Going Back To Knight School

, , , , , , | | Related | May 18, 2019

(When I’m in junior high school, my mother cannot, by any stretch, get my Language Arts teacher’s name right. For the sake of exemplifying how she butchers it, we’re going to say my teacher’s name is Ms. Knightly, and she always says, “Ms. Kin-ig-hit-ly.” The hyphens are just for show; she says it at a normal pace. After the first report cards and the subsequent Parent-Teacher night to discuss students’ progress, this conversation follows.)

Mom: “Ms. Kin-ig-hit-ly had nothing but praise for you.”

Me: “Knightly, Mom. Her name is Ms. Knightly.”

Mom: “Oh, okay. Yeah…” *goes on about my other teachers* “…but Ms. Kin-ig-hit-ly adores you.”

(Different versions of this story play out almost daily following this meeting, with no change ever being made. I figure the inevitable reality is she is never going to get it right, so I stop caring so much once she realizes she should never address my teacher by name if she sees her. Later that same year, my grandmother dies. We make funeral arrangements, and this happens:)

Mom: “The closest funeral home to her church and the cemetery would be Knightly Funeral Parlor.”

Me: “Where?”

Mom: “Knightly Funeral Parlor.”

Me: “What’s my teacher’s name again?”

Mom: “Ms. Kin-ig-hit-ly.”

Me: “Mom, it’s the same as the funeral parlor, down to the spelling. You just pronounced that perfectly.”

Mom: “Really? Huh.”

Me: “So, what’s my Language Arts teacher’s name?”

Mom: “Kin-ig-hit-ly.”

(No, she wasn’t screwing with me. So, some form of the first conversation continued until I transferred schools and no longer had Ms. Knightly. And it continues to this day when my mother decides to reminisce about my school life and comes to my year with Ms. Knightly.)

The Engine Of Racism

, , , , , , | | Related | May 9, 2019

(My uncle’s car of twenty years was going through a major rough patch; it required a week-long trip to a mechanic almost monthly. This raised a few alarm bells since a car that left a mechanic shouldn’t need another a month later. Before he brought it back again, I convinced him to let my mechanic — who happens to be one of my oldest friends, us having been best friends since we were four — take a look. Naturally, this involves getting his hands and a few tools inside. After reminding him the two of us know almost nothing about cars, he gives us his professional opinion.)

Friend: “To fix your car, I’d have to replace part or all of the engine. That’s already pretty pricey, but to get at certain parts of the engine, I’d have to pull apart the car’s frame. Since that complicates the job and makes more work, the cost of fixing her would be enough to buy two cars. And that’s before we add on fees for the rental car you’ll need in the months she’ll be on the lift. If you don’t fix it, it’s worth more as parts than as a car. I say you should trade her in for a new car and not spend one more penny on her.”

Uncle: “Do you mind if I talk to my mechanic first? Just to hear him out?”

Friend: “You can, but could I come along? Just to ask a few questions you guys might not know to ask?”

(After a little cajoling from me, my uncle agrees, and the three of us drive up the highway to his dealership, each in our own car due to schedules conflicting. I’m going to take this opportunity to repeat that I know almost nothing about cars, so the technical parts of the conversation sound like a trombone to me. The comprehensible parts are as follows:)

Mechanic: “Nothing too bad. It’ll be ready tomorrow afternoon. Job’s more annoying than it is hard.”

Friend: “What about his [car part]?”

Mechanic: “Used, but not worn out.”

Friend: “And how exactly did you check that?”

Mechanic: “Same way as any other. [Outlines a complicated-sounding procedure].”

Friend: “And what were the results?”

Uncle: “He said he checked it and it’s fine!”

Me: “I think [Friend] wa–“

Uncle: “It’s fine!

(This basic conversation loop a few more times, each time detailing a different part of the car. Eventually, my friend throws up his hands and walks out. Once he is gone, the mechanic continues talking with my uncle, and I completely tune them out. When I rejoin, my uncle has decided to trust his mechanic and leaves his car for another day of repairs, which turns into a week of repairs. But the story doesn’t quite end there. Since he doesn’t yet know he’ll need a rental car, I have to drive him home, which means taking the highway. And he opens his mouth.)

Uncle: “I shouldn’t have listened to you!”

Me: “What was wrong with involving [Friend]?”

Uncle: “All he did was get in the way! He wouldn’t listen one bit to my mechanic!”

Me: “He wanted to analyze the exact results himself, not just hear, ‘It’s fine.'”

Uncle: “Well, [Mechanic] told me that [Friend] poking around might have damaged something, so I might not have a car tomorrow.”

Me: “[Friend] is a more competent mechanic than that. Any problems weren’t his doing. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he saved you some money by tightening up a few things.”

Uncle: *scoffs* “And you’re trusting the [racial slur]!”

(For the record, yes, my friend is black, and we are white. I pull over the car and hit the brakes.)

Me: “Trusting the what?”

Uncle: “The… the…”

Me: “Get out!”

(He tried to backpedal some more, but I wasn’t having it. I grabbed my keys, got out myself, and physically pulled him out of my car. I got back in and drove off, leaving him to walk back along the highway. He made his way back unmolested, but not one bit wiser.)

Unfiltered Story #149628

, , , | | Unfiltered | May 8, 2019

(Note:  I am the customer in this story.)
(My wife and I are eating at a cook-to-order buffet restaurant when we notice two woman and a 5-year-old are seated at the table next to us.)
Waiter:  Welcome to (restaurant).  Can I get you something to drink?
(After taking their drink order, the waiter brings a bag of chips for the little guy to eat while the women are eating salads.  The kid proceeds to dump the chips on the table, crushing them and pushing the crumbs on the floor.)
Waiter:  Oh!  Let me help with that.
(The waiter proceeds to sweep up the chips, while the women ignore the child.  The kid then goes over to a table clearly marked as reserved)
Waiter:  I’m sorry, but you can’t sit over there!
(The child then takes a salt shaker and dumps it out on the reserved table)
Waiter:  You can’t sit here, young man.  Please go back to your table.
Woman #1:  You don’t need to talk to my child like that!  I can take care of him myself!
(Later, after all three of them have taken plates of food…)
Woman #1:  (looking at her bill, to waiter)  Why has my son been charged for a meal?
Waiter:  Because he took a plate of food, ma’am.
Woman #1:  But he didn’t eat it!
Waiter:  We charge per person who gets food from the buffet, and he did get food from the buffet.
Woman #1:  But he didn’t like it, so he didn’t eat it!  The food was horrible!  You’re trying to charge me for food we didn’t eat!  And you’ve been very rude to my son!  I want to speak to your manager RIGHT NOW!
(The Manager comes over and tries to calm them down, offering to comp the kid’s meal.  They storm out)
Later, on my way out, I pull the manager aside)
Me:  Do you know that customer who was complaining over there?  She was completely out of line.
Manager:  Oh, OK.  What do you mean?
Me:  Her child was a nightmare, making a mess of everything.  The waiter who served her did nothing wrong.  He should be commended for having to play maid and babysitter as well as being an excellent waiter.
Manager:  Thanks!
(Needless to say, I left a great tip for that waiter!)

The Generation That Will Just Wait For It To Be On YouTube

, , , , , | Working | April 30, 2019

(We’ve just moved into a new house. We don’t own a TV, as we tend to either read a lot or watch stuff we want to watch on the computer. As such, we want broadband Internet but not cable. The day they come to hook us up leads to this conversation.)

Cable Guy: “We’re here to set up your [Company] services, but there seems to be some mistake.”

Me: “Mistake?”

Cable Guy: “You haven’t paid for cable. I’m going to have to disconnect that, and you’ll be without cable unless you call them right away.”

Me: “That’s cool; we just want the broadband Internet.”

Cable Guy: “But I have to take the old cable box. You won’t be able to watch cable TV.”

Me: “Yes. I know. We don’t actually own a TV, and we really don’t want cable.”

Cable Guy: *sputtering* “You don’t… want… cable?”

Me: “Nope, we’re good. Just get the Internet up and we’re fine.”

(He proceeded to do his job, but he kept looking at me with this look that said, “Behold, this creature that walks like a human and doesn’t… want… cable…” I think I broke the cable guy that day.)

Giving You My Two Cents And That’s It

, , , , , , | Working | April 25, 2019

(Two of my friends and I go out for dinner. We try a new restaurant, and when we arrive they have two or three tables occupied, and we’re seated immediately. The table the hostess chooses happens to be next to an occupied table that currently has a waiter standing at it. Seconds later, before we even look at the menu, the waitress comes over with water and asks for our drink orders.)

Friend #1: “Could I get an unsweetened iced tea?”

(She always specifies “unsweetened” because most places we’ve gone assume the customer wants sweet tea when ordering iced tea, and she’s diabetic.)

Waitress: “You can.” *writes her drink down*

Friend #2: “Do you have [Beer]?”

Waitress: “Only in a bottle. Is that okay?”

Friend #2: “And it’s not light beer, right?”

(She always asks this due to a previous encounter with a naive waiter who didn’t know there was a difference.)

Waitress: “Regular [Beer], we can do that.” *writes her drink down*

Friend #2: “And I don’t need a glass.”

Waitress: *finishes writing and then turns to me* “No glass. And for you?”

Me: “And could you bring me a whole pitcher of water? I tend to drink very quickly.”

(I actually got this idea from a restaurant waitress who accepted that she couldn’t keep up with how fast I drink. Most places accommodate this request. The few that don’t simply say they cannot and I drop the subject.)

Waitress: “We can get you a pitcher. And are you ready to order?”

Me: “Could we have some time to look at the menu?”

Waitress: *already walking away and looking over her shoulder* “Sure. I’ll be back with your drinks.”

(Despite how quickly she came out, she is gone nearly 15 minutes. Not only do we finish reading the menu and decide on what entrees and desserts we are getting, I have finished my glass of water and we have started contemplating going someplace else. We keep our eyes peeled for her while we are waiting, but she seems to have disappeared. I even try to make contact with the waiter I saw earlier, who has come out very frequently, to see if he can track her down. When she does finally return, to her credit, she brings a cold iced tea and a cold beer, both in a glass. And there is no pitcher of water.)

Waitress: “Have you decided, or do you need more time?”

(We each place our orders, ending with me.)

Me: “And could I also get that pitcher of water, please?”

Waitress: *again already walking away and over her shoulder* “Sure.”

(So begins the second wait — roughly twenty minutes this time. I am about to ask if I can take my friends’ waters since I am the only one without a drink, but the circumstances change after they take their first sips.)

Friend #2: “This is [Beer] Lite. I specifically asked if they had regular, right?”

Friend #1: “You did. Just as I asked for unsweetened iced tea. I got sweet tea. I should have just asked for hot tea and a glass of ice.”

(While [Friend #2] forces down a light beer, [Friend #1] hands me the sweet tea and begins drinking her water. Once again, however, our waitress has disappeared and the waiter continues to snub me. By the time the food arrives, there are no drinks at the table. Due to it being three of us and some of our entrees requiring separate plates for the side dishes, that same waiter helps our waitress carry all of it. Before they arrive, we make sure they’ll have to ask us to move the glasses, just to prove she sees the empty glasses. And once again, there is no pitcher of water.)

Waitress: “Refills all around, I assume?”

Friend #2: “Hang on. I asked for a [Beer]. I think you gave me Lite.”

Waitress: “We only have [Beer] Lite.”

Friend #2: “And you said nothing when I ordered a [Beer]?”

Waitress: “Sorry. It says it on the menu. I assumed you had read it.”

Friend #2: “You didn’t give us a chance to read the menu.”

Waitress: “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

Friend #1: “Then why is my unsweetened iced tea a sweet tea?”

Waitress: “I’m sorry. Did the kitchen staff screw up your tea?”

Friend #1: “Yes.”

Me: “How about just that pitcher of water for the table?”

Waiter: “She already told you: we can’t do whole pitchers for one table. We can give each of you a glass of water, but not a whole pitcher. Now stop begging her to get in trouble every five minutes.”

(They both walk off. Miraculously, we actually get our water within minutes. We actually have a good meal after all of that.)

Waitress: “Anyone still working?”

(We each tell her we’re done. She takes my friends’ plates first. When she comes back for mine, she plants the bill on the table. We always pay for our own portions, but just to be safe, we always have one of us use a credit card to pay the restaurant and leave a tip. This particular time, it’s my turn.)

Friend #1: “So, the tip would be…”

Me: “I’ll take care of that myself.”

Friend #2: “You sure?”

Me: *nodding* “I can afford two cents.”

Friend #1: “Two cents?”

Me: *pointing to [Friend #2]* “She neglected to tell you there was only light beer,” *pointing to [Friend #1] and motioning to the check* “If the sweet tea was a kitchen blunder, why does the bill say you ordered sweet tea? She never told me that a pitcher wasn’t feasible. She disappeared frequently. She lied to her colleague about my requests for a pitcher and how often I’d asked so that he’d jump to her defense. And did you notice we weren’t offered dessert? I just want to know if you want to complain to the manager with me.”

(My friends agreed that we should file a formal complaint. However, we quickly scrapped that idea when we overheard another waitress conversing with the same waiter as before. We asked this other waitress to be sure, but the contents of the conversation were enough to tip us off. That waiter WAS the manager. We instead elected to contact the owner and point out the manager was constantly perusing the restaurant, yet hadn’t noticed one of his waitresses consistently failed to wait on our table, but still chose to believe every word she said without even considering hearing the customer’s side of things. We haven’t been back since, so I don’t know what came of those two.)

Page 1/1512345...Last