I Pronounce Thee Idiot

, | NY, USA | Right | February 4, 2016

Customer: *over dressed for our grocery store location, and speaking with the sort of tone you normally reserve for children* “Give me three la-Zaa-nya squares, an eggplant salad, and one bru-Skeee-ta.

(The customer throws on a really thick, and sudden accent when pronouncing the food. He smiles at me in a way that makes me think I’m supposed to be impressed by this.)

Me: *punching in the order, and repeating it back using the accepted American pronunciation of the words ‘lasagna ‘ and ‘bruschetta* “Three lasagna squares, one large eggplant salad, one bruschetta.”

Customer: “Bru-Skeeeeh-ta” *he drags out the pronunciation even more*

Me: “One bruschetta.” *I agree, again, as per our store policy*

Customer: *looking self important* “It’s actually an Italian word? See if it were German, you would say it the way you’re saying it, but it’s not. Bru-SKEH-ta. See?”

Me: “If you say so, sir.” *getting his order ready, at this point, I’m too tired to deal with him*

Customer: “It’s just like ‘SPUH-geeh-tee’.” He grins at me.

Me: “Of course, sir.”

Customer: “You look like a nice Italian girl. Don’t you want to learn the language?”

Me: *handing him his food* “I’m a boy, sir.”

(His face dropped, and turned an interesting shade of red. He snatched his food away and spit something in what I could only presume is very overly-pronounced Italian at me, before hurrying away.)

Can’t Have Your Cake And Eat It

| OK, USA | Working | February 3, 2016

(I’ve been diabetic type 1 since I was eleven, but my coworkers think they know how to manage diabetes better than I do. They’re always very uneducated about diabetes, but this coworker took the cake. This happened during my break on a slow evening.)

Coworker: “I hate needles. If I had diabetes, I would eat whatever I wanted anyway!”

Me: “I would too, but I’d like keep my limbs and organs.”

Coworker: “That can happen?!”

Me: “What did you think would happen if I just stopped taking insulin?!”

Coworker: *grabs the cake I was eating* “Oh, then you CAN’T have this!”

(I told you she took the cake.)

The First Mayonnaise

| FL, USA | Working | January 29, 2016

(I’m cleaning out the small cooler in our sandwich station when I come across an uncovered pan of a crusty, dark yellowish-white substance.)

Me: “What the h*** is this?”

Coworker: *looking at it* “That’s mayonnaise.”

Me: “Leftover from whose presidency, Washington’s or Jefferson’s?”

Where You Have A Spit Of Opinion

| Canada | Working | January 29, 2016

(My coworker is a hard-working older woman with a thick European accent. She is the best worker here, and I look up to how quickly and efficiently she works everyday. She finishes serving a customer at the deli and comes to speak with me.)

Coworker: “I spit in her food.”

Me: “Sorry, did you say you spat in her food…?”

Coworker: *ranting* “Yes. Last week, I ask her if she can wait two minutes for me to finish packaging chicken. She say okay. I serve her, and she act all nice. Then, she go and yells at manager and say I was rude and terrible employee.” *she starts giggling* “So today, I spit in her food!”

Me: “[Coworker], you can’t do that! That’s against health and safety! What if she notices?”

Coworker: *frowning* “Good! She deserve it!” *happily goes to work on other things, leaving me standing in disbelief*

Salad, The Universe, And Everything

| Wareham, MA, USA | Working | January 10, 2016

(With my boss nearby I’m disposing of various food items that have passed their expiration date and then make an observation I just had to question.)

Me: “Ham salad. How is ham a salad? What makes it a salad?”

Boss: “…Mayonnaise?”

Me: “This pasta salad has no mayonnaise, yet it too claims to be a salad! When does something become a salad?”

Boss: “With lettuce.”

Me: “But this pasta salad has no lettuce, nor does this chicken salad! Ham salad, pasta salad, caesar salad, watergate salad. How are they all salads?”

Boss: “Because they’re a mixture of ingredients.”

Me: “So, if I put enough ingredients on a pizza, will that become a salad?”

Boss: “…No.”

Me: “So then what is the definition of a salad? What does it mean to be a salad? These are the questions!”

Boss: *nods* “The questions of life.”

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