Whiskey Whispers

, , , , | Right | February 22, 2021

I am working in a restaurant with a bar. The restaurant offers Irish coffees as a dessert, with a mix of cream and milk on top so that it stays separate from the coffee. I have never been taught how to do this, so I cannot sell it.

One night, two ladies come in.

Lady #1: “Can I get an Irish coffee?”

Me: “I’m sorry, miss, but I haven’t been shown how to make those.”

Lady #1: “Oh, no, I was really in the mood for one.”

Me: “Well, I could offer you a coffee with the whisky shot in and both cream and milk on the side. It’s all the same ingredients, but the presentation won’t be what you want.”

Lady #1: “Oh, no, that’s fine! Yes, I’ll take one of those!”

Lady #2: “I’ll have one, too!”

I create the drinks and serve them.

Lady #1: “Oh. Every other time we’ve gotten this, it comes in a special glass with the cream on top. Why doesn’t this look like that?”

Did she just not listen to a word I said?

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The Need To Manscape Does Not Make You A Man

, , , , , , | Right | February 18, 2021

A group of teenagers is in the theatre to see the show. Three of them approach the bar; two order Cokes and one orders a beer.

Me: “Sure, could I just see your ID for the beer?”

Boy: “Oh, I’m eighteen.”

Me: “Okay, I will still need to see your ID before I can give you the beer.”

He pulls down the neck of his T-shirt.

Boy: “But I have chest hair!”

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It Would Be Breast For You To Leave

, , , | Right | February 17, 2021

The bar where I work is open to all ages until 5:30 pm when we become an eighteen-plus venue. This occurs at 6:30 pm after all the signs have been put out stating that no minors are allowed access. A customer walks in carrying a small baby and her husband is pushing a pram. I am the manager of the bar. I’m twenty-two and female but I’m quite short and often get mistaken for being much younger.

Me: “Sorry, but you can’t have a child in here after 5:30.”

Customer: “I’m breastfeeding.”

Me: “That’s lovely, but unfortunately, club policy is that no minors are allowed in this area after 5:30 pm.”

Customer: *Suddenly irate* “You can’t discriminate against a breastfeeding mother. It’s against the law.”

Me: “I’m not discriminating against you. It’s also against the law to allow a minor in this area after 5:30 pm.”

Customer: “I demand to speak to the manager! This is discrimination! I’ll have your job!”

Me: “I am the manager, and unfortunately, you still can’t have a minor in here.”

Customer: “I want to speak to a real manager, not a little girl.”

Me: “You can talk to the general manager of the other sections of the club. He will tell you that for this area, you need to speak to me but that the 5:30 pm rule still applies.”

Customer: *Finally leaving, still screaming* “I’ll have your job! You can’t discriminate against breastfeeding mothers! I’m calling the police and leaving a terrible review of this place! I hope you enjoy your fines for breaking the law!”

She screamed at other entering customers that we were all breaking the law and discriminating against her all the way out. She never called the police or left a review, but I told all the other staff about this incident and now it’s a little inside joke between us all that breastfeeding babies don’t count as minors.

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You Know What That Is? Growth.

, , , , | Learning | February 15, 2021

In the early 2010s, I was in high school taking a math course. It was the first class of the day and we had a really wonderful, punctual teacher. One day, she didn’t show up, no teachers came into the room, and after forty minutes — much to the anger of twenty other teenagers — I went to alert the office, worried something had happened to her.

The teacher was fine, but I became the center of horrific bullying in that class as a few of the students got in a lot of trouble for their actions while we were not supervised. Some of my favorites included shoving, spitting on my homework, and throwing plastic Easter eggs with slips of paper in them at me — the eggs were for a fun math game — hard enough to crack the plastic and bruise.

Most of this was led by this super senior; she was held back her senior year and was in her fifth year of high school. This bully went out of her way to make sure I was miserable that entire semester, and she was the reason I hated Easter eggs for years.

Fast forward to 2019, nearly a decade later. I am at a bar with two friends and my long-term boyfriend. The friends grew up around here but moved away years ago and are just in town to visit and catch up with people. A lot of people are coming to our booth to say hi and catch up with all of us. One of them is a woman a year or two older than me, covered in tattoos. She looks sort of familiar and is super thrilled to see [Friend].

I guess she thinks I look familiar, too, because she squints at me a little and finally asks if we used to go to high school together. After a few seconds of trying to remember where we know each other from, her face lights up with excitement. 

Woman: “Oh, yeah! We were in [Teacher]’s class together!”

Me: “Oh, yeah. You were the b**** who threw plastic Easter eggs at me.”

Cue deafening silence from the table. [Woman]’s face runs through a whole range of emotions, from shock, to remembrance, to horror, to complete embarrassment. [Friend] is glaring at her angrily; she’s heard the story before and is connecting the dots. My boyfriend looks like he might kick her out of the bar himself and our other friend is just shocked. 

Suddenly, [Woman], with all the charisma and emotions of a drunk woman, reaches out and takes my hands, her eyes tearing up.

Woman: “Oh. My. God! I have been trying to find out where you were for years! I am so, soooo sorry for everything! I was so unbelievably horrible to you and took out so many things on you, and it wasn’t until I got older that I realized how terrible I was! I was such a b**** to you and I’m so, so, so, so sorry!”

I don’t know what I expected, but it was not that. I just tell her it’s cool and it’s in the past; we were dumb kids and we can move forward now. Her whole face lights up again. 

Woman: “You are like, totally, seriously the best, Egg Girl! Besties! Can I put this on Insta?”

We never became friends, but I did let her take a selfie of us to “confess her crimes” online, and for the next year until the health crisis closed down the bars, we would occasionally run into each other out on the town. She would stop everything just to point me out to her friends and go, “That’s Egg Girl! I threw plastic Easter eggs at her in high school. I was suuuch a b**** to her!” 

Life is like a bunch of plastic Easter eggs; you never know what you’re going to get, I guess.

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Not A Minor Misunderstanding

, , , , | Right | February 13, 2021

We are an all-ages venue until 5:30 pm when we become an over-eighteen area. This occurs at 9:00 pm after all our “No minors past this point” signs are out. A man walks in with his two-year-old daughter.

Me: “Sorry, sir, this area is strictly eighteen and up after 5:30 pm.”

Man: “But she’s two.”

Me: “Yes, that means she can’t be in here after 5:30 pm. She’s a minor.”

Man: “But she’s two; she’s not a minor. Minors are people aged fourteen to seventeen, not two.”

Me: “Minors are anyone aged less than eighteen years.”

Man: *Very condescendingly* “No, little girl, minors are people aged fourteen to seventeen. She can be in here after 5:30 pm because she’s not. A. Minor.”

I point to a sign above the bar that states that no one under eighteen can be in the venue after 5:30 pm.

Man: “I’ll leave, but I’ll be telling your bosses that they need to teach their staff what a minor is! I can’t believe you think that my two-year-old is a minor! How stupid can you be?”

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