I work at a bowling club as a bartender. Apart from drinks, we sell a few different snacks, including nachos. On the counter as a display, we have two different types of Lay’s and a pack of Doritos.

This is just for show, because we toss the Lay’s into bowls, and Doritos-nachos are in a special heating container, served with sauce (like in a movie theater). Most people don’t have any problem understanding that this pack of Doritos and nachos is the same thing. 

On weekends, we have a lot of birthday parties, so it happens that I have to serve annoyed mothers, and let me tell you, even drunk people aren’t that irritating. This one previously bought nachos, and I could tell she’s on the edge.

Mother: *Points at Doritos.* “I want these.”

Me: “Of course, nachos with which sauce?”

Mother: “No, I want these.”

Me: “So… nachos?”

Mother: “No, my child didn’t like the nachos. I want Doritos. We often buy this exact brand.”

Me: “But they’re the same…”

Mother: *Very annoyed, still aggressively pointing at the display.* “What can’t you understand? I want Doritos!”

We went on for a while, me trying to politely explain that we literally toss these exact Doritos directly to the container, and her trying to make me sell them. Theoretically, I could give her these in a bowl, but I know I shouldn’t, and on the register I only have a “NACHOS DORITOS” option, so I can’t exactly cash her for a pack. It’s kinda ironic that’s the name for nachos.

Finally, I’m not sure how, I used the right words and managed to make her understand without the need to show her how I open the bag and put them in the container, although I had to tell her how I do it a few times.

Before she finally left with a bag of Lay’s, she told me that she buys this exact brand and her son likes it another three or four times, maybe trying to hide that she might feel a bit embarrassed about the situation.

While not a start-up, we were a brand-new office of an existing company with almost all new starters. After a few weeks, it was decided that we needed to do some “team building”.

This involved us all having to go out to do ten-pin bowling at an alley in a nearby city one Friday evening. We would, we were told, become a better team by being divided up into ten groups of four people, each split into teams of two, play off against each other, the winners would then play against other winners, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Upon arrival at the alley, the Big Boss greeted us. She was wearing a bowling shirt with her name on it.

We drew lots for who was on what team and went to the lanes. At that point, Big Boss pulled out a bowling bag with her name embroidered on it and her own pair of bowling balls. They had her name embossed on them in gold.

The other person bowling with her was ever so smug; there was no way he could lose, being paired with a professional bowler.

She was awful. Not just splits or the like — most of her bowls went into the gutter. A couple of them were so slow the machinery didn’t recognise that a bowl had happened and she got three or four goes at knocking down a single pin.

The two of them were knocked out of the game in the first round.

After the game was done (I got to the third round!), we all went for the free food and drink. People asked Big Boss gently why she was out of practice or whatever had caused such a poor result for her.

It turned out she’d never gone bowling in her life. Not once.

The shirt, the bag, and the balls had all been bought specially for this one event.

There was a massive silence from everybody that I can still hear today while we digested this news.

After one round of chicken wings and a single pint of beer each, she got up and said she was closing the tab and we could all go home. She promptly left.

Next week at work, someone found the shirt, bag, and balls up for sale on a popular online auction site, whilst Big Boss was frosty with us all for weeks.

It’s only now, five years later, that it has suddenly dawned on me: we were supposed to let her win, weren’t we?

It’s my first day working at the pizza station at a bowling alley.

Customer: “How big is the twelve-inch pizza?”

Me: “About twelve inches?”

She looks at me in a completely insulted manner.

Customer: “Are you trying to be funny?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “So, how big is the twelve-inch pizza?!”

Me: “About thirty centimeters.”

Customer: *Angry* “HOW BIG IS IT?!”

Me: “About one foot.”

Customer: “Get me your manager!”

My manager is brought over and goes through the exact same thing until she resorts to showing the customer with her hands roughly how big twelve inches/thirty centimeters/one foot actually is.

Customer: “Finally, someone who speaks f****** English around here.”

The customer is served and walks away.

Manager: *To me* “Next time, just use visuals. Most of our customers aren’t good with numbers.”

During a busy day, I am sitting behind the counter when a customer walks through our open doors, while most of our lanes have active bowlers.

Customer: “Are you guys open?”

This happens far more often than I can count.

I worked at a bowling alley for a year before they shut down. Near the end, pretty much everything was worn down, including the rental shoes. One customer came in, paid for a game and a shoe rental, and then went down to her lane. She came back a few moments later.

Customer: “These shoes are really worn out. Can I exchange them for some nicer ones?”

Me: “You’re right; those ones are pretty ratty. Give them to me and I’ll see if I have a nicer pair.”

I took the shoes and crouched behind the counter (where we kept all the rentals) and looked through them. Nothing in or around her size was in better condition. I stood back up, holding the same pair she was originally given.

Me: “I’m sor—”

Customer: *Cutting me off* “Yes, this pair is much nicer! Thank you!”

She went back to her lane and had no other issues with her “better” shoes.

Related:
If The Shoe Fits…, Part 12
If The Shoe Fits…, Part 11
If The Shoe Fits…, Part 10
If The Shoe Fits…, Part 9
If The Shoe Fits…, Part 8