Come To Blows Over Mojitos

| VA, USA | Right | June 29, 2016

(I am on bar and our TV has CNN on, at multiple customers’ requests. I am making a mojito when this happens.)

Customer #1: “What is that cocktail called?”

Me: “A mojito, sir.”

Customer #1: “Oh, one of them there foreign girly drinks.”

Customer #2: “Excuse me?”

(Customer #2 is a woman, but had ordered hers with double the amount of rum I usually put in it.)

Customer #1: “You heard me! Foreign crap! And all these immigrants need to go the hell home! Stealing American jobs!”

(I am of Southeast Asian descent and all my regulars know where I was born, ie. not America.)

Me: “Well, sir, I guess I’ll be off home, then!”

Customer #1: “Well… no, not you…”

Me: “Why not?”

Customer #1: “Well, you’re smart! I like you!”

Me: “Oh, thank goodness. I’m so glad I can stay! With my husband! And my green card!”

Customer #2: *as I hand her her mojito* “Hey, give him a taste of this.”

(I pour some into a rocks glass and hand it to Customer #1. He takes a sip and his eyes BULGE.)

Customer #2: “[My Name], my girly drink tastes fabulous!” *she makes a show of putting some money in my tip jar* “And you, [Customer #1], let me know when you’re getting your plane ticket back to Ireland.”

(They were all regulars and all knew each other. Customer #2 knew Customer #1 was of proud Irish descent and showed off every St Patrick’s Day. Customer #1 was completely quiet the rest of the time he was there, and left a decent tip. I bought Customer #2 a shot when Customer #1 had left.)

Not Very Good Tomorrow People

| Perth, WA, Australia | Right | June 22, 2016

(Our pub closes at one am, by law, and closing time always comes as a rude shock to our punters. Every weekend night we have people bugging us for “just one more.”)

Customer: “But I just want one more! C’mooonnnn! Just for me?”

Colleague: *as we’re cleaning up* “Dude, we’re closed. End of story.”

Customer: “But how can I get another drink? I just want another drink!”

Colleague: *singing/shouting* “Tomorrow! Tomorrow! We’re open tomorrow! It’s only a day awaaaaay!”

(I miss the things you could get away with in a pub environment…)

You Can’t Drink Yourself Out Of This Problem

| NJ, USA | Right | June 4, 2016

Customer: “What is in your gold margarita?”

(I tell her and she orders one. Five minutes later…)

Customer: “This has a very rustic taste to it.”

Me: “You don’t like it?”

Customer: “It’s like… rustic.”

Me: “Is it too sour? Or too sweet?”

Customer: “It’s very rustic.”

(We go around and around like this until I determine what she means to say is metallic.)

Customer: “Drink it and see what I mean. Get a straw.”

Me: “I’m not going to do that, sorry. I’ll make you a new one or something different though.” *I am visibly pregnant, I should add*

Customer: “Honey, it’s not going to kill you. You should be tasting every drink you send out. Your baby will be fine. Get a straw.”

Me: “I will make you a new margarita.”

Customer: “Taste it first. We gotta work something out here because I can’t drink rustic things.”

Tequila Myself Slowly

| NY, USA | Working | May 31, 2016

Bartender: “What can I get you?”

Me: “A slow and painful death.”

Bartender: “…”

Me: “…”

Bartender: “…”

Me: “…”

Bartender: “Tequila shots coming right up!”

Boyfriend Won’t Save You From This Pickle

| Cedar Rapids, IA, USA | Romantic | May 29, 2016

(My boyfriend and I are out at a bar after a big football game and have spent the better part of the evening drinking. I have a problem with word recollection without alcohol, but with that in the mix I sometimes fail at any sort of communication.)

Me: “Could I get an order of your fried pretzels?”

Waitress: “Uh, you know, I don’t think we have those but I could check with the kitchen staff to see if they can whip you something up.”

Me: *confused* “Are you sure? They’re on the menu.”

Waitress: “I don’t think so, but I’ll go check and be right back.”

(She leaves and returns.)

Waitress: “I’m sorry, dear, we don’t have any fried pretzels.”

Me: “What? No I want the fried pickles.”

Waitress: *looks at me like I’ve grown a third eye* “Well, those we certainly have. Sorry about the confusion.”

(She leaves.)

Me: *to boyfriend* “Why didn’t you say something?”

Boyfriend: “I mean you seemed so confident! How was I supposed to know you flubbed?”

(This is by far the most hilarious and embarrassing time this has ever happened to me, with or without alcohol.)

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