that Mom can’t drink but her daughter can. But we know that serving alcohol to underaged guests is illegal and figure that, since it’s her second night working and the place is pretty busy, she’s just feeling stressed and trying to not mess up, so we brush it off.

At this point, I have finished my daiquiri and set the empty glass aside, about midway between myself and Mom, and I have begun working on my water when a man approaches. He’s wearing a staff uniform with a badge that identifies him as the manager, and he stops at our table. He’s narrowed his eyes at me and addresses me with an accusatory tone.

Manager: “Ma’am, your waitress is unable to serve you alcohol without seeing your ID, and if you continue to harass her, then I’m going to be forced to ask you to leave.”

It’s clear that he thinks I’m underaged and trying to pull something. I immediately suspect the waitress was flustered and did not communicate the situation clearly to her manager, but I’m too shocked to respond. Both Dad and my husband jump to my defense, and all three men begin to argue quietly while Mom and I sit there uncomfortably.

Eventually, the manager, unwilling to budget and unable to be convinced that this is a misunderstanding, curtly informs us that he’ll be sending the bartender out to deal with us and that there will be absolutely no alcohol provided to anyone at the table without ID. My husband and my dad are both fuming, and I’m very uncomfortable and worried that the manager might try to remove me from the restaurant. Mom is upset by the conflict and decides that the easiest way to resolve the issue is to go get her ID, so she walks the ten minutes home — by herself, at night — and back. 

While she’s gone, the bartender arrives. He’s significantly more pleasant and recognizes Dad from his and Mom’s visit the night before. We calmly explain the situation, apologizing for making the waitress uncomfortable and expressing our offense at the manager’s aggressive, misinformed accusations. The bartender sympathizes and informs us that the manager is a rather unpleasant individual to begin with and that he figured that this was likely a misunderstanding from the get-go.

About this time, Mom returns with her ID and the bartender brings her a daiquiri as an apology, chatting with us a little bit before heading back inside. We don’t see that waitress for the rest of the night, but we do spy the manager shooting us nasty looks until we leave.

We decided to eat elsewhere for the rest of the week, the experience having put a sour taste in our mouths. Honestly, if it hadn’t been for the bartender, we probably would’ve just left money on the table for what food and drinks we received and walked out.

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Girls Out To Brunch Are Hardcore

, , , , | Right | CREDIT: unrelator | June 23, 2021

I’m a server at a popular restaurant in a college town. On the weekends, we have $15 bottomless mimosas. Today, we were pretty busy with a big brunch crowd, and it felt like almost all of my tables ordered bottomless mimosas. They got at least ten refills each, and toward the end of my shift, when I only had about three tables, I was still running back and forth frantically trying to keep up with their drinks. The bartenders were pissed at me. We ran out of orange juice and almost ran out of champagne, so I was giving them grapefruit and pineapple juice mimosas.

I had one table of girls that had to have had at least five bottles of champagne between the three of them and they didn’t even seem drunk. They ended up camping there and I had to stay an hour and a half past my shift just serving them drinks. I finally gave them their checks.

Me: “Totally no rush. You guys can keep ordering after you pay.”

When a server tells you this, they definitely want you to leave.

Twenty minutes later, they still hadn’t taken their cards out.

Me: “Hey, do you mind if I check you guys out? My shift was supposed to end an hour and a half ago.”

They were apologetic about it, and I felt bad, but I have homework to do! But I kind of just said f*** it because I got a hunch that they were going to be terrible tippers anyway. But they tipped me 20% each, and one tipped me almost 40%, so that was a nice little surprise!

I came back an hour later to get myself some food and they were STILL there, having other servers get them mimosas.

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