Can Only Get It Back If You Can Say “Mjölnir” While Intoxicated

| Oxford, England, UK | Learning | January 27, 2017

(I’m working as a bartender in a university college bar. All the other bartenders are not students, so sometimes customers don’t realize that I am. The student body is holding a theme party in the bar, so it’s very busy, but I spot a particular student is carrying and waving around a steel-headed claw hammer as part of his costume. Fortunately, he came to me to order his drink.)

Student: “I’d like a pint of [Cheap Beer].”

Me: “Sure, I’d be happy to serve you that, but first: could I ask you to either leave that hammer in your room, or hand it over to us to keep behind the bar? It’s a dangerous weapon, and I wouldn’t like anyone to get hurt tonight. You can have it back when the party’s over.”

Student: “What? I can’t take it back to my room! The party’s here!”

Me: “Well, I’m sure you live on site, but if you don’t feel like going back to your room, you can hand it over to me and I’ll take care of it for the rest of the night. Otherwise, I’m going to refuse to serve you and will insist that you leave the bar.”

Student: “Fine, I’ll leave it in my room.”

(He leaves for a few minutes, but I see him again later – with the hammer sticking out of his back pocket. I’m still not happy with him carrying an offensive weapon around the bar surrounded by drunk people, even if he’s no longer actively waving it in people’s faces. He approaches the bar, and I ask my colleagues not to serve him unless he surrenders the hammer. My colleagues repeat this to him, and again, he refuses. I spot a graduate student volunteer responsible for low-level disciplinary action, inform him about the situation, and ask him to speak to the student for me. He comes back.)

Grad Student: “He said he didn’t have a hammer on him.”

Me: “Look, you can see it now; the handle’s sticking out of his back pocket. He was lying to you.”

(The graduate student shrugs and walks off. Taking action into my own hands, I sneak up behind the student and take the hammer from his back pocket.)

Me: “I’m confiscating this.”

Student: “What? Give it back! That’s mine!”

Me: “You were warned on three separate occasions by three members of staff that this was a dangerous weapon and not permitted down in the bar. You refused to leave it in your room or behind the bar where it would be safe. Instead, I’ve seen you waving it around all evening, surrounded by drunk people. Now I’m going to hand it over to [Campus Security], and if you really want it back, you can try explaining to them in the morning what you were doing with a claw hammer in a bar full of drunks.

(The student turned pale and ran off. I don’t know if he ever tried to get the hammer back, but I would’ve loved to have seen that conversation!)

If I Tell You, Will You Go Away?

, | VA, USA | Right | January 26, 2017

(I am sitting behind an older couple at a restaurant/bar. There is a sign on the wall that says “I.I.T.Y.W.Y.B.M.A.D”, an acronym that says “If I tell you, will you buy me a drink?”. The joke is that people are supposed to ask what it stands for, followed by the waitress saying “If I tell you, will you buy me a drink?”. The woman, unaware of the joke, flags down the waitress.)

Woman: “Excuse me. What does that stand for?”

Waitress: “If I tell you, will you buy me a drink?”

Woman: “No.”

Waitress: “…”

Man: “It’s a joke. That is the acronym.”

Woman: “What?”

Man: “’I.I.T.Y.W.Y.B.M.A.D’ is an acronym for ‘If I tell you will you buy me a drink?’.”

Woman: “I don’t get it.”

He Is Not The Jaeger Meister

| Hampshire, England, UK | Right | January 21, 2017

(It’s late Friday night and there are the usual slightly drunk middle-aged men we normally get in the bar.)

Man: “Excuse me, love, can I have a Sambuca?”

Me: “Yes, which flavour would you like?”

Man: “What have you got?”

Me: *goes through all the flavours*

Man: “Just the normal one.”

Me: *sighs* “Okay.”

(I pour a shot of Sambuca and put it in front of him. He stares at it for a few seconds.)

Man: “That’s not what I wanted.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Man: “That’s not what I wanted. That’s not Jaeger.”

Me: “You wanted Jaeger?”

Man: “Yeah.”

Me: “But asked for Sambuca?”

Man: “Yeah.”

Me: “…”

(I gave up arguing with him cause it was pointless. He eventually paid for a the shot of Sambuca but still seemed pissed off at me for pouring him the “wrong drink”!)

Sitting On A Protein-Powder Keg

| FL, USA | Friendly | January 20, 2017

(One of my husband’s and my friends is a bartender at a place we’ve been going to for years. He’s one of those guys who looks huge and intimidating given how muscular he is, but is basically a big, friendly, sweet dork. He works out at the gym constantly. Recently, however, he’s been having some medical problems.)

Friend: “So you remember how I told you I was having all those weird pains.”

Me: “Yeah, what happened?”

Friend: “Well, I went to this once specialist and he said it was probably scar tissue and I was stuck with it, and would just have to stop working out so much.”

Husband: “Well, that sucks, but you have to do what’s best for you.”

Friend: “No, that’s the thing! So I was listening to him, but I wasn’t getting any better.” *mixing up something in his personal coffee tumbler as he’s talking* “So I went through these three other doctors, and they all told me something different! But FINALLY I get referred to this one lady, and she runs some tests, and it turns out I’m allergic to my protein powder! And I cut it out, and she was right… I just have to stop drinking that, and I have no pain at all!”

Me: “Oh, well, that’s good.” *watching him begin to stir a familiar powder into his mug* “So… uh… whatcha mixing up there, [Friend]?”

Friend: *looks at mug, looks at me, puts mug behind his back, and grins guiltily* “… nothin’.”

(Buddy, I love you, but sometimes I wonder how you’re still alive.)

Common Sense Playing Truant: The Revenge

| OH, USA | Right | January 16, 2017

(I’m the worker in this story, where I was accused of being a teenager and illegally working in a bar during the school day It’s been a few years since that happened, I’ve now graduated college, gotten a job out of state, and am in a bar catching up with high school friends. A seemingly random woman storms up to our table.)

Crazy Woman: “YOU! You got me banned from my favorite store over your lies. And I see you’re still up to your dirty tricks, using a fake ID to drink.”

(I just stare at her in confusion for a minute before it all comes back to me that this was the SAME WOMAN who accused me four years ago. Consequences of being from a small town with exactly two bars, I guess.)

Me: “This can’t even be happening. Ma’am, I’m still about six years older than you think I am, and I was of legal drinking age the last time you ranted at me. Do these people with me appear to be old enough to drink?”

Crazy Woman: “Well, of course they do. I even know her mother!” *pointing to one of my friends* “I bet you think you’re really cool hanging out with people so much older than you and using a fake ID to drink with them when you’re barely out of high school.”

Me: “I graduated from high school with these ladies. Seven years ago. I was 18 when that happened. Can you do the math on how old that makes me?”

(My friends snicker, but confirm that we graduated high school together.)

Crazy Woman: “We’ll just see about that!”

(She goes and tells the bartender that she knows my parents or something to that effect, and knows that I am underage. Having provided an out-of-state license when we bought our drinks, the bartender comes up to our table with a bouncer in tow, slightly alarmed that she may have served a minor.)

Bartender: “I know you showed me your ID, but I now have reason to believe it’s fake. I have to call the police. Please give me your ID.”

Me: “Look, that crazy woman went off on me a few years back when she thought I was much younger than I am. Can I try to clear this up?”

Bartender: “I don’t know how you could clear this up without the police running your ID to confirm it’s valid.”

Me: “I do.” *digs through my purse* “Here, does this help?”

Bartender: “Yes. Yes, it does.” *turns to the bouncer* “Tell that woman that she has to leave her alone or leave.”

(The crazy woman refused to comply with their request to leave me alone, and was kicked out. Me: 2, Crazy: 0. How did I do it? One of the reasons I was visiting was that I had to get an official birth certificate to apply for a passport, had done that several weeks before, and had submitted my passport application at the local Post Office after getting the birth certificate, out of convenience. I had my shiny, new passport and official, sealed birth certificate in my purse, having just received them both back. My friend told her mom about the incident, and her response was, apparently, “that woman has always been insane.”)

Common Sense Playing Truant

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