Unfiltered Story #190598

, , , | Unfiltered | March 25, 2020

(I am the customer in this story and am turning myself in. I’m from the United States, and at the time was living in London, so I felt as if I was comfortable with various English accents, but am somewhat unfamilar with Welsh accents. I stopped at a café for a bite to eat and am ordering at the counter when this exchange occurs…)

Me: I’ll have a [coffee drink] and oh, what’s your soup of the day?

Barista: [unintelligible]

Me: I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that?

Barista: [unintelligible]

Me: *thinking it’s maybe a local speciality* Okay, what’s in it?

Barista: [same unintelligible phrase as before]

Me: *giving up* I’ll have that…

(And what was the mystery soup? Tomato and basil. To the barista’s credit, he wasn’t muttering or anything, and other than the tomato and basil, I understood him just fine. To this day, that tomato and basil soup was the best I’ve ever had!)

Unfiltered Story #190588

, , | Unfiltered | March 25, 2020

(I work at a popular bakery/cafe chain, who also happen to provide table service. Note that we do have a patio. As I’m returning to the counter to grab a tray, the person who ordered it is close behind me.)

Customer: Oh that’s mine I’ll take it, thanks.

Me: Alright! Just to let you know, if you place your tracker on your table next time, we’ll bring it to you!

Customer: Oh cool! Even on the patio?

Me: Yes of course!

Customer: Ok, thanks! By the way, how do I get outside?

(I had to show him to the door he came in.)

Sorry, Owner, You’ve Got It Very Very Wrong

, , , | Working | March 11, 2020

(A couple of friends and I decide to go check out the new French cafe that has opened in our town; we’ve heard nothing but positive things about it. The owner, however, has a reputation in town for being a really nasty woman to her staff. I’ve frequented a few of the cafes she’s owned and never had or seen an issue… until today. What I ordered comes out very wrong. I politely approach the young man in the shop and tell him the issue. He is polite and apologetic and begins to sort it immediately. This is when the owner barges up to our table.)

Owner: “Is there a problem?”

Me: “Yeah, our order was wrong. It’s no big deal, though. I’ve told the young man and he was more than happy to sort it out, and we’re more than happy to wait. No big deal.”

Owner: “We don’t get it wrong. Obviously, you forgot what you ordered.”

Me: “Right… No, yeah, see, this is what we ordered—” *explains order* “—and this is what we got. It’s no biggie.”

Owner: “Right.”

(She marches over to the young man and begins to berate him, in front of the entire cafe, blaming him for our order being incorrect, calling him a dumb f***er, etc. The insults are endless, and it’s extremely uncomfortable and heartbreaking to watch. I get up and walk over.)

Me: “Excuse me. He wasn’t the one who took our order, and the way you’re treating him is abysmal. It was her, and the older gentleman.”

Owner: “Like f***, it was her. She doesn’t get things wrong.”

Me: “Well, this time she did, and it really was no big deal… but I feel uncomfortable, so I think I’d rather just have my money back and we’ll go elsewhere.”

Owner:Nope! No money back. Get the f*** out before I put rat poisoning in your food.”

Me: “Wow, you really are delusional. I want my money back, for real. I’m not leaving until I get it.”

(At this point, she had the female behind the counter threaten me. After a small argument, we got our money back and left, as we walked out, we noticed the young man bawling his eyes out in the shadows. We comforted him and told him karma would prevail. It did; I ran into him a few months later and he’d dragged her through court and won a massive sum of money.)

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There Is A Fly In My Ice!

, , , , | Right | March 6, 2020

(We have a variety of individuals who frequent our cafe. This particular individual is from South Louisiana and has a very thick accent. I am grateful she has such a sense of humor. I have already taken her beverage and meal order and served both.) 

Customer: “May I have a fly swatter?”

Me: “Excuse me, I misunderstood. What may I get you?”

Customer: “A fly swatter.”

(I am confused as to why she is asking for a fly swatter. She is seated outdoors, but I don’t see any flies. I return with a fly swatter and hand it to her. She looks at me, very confused.)

Customer: “Well, what did you hand me this for?”

Me: “I thought you asked for a fly swatter.”

Customer: *laughs* “I said… ‘May I get a glass of ice water?’.”

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The Cake Is A Lie, But At Least It’s Free

, , , , | Working | March 5, 2020

My father and I are meeting up because it recently was my birthday. Unfortunately, neither he nor I have time for more than a short trip to the local video game shop and coffee and cake afterward, and the next time we can meet up won’t be for another two weeks. 

But we decide to make the most of it and Dad takes me to a very posh, old-fashioned café. However, it seems understaffed for as big a crowd as it has amassed. Additionally, you have to go up to the counter and pick out your cake which the waiter will then bring to the table, which is when they also take your orders for coffee and other food. You get a small piece of paper with the price and a number on it to make sure you get the right order. 

We order and everything is fine, if slow at first, but we are feeling the time pressure. After we finish our food — my dad has a cake and I a soup — he tells me there’s just enough time for me to get a piece of cake, too, if I want, which I do, of course. So, I go to the counter and pick out my cake. However, it takes so long for the waiters to bring it to us that we flag down the waitress and ask her to pack up the cake to go and bring us the bill. She does — taking several more minutes — and when we get the bill, my cake is not on it. We point this out to her and she tells us to pay at the counter where we will also pick up the cake. She takes the little paper with her.

We go up to the counter and ask for my cake. The person behind it wordlessly shoves it towards me. A little stunned, I take it. My dad asks how much it costs. The person frowns and calls the waitress, who is at the other end of the café and doesn’t hear. I notice that the person behind the counter has put my paper on a spike next to the register. As I point this out, however, the person leaves her position, again wordlessly, to go all the way through the café to speak to the waitress. The person doesn’t even bother to come back to us, instead opting to shout across the entire café that we already paid for it.

This is the point at which we decide, “All right! Fine, then. Free cake it is,” and we leave. Fortunately, both my dad and I make it to our respective appointments in time, and the cake is absolutely divine.

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