This happened quite a few years ago. I grew up in a very touristy beach town, and I spent my summers making insane money in the service industry as a busgirl, server, bartender, and whatever. This was at a very nice restaurant right on the beach boardwalk — the type of place where everyone wore all black and you had to memorize and recite the specials before you were allowed out on the floor. It was also only my second bartending job, my first being a different bar run by the same people — a big dive bar in a restaurant a town away that didn’t do as well. They liked my work ethic and offered me a job at this place after the season was over.

I have to say, although I didn’t stay there for an awful long time, I LOVED working at this place. The atmosphere managed to be both high-scale and comfortable, and the owners, a lesbian couple who owned several places in the state, obviously cared deeply about the quality of what they were serving. Every last ingredient, down to the salt, was hand-picked by them, and they were both there nightly to taste-test and make sure everything was running smoothly. They were also very good to their employees.

However, I worked with this older guy behind the bar who obviously didn’t appreciate me being there and asking questions. He was a career bartender and he knew his stuff, and he had worked hard to be where he was, so I can understand him not wanting to deal with a young college student who barely knew her way around a Bloody Mary recipe.

On the day in question, we were working together during a Sunday brunch special. A group of regulars came in who were notoriously good tippers but were also loud and a little rowdy. My bartender buddy grabbed some empty bottles and high-tailed it to the back, so I wandered over to take their orders.

They all ordered your typical brunch cocktails: screwdrivers, Bloody Marys, and, of course, mimosas. Great, no problem. Keep in mind, this was the first time I’d worked a brunch, and while we were semi-famous for our homemade Bloody Mary recipe, which I also made at the other restaurant, mimosas were not on our regular menu. For a few minutes, as I gathered the drinks I knew how to make, I considered going after my grumpy sidekick to ask him what we use for mimosas, but the bar was filling up, and I didn’t want to bother him. So, when I could stall no longer, I shrugged, grabbed the only bottle of champagne we kept stocked at the bar (a $250 bottle of Dom Perignon), and popped the cork.

Cue instant regret. INSTANT. It was like I’d been in a trance, and all of a sudden I came to, cold and pale, holding my week’s paycheck in front of a lady who was eagerly surprised at the sudden upgrade. But what was done was done. As there really was no way to hide what I’d so obviously screwed up, I poured the drinks and took care of the rest of the customers.

As soon as my guy came back, I ducked out and ran to the back office where one of the owners was doing inventory. I fessed up immediately, apologized profusely, and told her I would pay for the mistake. She had this funny look on her face as she watched me go through my spiel. Then, she shrugged and just told me we’d figure it out at the end of the brunch, and she sent me back out.

I spent the remainder of my shift convinced I was going to be fired. I practiced how I would handle it. I wouldn’t cry or beg or apologize; I’d just thank them for the chance to learn from such a great group of people and tell them how much I respected their obvious devotion to their work. I’d made a huge mistake, and I was willing to deal with the consequences.

The end of brunch came. I was only scheduled to work the brunch shift, but my bartender buddy was scheduled to work the rest of the day, which happened to be a special event for a wedding party, and another few servers and bartenders started to trickle in.

The owner who’d been there called me to the back office, and I walked in to find both owners looking at me with amused expressions on their faces. I promptly forgot everything I had coached myself on and began frantically apologizing again. They stopped me and told me it was no big deal, I should use it as a learning experience, and that the rest of the staff would appreciate having a glass of Dom Perignon at the end of the night, as they planned on serving it to everyone who worked the wedding party. They assured me that I wouldn’t have to pay for it and sent me on my way.

I ended up enlisting in the Navy a few months later and put in my notice. When I told them I was leaving, they both told me I’d do great things wherever I went, that I had an excellent work ethic, and they’d be happy to hire me back if I ever ended up back in town. They’re still the best people I’ve ever worked for.

My son and his wife go to a beach on the North Carolina coast for several days of vacation. This particular beach has lifeguards, and the guard chairs are tall and spaced along the beach. There are signs at all entrances to the beach telling people not to set up umbrellas or shade canopies in front of the guard stands. The reason is that the guards cannot adequately scan the ocean for people in trouble if their vision is blocked. There is actually a local ordinance stating this, and people can be fined.

[Son] and his wife get set up with a small beach shade thingy. It is like a half-tent that you set your chair in. It’s low to the ground, blocks the wind, and provides some shade.

Nearby, a family arrives and proceeds to set up one of those big shade canopies — think something used for craft shows or festivals. It is set up close to the ocean and between two guard stands. In fact, [Son] remarks that he can’t see the second stand because of the canopy and the chairs, etc.

Soon enough, one of the guards approaches the group.

Lifeguard: “You need to move your canopy back behind the guard stands. It’s too tall and blocks the line of sight for us to watch the ocean for people in trouble.”

They seem to agree, and the guard leaves.

When the guard leaves, the group stops looking like they are going to move. They actually get out food and drinks and sit in their chairs. [Son] remarks to his wife that the group is asking to be evicted from the beach.

About twenty or thirty minutes go by, and the guard comes back.

Lifeguard: “You need to move your canopy behind the guard stands for safety reasons.”

This time, a woman in the group decides to argue.

Woman: “We’re not moving! There are other people out here with shade canopies and stuff!”

She points out [Son] and his wife and then another group with a small beach umbrella.

Lifeguard: “Both of those groups meet the safety requirements.”

Woman: “Call the police if you have to, but my family and I aren’t moving!”

About fifteen minutes later, the police arrived on the scene. The woman and her entitled group got a ticket and were told that they needed to move their canopy or they would be told to leave.

The police left, and the woman and her family picked all their stuff up and moved back behind the guard stand — like they were told to the first time.

I work as a beach lifeguard. I am ending my shift and signing out at the office for the day. Meanwhile, my manager is being confronted by a member of the public at the door. She looks livid.

Woman: “My boyfriend applied to be a lifeguard, and you said no!”

Manager: “We get a lot of applicants. What was his name?”

Woman: “[Boyfriend].”

Manager: “Oh, yeah. He was not… suitable for the role.”

Woman: “You failed him for his drug test!”

Manager: “I’m not permitted to—”

Woman: “I don’t take drugs! So you’re lying about that!”

Manager: “Wait… you… don’t…”

Woman: “He’d done, like, maybe a couple of joints the weekend before. It shouldn’t be a big deal! He used my pee instead for your stupid drug test, and it was clean, and you still said no, so you lied!”

Manager: “Ma’am, we didn’t reject him because there were drugs in his drug test. We rejected him because we knew he wasn’t using his own urine.”

Woman: “And how did you know that?!”

Manager: “Because it’s very unlikely that he is pregnant.”

The woman’s face goes pale. An eternity of silence passes between the two of them.

Manager: “Congratulations?”

Related:
¡Que Embarazada!, Part 3
¡Que Embarazada!, Part 2
¡Que Embarazada!

While I’m Portuguese, my husband is American, so we speak English at home so our kids are fluent in both languages.

Around 10:00 one morning, I took all four kids for a swim at a nearby natural pool, as the sun wasn’t too strong and there were not too many people. There was us, the lifeguard, and this American couple with two young boys, who were already packing up.

Young Boy: “Mom, why did we come so early?”

Mom: *Pointing at us* “So we didn’t have to share the water with these filthy Mexicans.”

Then, she turned toward me and said in horribly mangled Spanish:

Mom: “Agua muy buena.” (Water very good.)

One of my younger daughters, who’s three, just loudly asked me, in English:

Daughter: “Mommy, why is that lady calling us Messcans?”

The woman turned such a strong shade of red that you would think she had a sunburn.

Related:

If You Wouldn’t Say It To Their Face, Don’t Say It Near Their Ears, Part 3
If You Wouldn’t Say It To Their Face, Don’t Say It Near Their Ears, Part 2
If You Wouldn’t Say It To Their Face, Don’t Say It Near Their Ears

I work at a beach snack bar. At the end of the day, we clean off the deck we have by sweeping and hosing off sand and things of that nature. We also rope off the entrances to the deck, take down the “OPEN” flag, and close the shutters to the windows. However, even given all these signs, almost EVERY DAY people ask as we are cleaning up:

Customer: “Are you closed?”

Me: *Looking around at all the evidence* “Sorry, yes.”

Customer: *Pushing against the rope* “Are you sure?”

Related:
Not So Closed Minded, Part 34
Not So Closed Minded, Part 33
Not So Closed Minded, Part 32
Not So Closed Minded, Part 31
Not So Closed Minded, Part 30