I recently began working at a boutique, premium bar and restaurant. I am autistic, which isn’t widely understood by employers. I have to work hard and be patient to educate my employer. That includes being understanding to what extent sexism, racism, and so on is a problem, right?

I am speaking to a petite, female coworker aged twenty-five. I am male, and I’m thirty-four.

Me: “Hey, [Coworker], I have a funny question. Do you ever experience any— I mean, are you ever a victim of any sexual harassment here?”

Coworker: “What? Erm, no… not really. Well, a bit at the wedding.”

We recently hosted a small wedding when we were extremely busy.

Me: “Oh? So, not really from any of our regulars, or people here for a few pints?”

Coworker: “Nope. That was the first time.”

Me: “If you don’t mind me asking, what did he do or say that made you feel uncomfortable? Or she?”

Coworker: “He was just asking stuff like whether I was taken and when I was getting off shift. Nothing major. I’ve dealt with it before. Why… why are you asking?”

Me: “A video cropped up on my Facebook feed of a barmaid ranting about what was and wasn’t appropriate. I wanted to know what my own colleagues experience here. Also, we should be looking out for the teenage girls who work here. He didn’t touch you?”

Coworker: “No. And anyway, in the area we are located…”

Me: “You mean million-euro homes for half a mile around? We don’t exactly get students or a rowdy pub crawl, no. But if you’re not comfortable serving someone, just ask me to serve them, nothing more.”

Coworker: “Nothing more?”

Me: “I mean, you don’t need to say what he said or did, like if he said he wanted to motorboat you. If you’re not comfortable serving someone, just tell me you don’t want to serve them. I’ll serve them. That’s it. I won’t ask you for reasons.”

She looks confused and then looks down at her larger-than-average chest. Maybe my crude example of sexual harassment caught her off guard, but then she thought about what I was getting at?

Coworker: “Thank you, [My Name]. I’ll remember that. I’ll also serve someone for you if you don’t want to.”

Me: “Aww, thank you.”

We now have an unofficial anti-harassment pact. I think that is cute because I’ve always had difficulty relating to my work colleagues.

It’s a rainy Tuesday in December, and as such, the golf club bar is completely deserted and has been for a while.

In between bouts of chatting and chilling out, my coworker, our manager, and I have been doing various administrative and cleaning tasks around the place. Currently, we are just finishing with cleaning the lines to the beer taps.

As the keg is reconnected and we begin to pull fresh beer through the newly clean pipes, I notice that a fixing on the tap is loose and begin to tighten it up.

Anyone who has ever tightened anything with a threaded bolt has likely heard the helpful phrase “righty-tighty, lefty-loosey,” which lets you know which way to turn the thing depending on what you want to achieve.

Unfortunately, this particular fixing is reverse-threaded. I twist it a quarter turn to the right, which is enough to completely undo the fixing, and the top of the tap falls off.

The section that falls off contains the valve that stops the beer from flowing unless the tap is opened. This becomes apparent when a geyser of lager sprays forth from the remaining section of the tap, covering me, the ceiling, the bar, and the floor in amber goodness.

I yell for my colleague to first pass me several jugs and then to run upstairs and disconnect the keg while I catch the fountain in the jugs I’ve been given.

Eventually, the keg is disconnected and the torrent subsides. So, I’m standing there, shirt transparent with beer, with more of it puddling around my feet and all over the bar, when our first golfers for several hours enter.

“So, the beer’s off, then?” one of them asks.

Happily, my sense of humour hasn’t completely deserted me, and I’m able to chuckle in response, before the manager comes back into the room to relieve me to go home and change my clothes.

When I return, the tap has been reassembled and a sticker has been applied to the main section, just above the offending fixing, reading:

“Caution: unscrews to the right!”

My dad worked as a cook on freight ships for several years when he was young, in the mid-1960s. He saw a lot of the world and had some interesting adventures in far-off places, like becoming involved in building the city of Brasilia and getting stuck in the Suez Canal because the Six-Day War broke out around him. His most perilous adventure, as he calls it, was, however, in our own home country of the Netherlands.

The ship he was working on had just docked in a Dutch port that evening, and dad decided to go look for a bar and have a beer or two. For whatever reason, he was alone that night. At the first bar he found, he looked in through the window to determine if it was any fun. Suddenly, one of the locals spotted him, jumped up, and started shouting.

Random Local: “That’s him! That’s the scooter thief!”

Dad had no clue whatsoever what this guy was talking about. He had never stolen a scooter, and he had never seen this guy before in his life. This was not his hometown; he was from the other side of the country. But this random guy was apparently completely convinced my dad was guilty, because he and three of his friends burst out of the bar, yelling that they were going to teach my dad a lesson. An important fact here: my dad was: A) alone, and B) sixteen years old, while his four attackers were all adults.

There was absolutely no reasoning with these guys, so Dad did the sensible thing and started hightailing it back to the ship. His four would-be attackers were apparently so h***-bent on violence that they chased after him, and a few streets over, they managed to corner him on a bridge over a canal.

You know how Sun Tzu stressed the importance of knowing your enemy? A prime example here: the four knuckleheads from the bar thought they had cornered a local scooter thief, but instead, they had encountered a former student of both boxing and full-contact karate (a precursor to modern Mixed Martial Arts), and one who’d been in enough scrapes to know how to translate those skills to an actual fight. Dad would have preferred to run and avoid the fight, but if these guys wouldn’t let him go, then so be it; he was not letting them kick his a** for something he didn’t do.

The night ends with the four brawl-happy bar patrons in hospital… and Dad in a cell at the local police station. Apparently, the cops, attracted by the fisticuffs, decided the only person still standing must be the guilty party and hauled him off on assault charges. The risk of getting into a fight somewhere where nobody knows you is that the police are more likely to pick the locals’ side. Dad figured he’d explain to the judge that it was self-defense, and then surely he’d be let go… right? Well, that turned out not to be as easy as he hoped, because after the explanation had been given, the judge delivered this gem of an idea on how Dad could have avoided the fight.

Judge: “You were on a bridge. Why didn’t you just jump off into the water?”

Yes, this judge actually thought THAT was a good idea. My dad never told me how high that bridge was, but even if it was low enough, jumping into unknown water, at night, with no idea how to get out again? Not to mention the first thing that popped into my dad’s head and out of his mouth:

Dad: “In the middle of winter? There was ice floating in it!”

Apparently, the judge agreed that hypothermia was a real danger, but he still seemed rather reluctant to let Dad off the hook. But acquitted he was, and he stayed on board the ship for the rest of their stay in port, which I think is understandable.

I’ve heard my dad tell that story several times. Every time, people are baffled by that judge’s reasoning. Seriously, who thinks throwing yourself off a bridge is a good way to avoid a fight?

I work in a busy college town bar. It’s not uncommon for people to forget their credit cards. The owner is very strict and “by the books” on this. If someone wants their card back, they need to show up, in person, with a photo ID. Alternatively, we can hand it over to the police so it’s not our problem anymore.

I get a phone call.

Me: “Thanks for calling [Bar]. How can I help you?”

Caller: “I was just there the other day, and I left my card. I need it shipped to me pronto!“

Me: “I’m sorry, but by our policy, you need to show up in person to get your card back. If you would like, we can turn your card into the police station and they can mail it from there.”

Caller: “What? No police! Just ship me my card!”

Me: “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You either need to come in person, or we can give your card to the police. I can also just shred it for you if you would rather get a new card.”

Caller: “So, you expect me to drive six hours just to get my card?!”

Me: “I do not, but if you would like that card back, I can give it to the police, who can mail it to you.”

Caller: “Absolutely not! I’ll see you in six hours!”

She hangs up. A few hours pass, and I get another phone call. It’s the same lady.

Caller: “Guess what?! My husband just told me I can get a new card mailed to me from my credit card company!”

Me: “Great! So do you want me to shred your old card?”

Caller: “I’m getting a new card! Joke’s on you!”

She hung up again. I stopped for a minute to process what had just happened and then got back to work.

My restaurant offers table service, and staff takes orders on tablets. We choose the food but can type instructions to the chef, eg “fish & chips”, “no salt,” etc.

Customer: “What’s the soup of the day?”

Me: “Carrot and cumin.”

Customer: “No, I don’t like carrot or cumin, but I love the bread that comes with it. Can I just have the soup of the day, but only the scone, please?”

Me: “If you like. That will be out shortly.”

The soup of the day comes with a scone. However, I can’t find the scone separately on the tablet, so I enter it exactly as he asks. Our chef, from France, comes to me waving the docket that printed out.

Chef: “Hey, [My Name]? What is this h***? Is there something wrong with my English?”

He’s waving the docket from the kitchen.

Me: “Huh? Oh, you mean, ‘What the h*** is this?’ What’s the problem?”

Chef: “‘Soup of the day, no soup’? You wrote this? He wants an empty bowl?”

I speak a little French.

Me: “Nan… Ils veulent juste le pain qui reste après avoir emporté la soupe.” *Take away the soup, and they want the scone that is left.*

The chef is still confused but understanding.

Chef: “Okay, if that is what he wants.”

The boss has heard the commotion.

Manager: “What did you do this time, [My Name]?”

Me: “Guy at table seventeen just wants the scone from the soup dish. I entered it as a soup without any soup.”

Manager: “Let me check with him.”

Me: “I’m not kidding.”

To be fair to the boss, it’s exactly the sort of prank I would play if I knew the customer.

Manager: “I’m in charge, and if he doesn’t get what he asked for, I’ll have to deal with it!”

The boss comes back.

Manager: *To the chef* “All right, give him a scone.”

Chef: “‘Soup of the day, no soup.’ This is brilliant! I will keep this docket for my fridge at home.”

The customer got his scone. The bill got discounted, so he didn’t have to pay for a soup he didn’t order. Our tablets now list “scone” as a separate option.