Entertainment Really Improves A Meal

, , , , , , | Working | January 6, 2021

One of my best and dearest friends and his wife come to visit me in Nottingham and we all decide that, for a lovely change, we’ll go out to dinner.

For many years, there was a small, family-run Italian restaurant in the center of the city that I loved that had amazing food at a very reasonable price, and I am excited to take my friends there. Sadly, in the year since I last visited, the family has sold the place and the new folk believe much more strongly in packets and bottles than they do in proper cooking.

So there I am, staring at my steak that’s smothered in grade-Z packet sauce, opposite my friend — a multi-rosette chef — and his wife, and I just want to sink under the table and die.

Everything is super awkward until, with no warning, the wife’s face starts to contort like she’s got a bee trapped in her mouth. At first, she contains it, but finally, she can’t anymore and she starts howling with laughter! She manages to get herself together long enough to gasp out a few words to her husband; he stares, looks around, and then suddenly, HE starts laughing, as well.

Now I’m not just embarrassed, but I’m also totally confused until my friend gets his s*** together long enough to get me to look over at one of the waiters. He’s a middle-aged dude with a bit of a paunch. I vaguely remember him from previous trips as the only remaining member of staff.

Friend: “Wait for it… wait for it…”

And suddenly, the waiter pounced!

He’d just farewelled a table of four after taking their payment, and the SECOND they were down the stairs he shot over to the table to clear it and, as he loaded his tray with empty plates, he made D***ED sure that all of the wine glasses (and the bottles) were completely empty.

In the time we were there, he went from friendly and efficient to VERY friendly, if kind of wobbly.

We felt bad for the guy that this was the only way he could get through a shift, but his antics fully saved the evening.

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Might Make A Decent Marinade Anyway

, , , , , | Related | January 1, 2021

I’m nineteen, but I barely drink. I just don’t like it. My mom encourages me to drink, because “I’m a grownup now,” so she brings bottles of alcohol home for me occasionally.

Mom: “I can’t believe you won’t even drink anything other than a mimosa. You haven’t even opened the Kahlua I got you, and you love coffee. There’s no reason you shouldn’t like Kahlua!”

Me: “Like what?”

Mom: “Kahlua.”

Me: “Killua? Like from the anime?”

Mom: “KAHLUA…”

She gets the little brown bottle from the fridge.

Mom: “KAHLUA!”

Me: “I… I thought that was steak sauce.”

In my defense, the bottle design looks like it should be a sauce, and I don’t like sauces so I never investigated it. Also, I never thought there’d be a day where a mom begged her child to stop watching cartoons and start drinking.

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Trying To Get Extra Christmas Spirits

, , , , | Right | December 25, 2020

Christmas is always a busy time for hotels. My particular hotel has a package deal where all food is included and the guests only have to pay for their drinks. I am manning the till in the cafe when a young-looking guest approaches.

Guest: “Hi, I’m sitting round the corner; can I order a beer?”

Me: “Absolutely, do you have ID?”

Guest: “Yeah, can I get a beer and a vodka and Coke?”

I don’t make an immediate move to put anything in the till.

Me: “May I see your ID first?”

Guest: “Yeah, I’m just around the corner.”

Me: “Sir, I can’t put anything in the till until you show me your ID.”

Guest: “Oh, right.”

The guest hands me some ID. I checks the age and see that he is, indeed, of legal drinking age.

Me: “Thank you. One beer and one vodka and Coke; I’ll bring those round for you. Thank you.”

My colleague approaches me as he leaves.

Colleague: “How old was he?”

Me: “Nineteen. I don’t get why he didn’t give me his ID in the first place?”

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Forgetting The Juicy Details, Part 2

, , , , , , , | Right | December 24, 2020

We’re holding a late-night Christmas shopping event with a free glass of champagne for customers upon entry and sparkling juice for non-drinkers and children. There’s a sign up stating one per customer, and so far everyone has accepted this.

I’m a supervisor, and one of the only staff members over the age of eighteen, so I am the only one handling the alcohol. A man comes in to browse and takes a glass of champagne. About five minutes later, he comes back to me. 

Customer: “I need another glass of this.”

Me: “Oh, sorry. We’re only allowed to give out one glass per customer. You could have a glass of sparkling juice if you’d like?”

Customer: “But I don’t want juice. There are glasses on the table and no queue, so I’m having another.”

Me: “We can’t give out more than one per customer; otherwise, we would have to charge the minimum unit price, and we’re not licensed to sell alcohol.”

The customer huffs and walks away to keep browsing.

Two minutes pass, and I notice he’s talking to an underage member of staff who joined two weeks ago. He walks back over.

Customer: *Triumphantly* “She says I can have another glass!”

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry but you can’t. I’ve already told you why. We only have a limited amount and it’s not fair on other customers.”

Customer: “But she said I could, so you have to! I’ve just bought £120 of pyjamas, too!”

Me: “I’m her supervisor, and she’s under eighteen so she can’t serve alcohol. So no, you can’t.”

He turns around and storms to the counter and returns the pyjamas. 

He storms back towards the front of the store to leave, and as he walks out, he turns over his shoulder. 

Customer: *Sarcastically* “Merry Christmas!”

The bottles of champagne were literally the cheapest available. He could have bought one from the shop right next to us for under £5 and drunk the whole bottle!

Related:
Forgetting The Juicy Details

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And We All Had A Merry, Hungover Christmas

, , , , , , | Related | December 21, 2020

My nephew is visiting my home for dinner. I mention my Christmas plans for this year, which prompts my nephew to bring up his misadventure last Christmas.

Nephew: “Did I ever tell you that story where I got into a drinking contest last Christmas?”

Me: “No. What happened?”

Nephew: “Okay, so school had just finished their Christmas party and holidays were about to begin. And a few of my dormmates decided to challenge the rest of us to drinking contests as an after-party.”

Me: “And the teachers allowed you to do that?”

Nephew: “Nope. It was totally illegal. Anyway, [Dormmate #1] somehow convinced me to get into a drinking contest with him. I initially declined, but then he said he’d give me a handicap. For every shot of wine I took, he’d take a shot of vodka, instead.”

Me: “Vodka? Are you serious?”

Nephew: “He’s Estonian! You know, ex-Soviet Union. They can drink.”

Me: “Jesus. Imagine the state of his liver. Anyway, what happened next?”

Nephew: “So, we sat down and started drinking. Loser suffered a penalty. In my case, the loser had to wear [Dormmate #1]’s girlfriend’s prom dress and pose in front of the whole dorm.”

Me: “You’re serious?”

Nephew: “Eh, it wasn’t so bad. My friend [Dormmate #2] had to swallow a morning-after pill when he lost.”

Me: “Oh, my God! Was he okay?”

Nephew: *Shrugs* “He was a lightweight. Went down after only five shots of wine. I went to fifteen.”

Me: “So what happened? Did you win?”

Nephew: “I woke up the next morning with the worst hangover, still wearing that prom dress. I had to ask the cleaning lady to help me out of it.”

Me: “You lost? But he was drinking vodka; you had wine!”

Nephew: “Like I said, he’s ex-Soviet Union. He can drink. I actually still have the prom dress. His girlfriend didn’t want it back.”

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