This Roast Is Toast

| UK | Right | April 2, 2017

(I work at a pub with a Sunday Roast carvery buffet. A vegetarian customer comes to order.)

Customer: “Can I pay for the roast, but can I just have the potatoes? I’m a vegetarian.”

Me: “Yes, but… you know the potatoes are roasted with the juice from the meat.”

Customer: “They are?”

Me: “Yes, that’s how most people roast them.”

Customer: *alarmed* “They do?”

Me: “Erm… yes… We do have some vegetarian dishes though.”

Customer: “Do most people really roast potatoes that way?”

Me: “Yes.”

Customer: “Oh. Right.”

(I will never forget this poor girl’s expression as she began thinking about ALL the roast potatoes she’d ever eaten.)

Their Geographical Knowledge Is Its Own Little Island

| SC, USA | Right | April 1, 2017

(I am working at a small local pub/restaurant not far from the beach on Hilton Head Island, SC. You can literally see the ocean from the tables on the porch outside our establishment. We get a lot of visitors from all over, but none were ever this geographically challenged.)

Guest: “How long has this been an island?”

Me: *joking* “About twenty years, I think. It was purchased from Belize and towed up here.”

Guest: *oddly* “So… does the water go all the way around the island?”

Me: “Only at night, sir… Y’know during high tide.”

Guest: *nodding* “Hmmm… I thought so.”

Wife: “It can’t be an island… We crossed a bridge!”

Me: *suddenly realizing they’re NOT joking, and that they really are this stupid* “Yep, you did. Over water”

Wife: *b*tchy* “So…what’s on the other side of that lake, then?” *pointing east*

Me: “Spain.”

Wife: “Oh, honey… we can get to Spain from here!”

Clustered You All Together

| Tukwila, WA, USA | Right | March 23, 2017

(I am the customer. My friends and coworkers head to our favorite bar. It is Geek Culture themed, and though the staff are a little unorthodox, it feels comfortable being there. Our party reaches to 20+ people. When the bill comes, it is revealed that a mistake had been made and we are all on the same tab.)

Me: “Uh oh.”

Friend: “Yeah, we’re a real cluster-f*** here.”

Server: “No worries, man.”

(He proceeds to tally what each of us had and supplies the bill up for each of us. When looking at the receipt the tab name reads: Cluster F*** in ‘da thirties.)

Friend: *laughing* “Gee, I wonder how they feel about us?”

Me: *laughing harder* “Hey, you said it.”

Behaving Below The Belt

| UK | Romantic | March 22, 2017

(One of my best friends is a non-op transgender woman. She’s been flirting with me heavily for weeks and, thinking she was joking, I played along. I’m a lesbian.)

Friend: “Hey, [My Name], do you want to come back to mine?”

Me: “Sure, we can do that. Just let me finish my drink.”

(I finish my drink and stand to leave. At that moment she lunges at me, trying to kiss me. I push her away.)

Friend: “What the h***, [My Name]?!”

Me: “I’m not interested in you like that, [Friend], sorry.”

Friend: “This is just because of what I have between my legs!”

Me: “It’s not that. It might play a part, because I don’t like penis and I am gay, but we’re also friends. I wouldn’t want to ruin that.”

Friend: “LIAR! You’re a TRANSPHOBIC B****. You have NO RIGHT to exclude me because of my genitals.”

Me: “Actually, I do. I don’t want to have sex with you. Whether or not this is because of your penis, it’s my choice who I sleep with. I’m going home.”

(I start walking out.)

Friend: “YOU’RE A F****** SLUT ANYWAY! YOU’LL SLEEP WITH ANYONE SO WHY NOT ME? F****** B****!”

(We aren’t friends anymore.)

The Sweet Taste Of Youth

| Dublin, Ireland | Working | March 15, 2017

(I look young and often got IDed when i was younger but this one sticks out in my memory.)

Me: “Can I have a Baileys with ice, please, and do you sell chocolate?”

Barman: “Yes, we have a few.” *names a couple of chocolate bars*

Me: “I’ll have [Chocolate Bar], please, and the Baileys.”

Barman: *looks around trying to see where I’ve been sitting with a confused look on his face* “Who are you here with?”

Me: *confused* “Oh, I’m meeting a few friends here but they’re running late.”

Barman: “But who’s the drink for?”

(I realise he doesn’t just think I’m underage, he thinks I’m so young my parents have sent me to the bar!)

Me: “It’s for me. I’m 23.”

(He was nice enough to apologise.)

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