(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.)

(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.)

(There’s a certain restaurant that I always frequent when I want Chinese food, be it for sitting in or taking out. On this particular takeout, among my order is their signature chicken dish, which is served in a sauce and normally comes with, among other things, mushrooms. I can’t stand mushrooms, however, so I always get it without since the sauce makes it hard to tell what’s on my fork. In this particular instance, the order is almost entirely sauce and mushrooms — not one piece of chicken or any of the vegetables to be found, and I dump the whole order onto a plate to check. So, I call up to complain, and by chance, the person who answers is the current owner’s wife, who, for a few reasons, I’m on a first-name basis with. It’s also worth noting that her father was the original owner of the restaurant, and he gave it to her husband when he wanted to retire.)

Wife: “[Restaurant], how can I help you?”

Me: “Hey there, [Wife], it’s [My Name].”

Wife: “[My Name]? Didn’t you just pick up an order?”

Me: “I did. And I hate to be that customer, but I have to let you know about a problem with my [Chicken Dish].”

Wife: “They gave you mushrooms, didn’t they?”

Me: “They did. I wouldn’t have minded so much if there had been some chicken or vegetables in it, though.”

Wife: “You got nothing but mushrooms?”

Me: “Maybe one cashew, but otherwise just mushrooms and sauce.”

Wife: “I’m so sorry. That’s completely unacceptable. Bring it back in, and I’ll make you a fresh one myself.”

(I box it back up and drive down. As it’s rush hour, what’s normally a ten-minute drive instead takes about twenty minutes. In this time, [Wife] disappears somewhere, and instead, greeting me at the counter is her husband. Also of note is that the restaurant is fairly populated, but clearly not in a rush.)

Owner: “How can I help you?”

Me: “I called early to complain about this [Chicken Dish] you prepared for me. Your wife, [Wife], asked me to bring it in.”

Owner: “That’s not our food.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Owner: “That’s! Not! Our! Food! Get out of here! You’re not getting a free meal here!”

(By the time he’s finished, the whole restaurant has turned to look at us. One waitress, his daughter, emerges from the kitchen with a takeout order in hand just in time to hear most of that. She looks like she is about to die of embarrassment.)

Daughter: *hushed* “Dad? What are you doing?”

(I take this opportunity to grab my phone.)

Owner: “I’m putting this scammer in his place!”

Daughter: *puts the bag in my hand* “This is [My Full Name]! His family’s been coming here since before he was born! They’re some of our best customers! He and his dad even know the entire staff by name!”

Me: “I also went to high school with [Daughter] and graduated the same year.” *holds up my phone* “Here’s a photo of us on graduation day posted to Facebook. It was her profile image for a few months after graduation. And when I finally got my black belt from the martial arts school up the road, I had my celebration dinner here. There used to be pictures of that day up on the wall here, along with many stills of the other events this restaurant used to schedule. So, believe me: if I wanted free food, I have a much easier means than faking a screwed-up order.”

Owner: “But that doesn’t look like our food!”

Me: “Y’know, I’ve been saying that for years! Ever since you took over from [Original Owner], you’ve used lower-quality food stuff, the portion sizes have gotten smaller, you’ve fired almost every cook and waitress, and yet you still jacked the prices. I kept coming here out of loyalty to [Wife], [Daughter], and [Original Owner]. And this is how you treat your loyal customers in front of a crowd? [Daughter], thank your mom for this remake, but let her know her husband doesn’t want my business anymore.”

(I held true to those words. I found a new restaurant and I now get my Chinese food there. I work at that martial arts school now, so I drive past this restaurant every day. Business has been going down considerably. I also found out from [Daughter] that a huge part of the problem was that her father lost a ton of money playing the stock market. He even had to sell their house, and they now live on the top floor of the apartment building he also owns.)

Related:
There Is Mushroom For Improvement, Part 4
There Is Mushroom For Improvement, Part 3
There Is Mushroom For Improvement, Part 2
There Is Mushroom For Improvement

I usually save up my can and bottle recycling for when I’m pretty broke and need groceries. I took my recycling to a store in Downtown Crossings in Boston and noted that the plastic bottle machine was out of order. I took care of my can recycling and then counted my plastic bottles as another grocery store allows it.

When I went to the customer service desk, I asked about counted bottles and was told yes, they allowed that. I said, “Thank you; that’s basically my grocery money for the rest of the month.” It came to about $15. I was told to go wait in the small eating area they have in the main store with my cart, and I thought they needed to get someone to take the full trash bag.

When the cashier came back to me, she told me that she and a coworker wanted to help, so they got me a $50 gift card to the store. I was in tears and was so grateful for the card. She also gave me an ad so I could find sale items and make the card go further.

When I went to the registers, I told that cashier what happened and that I wanted to talk to a manager because they have awesome employees. The customer service cashier was called over but didn’t want me to give a compliment; all she wanted was for me to pray for her.

Living on Disability and needing a new computer made this last month pretty difficult because I couldn’t get any editing jobs, but thanks to this woman and her coworker, my month became much better. I did call the next morning and tell the store manager and he was delighted to have such wonderful employees. And my four brothers replaced my computer for me, so now I can get some editing jobs and not have to worry about groceries.

This story is part of our Recycling roundup!

Read the first Recycling roundup story!

Read the Recycling roundup!

(My parents are going on vacation for a week. Since they have a dog, they ask me to housesit for the week. Two days after they leave, I hear a thud, the doorknob jiggling, and then the doorbell. With the chain still latched, I open the door and see my aunt, hands empty save for her purse. For background, she used to fawn over me. However, since I turned 18 — meaning upon my parents’ death, I would no longer require a guardian and would receive direct control over their assets — she’s barely spoken to me, even when I’m in the room.)

Aunt: “Hey there! Why’s the door locked?”

Me: “Why shouldn’t it be locked?”

Aunt: “It’s Sunday.”

Me: “And?”

Aunt: “We always have dinner together here on Sundays.”

Me: “You know my parents are on vacation, right?”

Aunt: “Yeah.”

Me: “…”

Aunt: “…”

Me: “So, there’s no family dinner this Sunday.”

Aunt: “But we always have Sunday dinner!”

Me: “When my mother is here to host it. She invites you over. She’s not here, so I don’t know why you think you’re invited.”

Aunt: “Because I’m family!”

Me: *shoots her the dirtiest “Oh, really?” look I can muster* “That doesn’t make this your house.”

Aunt: “It doesn’t make it yours, either!”

Me: “Which is exactly why I’m not inviting you in.” *slams the door in her face*

(She bangs on the door, rings the bell, and calls the home phone non-stop. When she still can’t take the hint, I have to involve the police. By the time they get here, my uncle has shown up, hands also empty, and joined in the tantrum. Since the background with him is pretty much the same story, I don’t step out to help him. About an hour later, I get a phone call from my mother.)

Mother: “You had [Uncle] and [Aunt] arrested?!”

Me: “They kept banging on the door and demanding entry. What else was I supposed to do?”

Mother: “Invite them in! I told them to come over and bring pizza so you wouldn’t have to cook for them!”

Me: “Then how about you tell me that next time, too?”

Mother: “I shouldn’t have had to! We always have family dinner on Sundays!”