Un-beer-lievable Ignorance

, , , , | | Right | June 23, 2019

(I’m a bartender at a small bar that’s kind of a dive, but that has sixteen different beers on tap, eight of which change every month, none of which are any of the main brands people tend to know from commercials, etc. We also do not carry bottled beer. This happens at least once a day: a customer walks in, walks up to the bar, looks at all the taps and the menu above the taps which lists what they all are, then picks up a menu from the stand and looks it over for a few minutes.)

Customer: “What kind of beer do you have?” *alternatively, I get a lot of* “I’ll have a beer.”

Me: “O… kay. What kind of beer?”

Customer: “Just whatever’s on tap.”

Me: “We have sixteen kinds of beer on tap. You’ll have to be more specific? Is there any kind of beer that you like generally? Maybe I can push you into a certain direction there.”

Customer: “Actually, I’ll just have a bottle of Budweiser, thanks.”

Me: “We don’t actually have Budweiser, or any bottled beer for that matter, sorry!”

Customer: “Oh, okay, a bottle of Corona, then.”

Me: “Still don’t have bottles. No Corona, either…”

Customer: “Well, what kind of bar is this?! What do you have?”

(At this point, I usually step aside and gesticulate exaggeratedly at the row of sixteen taps behind me, wherein they either laugh or get angry and just say, “Give me a beer,” again.)

Unfiltered Story #154759

, , | | Unfiltered | June 15, 2019

(I’m the same guy who didn’t think he was turning Japanese over at Not Always Related. So, I’m working as a bartender of sorts with a business that rents out tubes for people to float down one of our town’s two rivers. Said business also has a bar, for people to get beer, sodas, water, snacks, etc. I’m talking with a regular customer, when I notice some guy walking up to the bar. Since he looked relatively well, I assumed he was with a group of people, and needed some help.)
Me: Hello, sir, do you need any help?
Man: So, this is the beer garden, eh?
Me: Yep, pretty much!
Man: Good, so, do you guys have any food?
Me: *I look at the snacks on standby* Well, these!
Man: Prolly got fast food or something, like pizza or whatnot.
Me: *thinking* We don’t even have that, dude!
Me: *speaking* Well, we have junk food, does that count?
Man: Ah, whatever. I’ll be back at around Beer O’clock!
(And then he just leaves the place!)
Me: *to the Regular Customer* What just happened?
Regular Customer: I don’t know.
(I like to think the guy never came back, but I’m fairly certain I saw him one other time, on a different day.)

Unfiltered Story #153772

, | | Unfiltered | June 8, 2019

(One night I’m sitting with my Farther and his military buddy and I walk up to the bar to order a drink You should know that I’m originally from Britain and so is most of the bar patrons)
A guy around 19 and a rather older gentleman are standing in front of me.
To older guy in front starts talking about Canada’s education system.
“…so that’s why everyone outside of Alberta is stupid compared to us.”
The younger guy in front looks uncomfortable and I just shrug in my head and decide to ignore them when the older one turns to me.
“See this one agrees.”
I scowl and say. “Yeah you’re quite right mate.” in my my best English accent.
“Oh you’re obviously not from here.” He doesn’t stop just keeps insulting me and half the bar in front of them and when he says that I should get to work on loosing my accent (of which I’m proud of) I start seeing red and clench my fist and I say “That’s it! I don’t need to stand here and take this.” I push past him and say to the bartender “Can I get another beer when you’re available?”

I sit down with my dad and His friend and tell them about the jacka** my dad goes up to the bar says “I want to make sure my son gets his pint” and gives the old guy a death glare note. 5’8″ and 180 pounds of mussel. Throughout the night I got people complimenting me and old guy avoids everyone like the plague.
At the end of the night the young and old guys apologized to me and it was shown that the old one was a complete idiot that thought Angus cows came from Canada.

Caveman Times Called; They Want Your Friend Back

, , , , , , | | Friendly | May 31, 2019

(This happens several years ago, when a now former friend who was in his late 40s and I are at a bar. At a table not too far away is a young woman about half his age with her boyfriend and another guy.)

Friend: “I’m going to ask her out.”

Me: “Dude, she’s already got a boyfriend.”

Friend: “I’m going to fight him for her, then.”

Me: “You’re what?

Friend: “I’m going to start a fight with them and win her.”

Me: “…”

Friend: “You got my back, right?”

Me: “You’re starting a fight for a stupid reason. Yeah, you’re on your own here.”

Friend: “But I want her…”

(He didn’t end up starting anything, fortunately for his sake, as these guys looked rather large. Incidents like this, turning aggressive when drinking, are part of why we aren’t friends anymore.)

Unfiltered Story #151756

, , , | | Unfiltered | May 24, 2019

(This story takes place when I am about to turn 15. I have a placement at this business for two weeks of work experience, but I now work there full-time.)

/A woman storms into our restaurant area, furiously demanding to see the manager with a laminated piece of paper in hand, but I can’t see what’s on it from where I’m standing. Two of my coworkers nearby, Bartender 1 (who is the assistant manager) and Bartender 2 assist her. They both hold a brief conversation with her before Bartender 1 takes her to a table, presumably to talk things through with her, and Bartender 2 disappears, laughing hysterically.
While all this is going on, I am polishing wine glasses and cutlery with Bartender 3./

Me: What’s going on over there?
Bartender 3: No idea. We should ask (Bartender 1) after she’s gone, if she ever does!

A while later, I go to get a fresh tea towel which involves me going past reception. Bartender 1 has gone, but I notice Bartender 4 (who is the manager) is attempting to sort things out with her but she sees me pass by and manically waves the laminated piece of paper at me.
It reads in big black letters, underlined in red ink:
An additional sum added to the usual cost or amount paid.

I don’t know much about business terms having only been here half a week, but I pick up enough to realise she is here to complain about a meal not being “the agreed price” or something similar.
When I get back, Bartender 1 and Bartender 3 are quietly talking.

Bartender 1: Basically, the woman is complaining that we added a £4 surcharge to her son’s wedding breakfast and claims we ruined it.
Me and Bartender 3: That’s crazy!
Bartender 1: I don’t know anything about surcharges but I checked the room tab and the amount is exactly the same as all the other breakfasts people have booked. What’s her problem?
Bartender 3: Maybe she thought it was a complimentary breakfast as he was getting married, and we “surcharged” him for no reason? If that’s the case, that’s absolutely ridiculous.
Bartender 1: Yeah, that’s absolute bull. We very clearly told them at booking that the breakfast would be extra if they wanted it here. I mean, you can’t just get a free pass just because you’re getting married!
Bartender 3: I offered them complimentary champagne when they checked in, as well, but they said they were going straight up to bed! (Bartender 4) says we don’t always have to play by the rules, within reason, if it keeps the customer’s mouths shut but honestly this is their fault entirely. How stupid can you get?

Bartender 2 comes back, still crying with laughter. He does not speak English natively, nor does he come from here, but he still speaks it very well.

Bartender 2: Guys, guys! (He looks around before beckoning us closer, in between fits of giggles.) Okay, I was laughing when she comes in, because she come in and she told me “My name is Mrs Birch!” and I start laughing so hard.
Bartender 1: Why?
Bartender 2: (lowering his voice) ‘Birch’ means small penis in my language. Which is what she is! She is a small cock if she think her son get free breakfast just because he gets married!

(We all burst into laughter. I never did find out what happened to Mrs Birch but we still have the laminated piece of paper and now wave it at each other as an inside joke. Mr Birch, I hope you had a great wedding and I hope your mother hasn’t completely embarrassed you!)

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