Don’t Gamble Your Job On It

| Melbourne, VIC, Australia | Right | March 8, 2016

(Two seconds before I call no more bets, customers thrusts $10 at me.)

Customer: “Put it on 47!”

Me: “Sir, put it down on the table; I can’t take it from your hand.”

Customer: “I said 47!”

(Unwilling to risk my job for this rude customer and with the wheel coming to a halt I call no more bets.)

Customer: “If that lands on 47, I’ll…”

(The wheel stops on 3:1 and I pay out winning bets. I then declare new game.)

Customer: “If 47 came up you would be in so much trouble.”

Me: “Look, sir, if you want me to place your bet put it on the table. I cannot take anything from you directly. Secondly, if your bet isn’t on that’s your responsibility. Call bets is not an obligation.”

Customer: “I can’t reach. What do you want me to do? I haven’t got Go-Go-Gadget arms. I pay your wage. You should do whatever I tell you to!”

(Customer cusses me out and threatens to “cave my head in.”)

Me: *sigh* “I just explained it to you. And if you truly believe that, then you must really suffer from confidence issues. Threaten me again and I will have you detained. I am refusing you service. I suggest you take your small-man syndrome somewhere else.”

(Thank god we don’t work on tips in Australia.)

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VOTES

Here’s A Tip: Don’t Die

| WV, USA | Right | December 7, 2015

(Due to the weather, my boss has decided that we will be closing early instead of running night shift. Tipped wage is about $2.15/hour where I live.)

Customer: “I bet you’re just closing early because you haven’t made any money today.”

(I’m a tipped worker, and I hadn’t made anything that day, but I actually don’t have the power to close the store for such a frivolous reason.)

Me: “Actually, our manager is concerned about the safety of workers coming in and out in this weather. She’s weird like that.”

Customer: *visibly irritated* “Well, I guess that’s fair.”

Me: “Yeah, I sort of appreciate not being expected to die for tipped wage.”

Teenagers: Now Blamed For The Weather

| WV, USA | Right | September 24, 2015

(We have recently had some heavy snowfall; so heavy, in fact, that only four hours after having the parking lot plowed, it’s completely covered and difficult to get in and out of.)

Guest #1: “Why haven’t you shoveled your lot?”

Me: “We actually don’t have a shovel, sir. We contract a company to plow the lot and we put down salt to prevent ice from forming, but unfortunately the snow is just falling too fast for that.”

Guest #2: “Teenagers these days just don’t care about other people’s safety.”

(It’s the law that you have to be at least twenty-one to work in one of these lounges. I’m twenty-three.)

Me: “Yes, sir, that’s it exactly.”

A Crap Tipper

| Jackson, CA, USA | Right | September 19, 2015

(I am dealing craps at a casino, and we only have one player at the table. He has won about $500, and keeps ranting about how he has just gotten there, and this is all winnings. After he finally changes his chips up and leaves, without tipping, we close the table. I get sent to a $25 blackjack table, where, lo and behold, the same player has moved to. He just happens to be changing up another $400, and he has the original winnings in his hand.)

Player: “Man, I’d love to tip you, but I’m still down for the night.”

Me: “You already lost all the money you won on craps? That must have been rough!”

(The player turned red as a beet and all but ran off. My supervisor was laughing too hard to yell at me!)

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The Passport Doesn’t Fall Short

| Melbourne, VIC, Australia | Working | February 19, 2015

(I’m 5’1″ and I don’t like to wear a lot of makeup, so I often get mistaken for being a lot younger then I actually am. A few months after I turned 18 I go on holiday with my parents, and one night we decided to walk through a massive casino in the city. We have no intention of gambling; we just want to look inside. We approach the security guard at the entrance.)

Guard: “No, you can’t come in here.”

(Expecting this to happen, I start digging around my bag for my ID. The guards eyes widen.)

Guard: *looking disbelieved* “You’re 18?!”

Me: “Umm… yes?”

(I pull out my passport and hand it to him. He keeps looking up at me and back down at the photo. The passport is new, and I haven’t made any changes to my hair, etc. since I had the photo done.)

Guard: “What’s your date of birth?”

(I don’t cope well when put on the spot, so I start to panic.)

Me: “It’s umm… [day] of… uh… [month] of… umm… [year].”

(The guard looks down his nose at me. I, however, am not going to leave until I get inside. He takes the look at the photo and then at me a few more times. Because he can’t prove that the ID is fake, he ends up calling a colleague over to ask his opinion. The colleague lets me in almost right away. As we walk inside, I can hear them having an argument.)

Guard: “There was no way that girl was 18!”

Colleague: “Dude, she gave you that ID right in front of her parents. And she could have been 18; it’s not like she’s pre-pubescent or something. And besides, what idiot tries to fake a passport?!”

Guard: “But… but… she was so short!”

Colleague: *face-palm*

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