Karma Is Sweet Wine

, , , | Right | November 5, 2018

(It’s a busy night at the club where I work as a food runner. We’re booked to full capacity, and everyone is demanding tons of drinks and food. I’m in the kitchen waiting for an order to finish when one of the floor servers comes in.)

Server: “Hey, Table #12 says they haven’t gotten their food.”

Me: “Table #12? Four women? Yeah, I brought them their food an hour ago.”

Server: “Well, they claim they haven’t gotten any of it.”

Me: “You serious?! I cleared it off ten minutes ago when I brought them another round! They had five different dishes!”

Server: “Well, [Boss] says to cook their food again; they’re complaining like crazy and getting loud.”

Me: “Okay, okay, fine.”

(Now, because we have to add their food into the queue, that means the dishes come out one at a time, instead of all together when they are usually ordered. So, in between serving other customers, I have to bring Table #12’s dishes out as they’re ready. The ladies at the table — one in particular — are very vocal about how long they have to wait and are extremely rude when I bring it. Finally, I get the last dish out.)

Me: “Here you are, ma’am. Is there anything else I can get you?”

Rude Customer: *ignores me, inspecting her food by the light of her phone*

Me: *forced sincerity* “Have a good evening, ladies.”

(Table #12 is close to a server’s station, where the server who told me to redo the food is standing. She has several dirty dishes on the counter from bussing tables. I go over to lend a hand.)

Me: “Everything going good?”

Server: “Yeah, just trying to get these checks paid out. Can you take those dishes, please?”

Me: “Sure.”

(I pick them up and turn around. What she didn’t tell me is that one of the trays has a full glass of wine on it. In the two steps it takes for me to walk past Table #12, I see the glass wobble. Before I can catch it, it tips over, spilling directly onto the rude customer at Table #12.)

Me: “Oh, s***!”

Rude Customer: “What the f***?!”

Rude Customer’s Friends: “Holy h***!”

Server: “Oh, God!”

(The customer shoots me a look of pure murder. The server grabs napkins and starts dabbing off the customer. I quickly retreat to the back where our bar area is. Walking past the bartender, I grab a glass of vodka, pour a shot, and down it.)

Bartender: “What happened?”

Me: “So, there I was in the kitchen…”

(In the end, Table #12 got their food and drinks for free, getting away with more than just their double-food scam, but the customer had to deal with being soaked in wine. I never planned to spill that wine on the customer, but I must say, karma is sweet.)

A Lawyer Too Mature To Defend Himself

, , , , , , , | Friendly | November 2, 2018

(I’m a producer for a video game publishing company. I’m flying back from a business trip and making small talk with the guy seated next to me. He looks to be quite a bit older than me, maybe in his early 50s. He says, very smugly, that he works “in law.” When he asks what I do and I tell him, he scoffs.)

Guy: “Video games?”

Me: “Yes.”

Guy: *rolling his eyes and smirking* “Okay. That’s cute when you’re young, I guess. Well, you’ll grow out of it one day.”

Me: “I’m 34.”

Guy: “I’m just saying it’s a fun hobby, honey, not a career.”

Me: “I’ve been doing it for twelve years.”

Guy: “I’m just saying.”

(The woman seated on my other side, who is also quite a bit older than I am and hasn’t said ANYTHING up to this point, finally speaks up without raising her eyes from her book.)

Woman: “Yeah. Maybe she should just age into being a boring, condescending, judgemental jerk with a poor concept of personal hygiene who doesn’t know not to take his shoes off on a plane.”

(I think I gave myself a cramp trying not to burst out into shocked laughter. All I managed was to sort of double over snorting. He turned red, then sneered at her and said he “didn’t have time for immaturity,” and pulled out his laptop for the rest of the flight. I hadn’t actually been offended because by now I have heard it all when it comes to assumptions about my job, both good and bad, and I love what I do, but I have never had one stranger put another in their place on my behalf so sharply and effortlessly, before or since. It’s nice to have someone stand up for you. I hope as I grow older I can both have her confidence to do the same for someone else, and be assured that no matter who I talk to or what they do, I will never ever be like THAT guy.)

The Owner’s Reaction Is Nice And Crisp

, , , , | Right | October 26, 2018

(My husband and I go to breakfast in a local diner. As we sit down and start looking over the menu, an older couple comes in and sits down right next to us. This is a very small place, and the tables are super close to one another. When their breakfast comes, the woman takes a bite of her home fries, throws down her fork, and yells for the waitress.)

Woman: “These home fries aren’t crispy enough. I specifically asked that they be crispy!”

(I heard her place her order, and she said nothing about the home fries being crispy.)

Waitress: “I’m sorry, ma’am. If you’d like, I can have them put back on the grill for a couple of minutes.”

Woman: “Yes, put them back on the grill. And when you bring them back, they had better be crispy!”

(After a few minutes, the waitress returns with the home fries. The woman starts picking at them with her fork.)

Woman: “These are still not crispy! I told you I wanted them crispy! You get the owner out here right now!”

(The waitress goes to the back of the diner and briefly speaks with the owner, who already knows what’s going on since the place is small and the woman is practically yelling. The owner comes out to the customer’s table.)

Owner: “Ma’am, I’m sor—”

Woman: “This is ridiculous! I don’t know what is wrong with you people that you can’t give a person crispy home fries when they want them!”

Owner: “You won’t be charged for the home fries.”

Woman: “I’m not paying for any of this breakfast! It’s disgusting!”

Owner: *completely fed up* “Fine, then. Get out, and don’t ever come back.”

Woman: “Well, I never! You’re very rude, and I’m going to tell all my friends how you treat your customers, and that they should never give you their business!”

Owner: “Lady, with your rotten attitude, I’m surprised you have any friends!”

(The woman’s jaw dropped, and she got up abruptly and stormed out the door. Everyone in the place heard the exchange, and we all gave the owner the applause she deserved.)

Under The Umbrella Of Justice

, , , , , , | Friendly | October 22, 2018

(When I am in college, I walk from my apartment to campus. On this particular day, it is raining fairly hard, so I’ve brought an umbrella, and since there is an umbrella stand near the entrance to one particular building I am going to, I choose to leave it in the stand rather than dragging it around with me. After I get done with class, I am coming back when I spot someone pulling my umbrella out of the rack.)

Me: “Hey! That’s actually mine!”

(The person turned to look at me before bolting through the doors, out into the still-pouring rain, not even opening the umbrella. They got about ten feet before tripping and falling on their face, then scrambling to their feet and keeping on running. The umbrella only cost me about ten dollars, and I did have to walk home in the rain after that, but I considered the slam to the hard pavement they had when they tripped to probably be sufficient punishment.)

Paper Recycling Has Become A Toxic Task

, , , , , , , , | Working | October 18, 2018

I used to work in the credit department for a regional department store. My job was attached to the collections department, but I wasn’t a collector. We had a dress code, which was ignored by the collectors. Since we weren’t the only business in the building, we had a code of conduct to prevent swearing in the elevator or the lobby. That was also ignored, also without consequence.

The high point came with the paper-recycling bin. Each group had a large rolling bin to put paper in for recycling, which was picked up weekly by an outside company. One group of collectors used theirs for garbage, including fruit remnants and packaging, and the recyclers refused to touch it. Since it wasn’t in the trash bins located at each desk, the janitorial staff wouldn’t touch it, either.

It sat there and rotted until complaints got to the VP. I was told to take it down three floors on the elevator, wheel it across the street and over a block to the store, dump it in the compact, and bring it back. I tried making the point that this wasn’t my job, that I’d had no part in creating the problem, and that it should be fixed by the people that did create it, but that didn’t fly.

I did as instructed, and parked the stinking bin — rancid juices streaking the sides, flies orbiting around it — in front of that supervisor’s desk, and told her she could clean it.