Unfiltered Story #96663

, , | Unfiltered | October 6, 2017

This happened eight years ago, back in 2010. I was 9 1/2 months (yes, you read that right – 42 weeks!) pregnant with my second child, and my family decided to go out for dinner. As I was going in for a c-section the following morning, a few members of our extended family decided to come out for a nice vacation, and to meet the new baby. Our dinner party consists of nine people – seven adults over 21, and two children – an 8 year old, and a 4 year old. The table we’re sitting at is near the back of the restaurant, with the drink stand behind me along the wall, and the kitchen doors along the same wall, across from our table, a couple yards away at the most.

Our dinner party was fairly quiet, the children had a lot of papers to color, and when asked, they each indicated what they wanted for dinner. They were incredibly polite, and were far more interested in what they were drawing than they were in making any noise.

The waiter, on the other hand, treated us as if we’re the biggest inconvenience in his entire evening. We made sure to come in early, at a time when the restaurant shouldn’t have been very busy, but I attempted to order my beverage twice, and when I was given a caffeinated beverage instead, I tried changing it, to no avail. The waiter treated my husband, parents and uncle quite a bit better than he treated my cousin, and sister. He was dismissive towards the children, and he was angry towards me. He didn’t even indicate that he’s listened to our orders, until my husband asked him to read the orders back to him, as he had with the three eldest adults at the table. He huffed and puffed, and did so with attitude.

A few minutes before the entrees are served, the children are politely coloring, and the manager comes by to see how everyone’s doing. I tell him I’d like my drink order changed, but the waiter couldn’t hear me over his walking away, and that I had noticed his deference to the three eldest people at the table. A few minutes later at the drink station in the path of the kitchen but behind me, the waiter was being asked about his serving style while the manager got my new drink, and I overheard this gem:

Waiter: *to manager* Well, obviously I serve who is paying the best, as I’ve been taught at my bartending job! The fat cow won’t pay, she’s more likely to walk out on it! The fuckin’ brats are too busy running all over the place, and the cow’s too busy finding another entree to order to give a damn about what they’re doing.

(My husband had asked for a menu a little bit before he was done with his dinner, because he had wanted to order dessert. The kids had finished their food entirely (a first!), and they had earned desserts. As the waiter was wrapping up his remarks to the manager:)

Me: *to husband* So how much do cows tip?
Husband: Uhm… no, YOU tip the COW. But definitely not 30% like we’ve done here in the past.
Me: *quietly, but while laughing* Honey, he’s not…oh my goodness.

(At this point, my mom interjects:)

Mom: *quietly, leaning towards me, behind the youngest kiddo* Psst! Hey, I’m paying for this!
Me: *quietly too* Wow! Really? That’s very generous, but I’m still employed!
Mom: Yeah, but you’re on leave! I’ve got it.

(I tell my husband about the blueberry muffin on the menu, and mention that I was so glad that my craving for those was over, I was sick of blueberries at that point. We discuss dessert options, make sure the kids know what they want, and we both agree that we should order brownies. The waiter finally meanders back to our table from the drink station, to take our dessert orders. He immediately makes it clear that he had heard my tipping comment, and knows that he’d been heard as well, but…still. Hmm:)

Waiter: *looks at me* And ma’am? What will you have?
Me: Hmm. *closes menu* I’ll have the chocolate –
Waiter: Good! *turns to my husband* And for you, sir?
Husband: *sternly* Wait until she’s finished.
Me: *looks the waiter in the eye* I will have a chocolate brownie.
Husband: And I will have the same. (yes, that is an exact quote.)

(The waiter takes the entire table’s orders, including the children’s sundaes, and scurries off to the kitchen. He comes out less than five minutes later with six of the nine desserts. I notice that my brownie, as well as the children’s sundaes, are missing. I try to get his attention to ask about the three remaining desserts, but he ignores me, and doesn’t say a single word to any of us while serving the desserts. No “the rest will be out in a minute” or “I don’t have room on my tray and I’ll be right back”. Nada. After the waiter sets my husband’s brownie in front of him, he ends up loitering near the kitchen door, a couple yards away from the table, watching us, but apparently blind to my husband’s and my attempts to get his attention. The manager comes out of the kitchen as the rest of the table is finishing with their desserts, with two sundaes, and a mountain shaped blob with a pad of butter melting all over the top that had an X cut into it, that could have been a blueberry muffin the previous year…)

Manager: *to me* Sorry for the wait, ma’am. *attempts to set the suspected “blueberry muffin” down*
Me: No! No. Really. I did not order this. There is no way. I did, however, order the chocolate brownie, but your waiter once again tried to ignore my request. Maybe he thinks I was speaking cow? But, my husband literally said “I’ll have the same thing”, so how did he end up with a brownie if y’all think I ordered this monstrosity?
Manager: *immediately embarrassed* Uh, uhm. Er, oh yeah. I’m so sorry about everything. I’ll have that brownie right out to you. *hands the kids their sundaes* I must say, you guys are so well behaved, thank you! My kids would be running amok by now, but you’ve been very courteous all evening! The table next to you guys has had nothing but great things to say about you, too.
Eldest kid: Thank you!
Youngest kid: I have a coloring book! See? I’m painting a Spongebob! *holds up crayon-covered pages*
Manager: Wonderful! That’s just… great. Great, yeah. *to me* I’ll be right out with your dessert.

(Five minutes later, the waiter flounces over and drops the check in front of my uncle, narrowly missing his dessert plate. My mom takes the check from him after a brief argument, and my husband distracts me with a cute magic trick he’s showing the kids, as the check is paid.

The brownie never showed up. And I still have no idea how much my mom tipped on the order. I hope it was still over ten percent. No waiter, no matter how awful their day is going, deserves to be stiffed – and by that, I mean given less than a ten percent tip. Even if the waiter ignores one person at the table like what happened in my situation, the other eight people there were given adequate service. We all compared our experiences that evening after the fact, but my mom would only confirm that she was charged correctly.)

Unfiltered Story #96653

, , | Unfiltered | October 5, 2017

One day, after work, I decided to reward myself for surpassing my weekly weight gain goal by splurging on a pizza and ice cream from a couple shops near my workplace. I eat my pizza in the pizza shop without incident, and walk through the parking lot to the ice cream shop, where the following occurs (Note, that I’m 7 1/2 months pregnant at the time. Also, I’m actually underweight for someone of my height and my doctor has threatened bed rest if I don’t gain weight):

Cashier: Hi! What can I get for you today!?
Me: Hi, I’d like two scoops of pumpkin ice cream in a waffle cone, please.
Cashier: Sure, coming right up!

The cashier gets my order, and I notice a somewhat angry man sitting in a booth behind me, with two kids:

Kid1: *whines* But Da-aaaddy, I want ice cream! She got some!
Kid2: *goes from whine to screechy in his request* Yeah, daddy, why can’t we have ice cream? Why do we have to eat this? I want ice cream now too, like her! *points at his small kid’s meal, and then looks at me and pouts*
Man: *angrily, and loudly* Because SOME FAT BITCHES ARE FUCKING CUNTS WHO CAN’T BE BOTHERED TO EAT LUNCH TO GET THEIR DESSERT, OKAY? NOW EAT YOUR DAMN LUNCH. Because if you only ate desserts, you’d be that fat too!

(At this point, I’m thinking “is he seriously talking about me? Like I’m fat? I’m literally skin, bones, and growing new human, so… what the hell.” I get my ice cream, and decide to speak up:)

Me: *whirls around to the man, with my ice cream in hand.* You, sir, are quite rude, and ignorant! I’m not fat, I’m pregnant! *I turned towards the children, and make sure I speak more calmly* I had a pizza at the place down the street. I should have eaten here, it looks like the food’s pretty good, but my son *pats belly* wanted more carbs with his pineapple and ham today. Now, how about y’all eat the few bites of lunch you have left, and THEN ask your father nicely for desserts. Also, just a little tip? *I lean down to the eldest child, my eyes dart towards the front, as I stage-whisper and point* the clerks are always happy to give as many samples as you want, of whatever flavor you want! And they really do have all the flavors on the menu, so if you don’t see it in the case, ask for it!
Kid2: *quickly eats his remaining lunch as I walk away* Daddy? I’m done, can I have ice cream?
Man: Sure, kiddo! *passing my table on the way to the register, looks at me* I… yeah, sorry,
Me: …
Kid1: *from table* Yo, Dad! I finished my food! Can I have ice cream?
Man: Totally! Yeah!

The kids walked up to the ice cream counter, and settled in for the long haul –
asking for as many samples as they could think of, and going through the entire menu of flavors at least twice, as the man becomes more and more impatient. It took them ten full minutes to find their favorite flavors, which they both got two scoops of, “because SHE DID!”

I laughed. I laughed out loud when I heard that, and he said “You know what? Fuck you, fat fuckin’ pig. Fuck. You.” and I laughed even more at his ignorance. On my way out a few minutes later, I got myself a half gallon of pumpkin ice cream to take back to my workplace. I ended up walking past his table, to the exit facing the street, as I left the store.

Kid2: WHOA! They DO sell those? Dad, but you said -!

I exited the store at that point, but I wish I had thought enough to “have problems opening the door” long enough to hear what he said the man said!

Unfiltered Story #93130

, , | Unfiltered | September 7, 2017

*In this case, I’m the crazy customer (due to exhaustion, I’d like to say before anyone says anything), but I’ve been helping a friend move and I’ve been doing a lot of heavy lifting because I’m the youngest and the only other person who can help me is my uncle. Because he isn’t good with stairs because of his age and my friend lives on the second floor, I’m doing most of the heavy lifting and as a result am incredibly tired and can’t think straight. It’s also during a heat wave with temps hitting almost 110 and that also adds to how I’m acting despite drinking enough water. Keep note that we’ve been doing this for three days now and in those three days, I’ve worked about 14 hours, which normally would be fine except I’ve been resting a lot and now I’m suddenly needing to do a lot of moving. The first account of my tiredness is in the evening after we’ve finished for the day and everything else is the next day when we’re taking a break from moving running errands*

Example 1:
*We (me, my grandma, and my uncle) are having dinner after moving at a popular 24-hour diner that we go to all the time. We are paying the bill and it’s obvious we’re tired and the waitress is being nice, asking about our meal, our day, etc., and we happen to bring up that we’ve been moving for the past three days and are nowhere close to being finished*
Waitress: Well, I hope you all sleep well and can finish moving soon!
Grandma: Thank you. *She pays the bill and we start to leave*
Waitress: Hope to see you again soon!
Me: *Thinking automatically she said “Have a great day!”* You, too! *I pause as my mind finally processes* Wait, uh, that’s not what I meant…
Waitress: You’re tired dear. Get some rest.

Example 2:
*My grandma and I are running errands and I need to get a flu shot. I go to a local pharmacy and am telling my information to get me into the system*
Nurse (I don’t know their actual job title because I know the pharmacist is different, bear with me): Name and date of birth, please.
*I give my name and then say blankly* Why do you need my date of birth?
Nurse: …To find you in the system.
Me: *After a moment’s pause* Oh, right! Sorry. *I give that info to him*
Example 3:
*We’re grocery shopping and I notice a 3 for $3 deal on a product that we like. I don’t know why my mind processed it this way but I read it as each time is $3 only if you get three. I tell my grandma that and she looks confused for a moment before saying* No, it means each thing is a dollar. (My name), how much sleep did you get last night?
Me: Eight hours…I think. I don’t remember.
Grandma: We’re going to finish here, get something to eat to take home, and then you’re going to bed.
Me: Yea, that’s probably best…

To everyone that dealt with my confusion throughout both days, I’m so sorry and I promise I’m not as clueless or dumb as I put on! I’m normally much better! I was just exhausted from all the sudden activity for so long over the past few days!

Unfiltered Story #92617

, , , , | Unfiltered | September 4, 2017

(I used to work at a small clothing boutique that also sold small gift items. One of our best sellers were key chain pepper spray cannisters that were bedazzled. I got many stupid questions about them such as, “Does this actually work?” “Have you tried it before?” “Well WHY haven’t you tried it?!?”. This conversation by far takes the cake on the stupidest customer I’ve ever dealt with.)

Customer: “These little cannisters are so cute! I wish they had perfume in it though.”
Me: “Oh yeah that would be cool. It’s always smart to carry pepper spray though!”
Customer: “Yeah but I wish it was perfume.. do you have any with perfume instead?”
Me: “Um.. no. Unfortunately not.”
Customer: “Well can I buy an empty cannister from you so I can fill it myself?”
Me: “Oh we don’t make it here. We are sent all of our items already packaged. I don’t have any empty ones.”
Customer: “Ugh fine. I’ll just empty it at home and refill it with perfume. My daughter loves spraying my perfume so I can give her this so she has her own! She just loves sparkles!”
Me: “I strongly advise you NOT to do that. You shouldn’t mess around with pepper spray canisters. You also don’t want to take the chance of not getting it all out resulting in your daughter hurting herself.”
Customer: “You don’t know what you’re talking about! You need to learn about your products more! I’m buying this for my daughter right now so she can have matching perfume with me!”

Unfiltered Story #91939

, , | Unfiltered | August 24, 2017

(I work at a small store that’s part of a local nonprofit that provides services to the blind and visually impaired. All the items we sell in the store are aids for the visually impaired. We have a fairly large stock of white/red canes for the blind and there are actually a lot of traits that will affect the price of a cane: length, material, number of folds, type of cane tip, brand, cane style, etc. I get a lot of weird calls, but this one is my favorite.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Our Nonprofit] Store, how can I help you?”

Customer: (it sounds like she’s standing on the side of a highway and she is yelling) “HOW MUCH ARE YOUR CANES?”

Me: “Well, that depends. We carry a wide variety of canes. Are you looking for a graphite or an alu–”

Customer: “CANES!”

Me: “Yes, what materi–”

Customer: “CANES FOR BLIND PEOPLE.”

Me: *realizing this is going nowhere* “They’re $25. Thanks.” *hangs up*

(In reality, a cane could cost anywhere from $15 to $65, depending on what you want.)

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