(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.”

(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.)

(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.)

(When it comes to ID-ing customers, I’ve heard a lot of reasons and excuses but this one still makes me face-palm.)

Customer: “Can I have [alcoholic drink]?”

Me: “Sure, can I see ID first?”

Customer: “Oh, seriously?! I don’t have any on me.”

Me: “I can’t serve you unless I see proof of age.”

Customer: “Well, what if I showed you my FaceBook page?”

(I am a server at a restaurant where one side is family dining and the other is 18+ only, the drinking age in Alberta. Each side, while under the same roof, has completely different entrances, the sports bar clearly marked in bold letters – NO MINORS, 18+. A party of five brings in a very young baby in a child seat into the sports bar.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but this is an adult’s-only bar. No one under 18 is allowed.”

Customer: “It’s okay; she’s only a few months old.”

Me: “It’s actually illegal for your child to be in this part of the restaurant. It’s only for adults. You are more than welcome to try the other side. They have the same channels and sports playing over there.”

Customer: *scoffs and rolls her eyes at me* “It’s not like I’m going to give her any alcohol!”

Me: *very slowly* “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you cannot have your BABY in a BAR!”

(She got flustered and then just muttered something to me as she and her baby left the bar, with the rest of her friends slowly following, looking embarrassed.)