Fond Of The Name Change

| Australia | Right | January 23, 2013

(Our cafe makes a number of desserts. Most can be made by any of the staff. However, a few need to be made specifically by the chef. Typically, if business is not too fast, those of us taking the orders will simply call the order out to the chef for the entire cafe to hear.)

Me: “Hello, how can I help you today?”

Customer: “I’d like a fondle.”

Me: “Excuse me!?”

Customer: “Yeah, I’ve got some friends waiting, so hurry up.”

Me: “Of course, sir. Could, you… er… please repeat your order for me so I can put it through?”

Customer: “A fondle! You know the one for five people! Geez, you haven’t been working here long, have you?”

Me: “A fon… oh, the chocolate fondue?”

Customer: “The fondle, yes! Hurry it up!”

Me: “It won’t be long, sir. I’ll call you when it’s done.”

(The customer, grumbling, goes and sits down at a table with various other people.)

Me: *to the chef* “One chocolate fondle, please!”

Chef: “One… what?”

Me: “The last customer asked for a fondle. So, one of your absolute best fondles for him please!”

Chef: “Well, of course! One extra-large fondle coming up!”

(Most of the customer’s friends start chuckling. The customer himself does not seem to notice anything awry. The chef, amused, makes the fondue and brings it out to the customer himself.)

Chef: *to the customer* “Here you are, sir. A big satisfying fondle, just as you requested!”

(From that point on, we nearly always call fondue orders out to the chef this way. He is proud to be able to claim that he gives hundreds of men and women ‘fondles’ every day, with full approval from his wife.)

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Some Things Can Weight To Be Said, Part 4

| Denver, CO, USA | Working | January 12, 2013

(It’s a slow day, so my boss, coworker, and myself are talking behind the counter. My coworker and I are both fairly large chested with wider hips, so both of us have some pretty magnificent curves. She stands just a few cm shorter than me, and I’m 167 cm. She and I are in the younger half of 20’s, at university, and my boss is in her 50’s and resembles an ironing board.)

Coworker: “I absolutely hate shopping for clothes, I really don’t want to go. Nothing fits right.”

Me: “I run into the same problem. Jeans fit right in some places, not in others, and shirts I just can’t do.”

Coworker: “I know, right? You have to size in the chest or you look trashy.”

Me: “Haha, I know eh? I need some new jeans myself, come to think of it.”

Boss: “Oh, I know what you mean! I can never find jeans in my size! It’s like, come on, people, you can’t all be my size.”

Me: “Yeah, since I’m a pretty average, I really can’t find anything myself.”

Boss: “Well, what size are you?”

Me: “US8.”

Boss: “You’re THAT FAT?!”

Me: “What the h*** size are you, then?”

Boss: “4, what a woman should be!”

Me: *trying to turn it into a joke* “Yeah, those good ‘ol Irish Catholic hips certainly make me fat.”

Boss: “Both of you really should diet. Hips are no excuse!”


Signs Of Trouble, Part 2

| Colorado, USA | Working | January 10, 2013

(I’m staffed as an extra at a cafe so I can fill orders for the lunch rush. I notice one of my coworkers talking abnormally loud to a customer.)


(The customer, an elderly gentleman, looks confused and makes a gesture, asking for pen and paper. I quickly give someone their bagel and return to focus on my coworker and the customer. He holds up the paper after writing.)

Coworker: “WE…” *waves hands to indicate the staff* “…NO HAVE…” *points to paper* “…THAT TODAY. NO!” *waves his hands in an X motion*

(The customer cocks his head and looks rather confused and upset. I turn to the elderly man and start to sign.)

Me: *signing* “Excuse me, are you deaf?”

(Visibly relieved, he signs back.)

Customer: *signing* “Yes, yes I am. I was wanting a [sandwich].”

Me: *signing* “We ran out of that maybe an hour ago; I’m really sorry. Is there another sandwich I can get you? Anything else?”

Customer: *signing* “Well, perhaps I’ll have the Chicken Caesar instead.”

Me: *to my coworker* “Go help Lauren.” *signing to the customer* “So, one Chicken Caesar sandwich… anything else? Coffee?”

Customer: *signing* “Oh no, thank you; I have some. I didn’t know anyone here could sign! How long have you studied?”

Me: *signing* “About a year. I’m still learning, so I’m sorry for all of the fingerspelling! ”

(The customer and I have a lovely chat. He helps correct a few of my signs, and I gave him a free cookie. Later on, I’m speaking with my coworker.)

Me: “You know I could sign. Why didn’t you come grab me?”

Coworker: “I thought he’d understand if I shouted loud enough!”

(The customer leaves, but not before giving me a sweet smile and waving. He came in several more times with a piece of paper with my name on it so my coworkers could come grab me. Unfortunately, I was told he stopped frequenting the store after I left.)


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Closed Store, Open Kindness

| NC, USA | Right | December 19, 2012

(We close in five minutes and since it has been a slow night, my coworker and I have turned off the lights in the cases and wrapped the pastries. A customer walks in and my coworker turns on the lights in the cases.)

Customer: “Are you closed?”

Me: “No, sir. We close in just a few minutes.”

Customer: “Oh! I’m so sorry. I just need to pick up some coffee beans and dessert. I’ll be fast!”

Me: “Don’t worry, you’re okay.”

(I get his coffee beans while my coworker cuts him a slice of cake. She goes to the back to wash the knife while I ring him up.)

Me: “Your total is [total.]”

Customer: “Here you go.” *hands me his credit card* “I am so sorry; I thought you closed at 9:00.”

Me: “It’s no problem, really.”

(He looks into the tip jar, which is empty because we have already split the tips.)

Customer: “Oh, your tip jar is empty. Well here, you two can split this.” *drops money into jar*

Me: “Thank you, have a good night!”

Customer: “You too!”

(I expected a dollar in the tip jar, but it was a $10 bill!)

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Heat Rises As IQ Falls

| Long Island, NY, USA | Right | October 23, 2012

(We have a convection oven for heating up pastries and sandwiches. Some people mistake it for a microwave oven. One day, a customer who has already purchased her drink comes up to me.)

Customer: “Excuse me, but this drink is not hot enough. Can you heat this up in your microwave?” *points to our oven*

Me: “Sorry, but I can’t do that since that’s a convection oven. However, I can remake the drink to be hotter for you.”

Customer: “No, I don’t want you to remake it. I just want you to heat it up a little more. Are you sure you can’t do it?”

Me: “Ma’am, that thing we have over there is a convection oven. Your cup will catch on fire if I put it in there.”

Customer: *blankly stares at me for several seconds* “…So you can’t do it?”

Me: “Not unless you want your drink engulfed in flames.”

Customer: “Oh…” *leaves the store, still confused*

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