His Understanding Of The Name Is A Bit Rocky

, , , , , | Right | September 26, 2017

(This takes place in a five-star hotel’s cocktail bar that people come into to show off to friends. This night, a young guy in a cheap, ill-fitting suit brings his date in. I can tell he is out of his comfort zone but still wants to put on a good show for his date.)

Me: “Hi, what can I get you to drink tonight?”

Customer: “I’ll have a [sickly sweet cocktail] for the lady, and a scotch on the rocks, with ice, for me.”

Me:”…okay, sure. Scotch on the rocks.”

Customer: “With ice, please.”

Me: “…”

They Don’t Play For Your Team In This Bar

, , , , , | Romantic | September 20, 2017

(I’m at a gay sports bar. I notice one guy that I think is cute, so I go over to talk.)

Me: “Hey, how’s it going?”

Stranger: “Doing all right.”

Me: “Cool. Enjoying yourself?”

Stranger: “Yeah, but there are a lot of dudes here. Is there a good spot nearby to meet chicks?”

Me: *realization sets in* “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Stranger: “No. Why?”

Transitioning Away From Toxic People

, , , , , | Friendly | September 18, 2017

(I’m at a gay bar with some friends, and we’re talking to some people we’ve never met before. I’m a trans guy.)

Girl #1: “Who do we have here? [Friend #1], [Friend #2], and…” *points to me*

Me: “[My Name].”

Girl #2: “That’s a guy’s name.”

Me: “Yeah… I’m a guy. I’m trans.”

Girl #2: “That’s stupid.”

Me: “What?”

Girl #2: “You’re not trans. You’re just gay and can’t admit it, because you’ve been raised in such a homophobic world. Just admit your love for women as a lesbian.”

Me: “Uh… I’m queer. I like people: men, women, whatever. I’m not ashamed of that.”

Girl #2: “Pfft, whatever. Call me when this trans thing is over; you’re cute.”

(My friends and I are speechless as the girl leaves. The first girl watches her leave and turns to us.)

Girl #1: “So, she’s dead to me. Shall I buy the next round?”

It Doesn’t Take Ein-Stein To Figure Out Why

, , , | Right | September 12, 2017

(Most of the bars at German beer fests actually rent their beer mugs, simply because it’s cheaper to rent 1000 steins for three days than to rent storage for 1000 steins for the whole year… at least as long as fewer than five to ten percent of them are broken or stolen at the beer fest. I’m a cashier at such a bar.)

Customer: “How much does a beer mug cost?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we rent them, so I cannot sell them to you.”

Customer: “So, they are not yours?”

Me: “No, sorry.”

Customer: “Cool. That means that they are free!”

Me: “Wait, what!? No, that means—”

Customer: *interrupting* “—you already said they’re not yours. I’m taking it.”

(Before I could react, the customer vanished into the crowd. This incident, alongside the fact that we lost almost 200 of the mugs that year, was the reason we’ve been charging a deposit for the mugs since the following year. Many customers accused us of trying to steal money that way from them – they did not see the irony – but, what do you know, we only lost 16 steins this year. I wonder why.)

No Springing Bok From This

, , , , | Friendly | September 10, 2017

(My friends and I are all big Rugby supporters. At one point one of my friends introduces us to a young female couple that she knows. To put it mildly, they are both quite opinionated and rude, but because my friend likes them, I resolve to be civil to them. During the 2007 Rugby World Cup, South Africa looks likely to win it, and one of the girls starts putting up all manner of patriotic South Africa posts. For the final, she turns up at the bar wearing her Springbok jersey and goes crazy when they beat England to win. After, we’re all having a drink and she has an annoying smug grin on her face. My friend and my housemate are also there with me as well.)

Friend’s Friend: “Oh my God, I am so PROUD to be South African today!”

Me: “So, which part of your family is South African?”

Friend’s Friend: “My dad used to live there.”

Housemate: “He was born there?”

Friend’s Friend: “No, he was born in Rusholme; his parents lived there.”

Me: “So, his parents are South African then?”

(Suddenly, the girl gives me a really nasty look as if I’ve touched a nerve.)

Friend’s Friend: “Well…no, they’re from England.”

(Almost immediately, my friends and I exchange some worried glances. We can tell this conversation won’t end well.)

Friend: “So, did he grow up and go to school there at least?”

Friend’s Friend: “No, they just lived there for a couple years.”

Me: “Umm… so, you’re not South African then?”

Friend’s Friend: “What are you talking about? Of course, I am!”

Housemate: “You just said none of your family is South African, that means that you’re not either!”

Friend’s Friend: “My dad lived there, that makes me South African!”

Me: “My mum briefly lived in Japan as a child, but she doesn’t tell go around telling people she’s Japanese!”

Friend’s Friend: “ARE YOU ALL F****** STUPID? I’M A BLOODY SPRINGBOK, BORN AND BRED!”

Friend: “Sweetie, I’m sorry, but you’re not! You need to be a South African citizen, or at least have ancestry from there, to be what you’re claiming. Your dad living there doesn’t automatically make you a Bok!”

(Suddenly, the girl let out a really loud scream, which turned a lot of heads toward her, before storming out of the bar with her girlfriend in tow. She refused to speak to any of us again after that, and when we would see her on nights out she would avoid us like the plague. We heard through a mutual friend that she claimed we had “ruined her life” through our observations. Not really sure how she thought citizenship worked, but clearly she had the wrong idea.)

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