Unfiltered Story #91989

, , , | Unfiltered | August 30, 2017

(I’m a customer in this story, though I am currently a retail associate at a department store and have been there for many years. It is nearly 2:30in the morning, and I am with a group of my friends at [Well Known Diner], and we have our checks in hand and are in the process of cashing out individually. A customer (who is clearly quite stoned) walks up, cuts right through the middle of us, and interrupts the cashier who was about to take my check and cash me out.)

Stoned Customer: Can I get a [very cheap meal platter] only with [substitution] instead?

Cashier #1: Hang on. *he calls to one of his coworkers to come over and take the guy’s order, as he is in the cash out process and can’t easily ring someone else up*

Cashier #2: What can I get you? *the customer repeats his request* Oh, actually we don’t make substitutions for any of our [low-priced meals].

Stoned Customer: *he takes a moment to respond, and when he does his speech is slow and just short of slurred; he is also blocking the card reader machine I need to get to, and doesn’t seem to notice my attempts to get to it* I’ve never had a problem with you people doing this before.

Cashier #1: *picks up a menu* He’s right, actually. See, it says right here that ‘no substitutions are allowed’.

Cashier #2: Yeah, I don’t know how they do it at [other diners in the franchise] but we can’t do that.

Stoned Customer: But I never had a problem getting this before, why can’t you just give me [substitution]?

Cashier #1: Because we can’t, it’s not allowed. We can give you [other meal at a slightly higher price] as it’s a ‘build your own’, but we can’t make a substitution on this one.

Stoned Customer: I don’t understand. All I want is this meal with [substitution], why is this so hard? I’ve never had a problem before.

(the conversation goes on for another minute in a similarly circular fashion, with both cashiers telling him they can’t make substitutions, and him insisting he’s never had a problem. finally, something occurs to me, and i speak up.)

Me: You know, they obviously just can’t make substitutions here, it’s that simple. So if you want your [substitution], you’d better just go some place else.

Stoner Customer: *stares hard at me without blinking for several seconds; i’m almost worried he’s about to get violent, when he turns away, mumbling* Fine, I guess I will then.

Cashier #2: Thank you so much, I couldn’t say anything but I’m so glad you did.

Cashier #1: That was f***ing AWESOME. *gives me a high five and my friends, who witnessed the exchange, follow suit*

Me: *laughing* God, that was such a rush. I could NEVER do that at my job, but I suddenly realized I’m not at work! I don’t f***ing work here, I can say whatever the h*** I want! That felt so damn good!

Render Unto The Diner What Is Diner’s

, , , , | Hopeless | August 29, 2017

(I work in a diner down the street from a church. After services, a lot of members will come and eat at our diner. Some of them are really nice people, but some of them are the kind of people that will leave pamphlets instead of tips, which is the bane of any server’s existence. It’s a Sunday afternoon after church has let out.)

Gentleman: “Ma’am, I left something for you under my plate. Please make sure you read it.”

Me: “Oh… thanks.”

(Understandably, I assume this is a pamphlet until I get there and realize, to my confusion, that it’s a card that says, “Thinking of you,” on the front. Inside there’s a handwritten note.)

Gentleman’s Note: “I’m a pastor at the church down the street, and it’s to my understanding that some of my congregation think it’s appropriate to leave pamphlets in lieu of real tips. I plan on addressing this during next week’s service. In the meantime, I hope this helps make up for today.”

(There were three $20 bills inside the card, more than three times what his food was worth. It was the best surprise I’d ever received since I started working there, and even better, some of his congregation seemed to take his words to heart, because I noticed that, the next week at least, there were fewer pamphlets and more actual tips.)

There Is Mushroom For Improvement

, , , , | Working | August 15, 2017

(This story takes place in a diner late at night. I have just gotten off work and meet my parents and brother for a later dinner. We get seated and can already tell this is gonna be a rough meal: the waitress takes 10 minutes to come ask for our drink order, and another 20 before asking for our entree order. My mother orders a senior omelette, due to a food allergy in the regular omelette, and fruit, and I order a regular hamburger. This occurs once the waitress brings over our food.)

Mom: “I can’t eat this. This is the regular omelette.”

Waitress: “Oh, well, it’s bigger than the senior omelette, so really, you’re getting a deal here.”

Mom: “No, I specifically ordered the senior omelette due to my mushroom allergy. This will kill me if I eat it.”

Waitress: “Well, I guess I’ll take it back, then, but it will take a little bit of time to whip up a new one.”

(The waitress takes away my mom’s food, and she begins to eat my dad’s fruit to hold her. I go to take a bite of my hamburger, and realize it’s drenched in some type of barbecue sauce. Not wanting to make a huge issue, I eat a few bites, but can’t stand any more than that. 30 minutes later my mom’s food comes out; the manager bringing it out this time.)

Manager: “We’re really sorry about the mix up; we upgraded the omelette so that you got the size of the regular omelette, with the ingredients of the senior.”

Mom:“Well, thank you for that, but I ordered fruit, not hash browns, due to a diet restriction. But no point in waiting another hour to get fruit. My daughter will just eat them.”

Manager: *laughing slightly uncomfortably, she turns to me* “Well, I hope you’re hungry!”

Me: “I am. This hamburger was disgusting, and not what I ordered, I just didn’t want to sit here for another hour waiting for you to cook it, since we’ve been here almost two hours and my mom just got her meal. This was horrible service, and I would suggest you review your wait staff on proper customer service.”

(The manager assures me she will take care note of my suggestions, and leaves. We go up to pay.)

Waitress: “Your total is [total].”

Me: “No.”

Waitress: “What do you mean, sweetie?”

Me: “You expect my parents to pay full price for a horrible meal that took almost three hours to complete? Absolutely not!”

(My mother quickly ushers me out while my dad begins to pay. When he gets in the car, he turns to my mother.)

Dad: “We should take her out to dinner more often.”

Mom: “Why’s that?”

Dad: “She just got our waitress to give us our meal for free.”

They Tic’d All The Right Boxes

, , | Hopeless | June 23, 2017

(My friends and I, all in our late teens, all somewhat goth/punk looking, had gone to see one of the Final Destination movies in the cinema. For those who missed them, they’re basically movies about people dying in the most ridiculous ways possible. Afterwards, we decide to grab some dinner and go to a nearby pizza place — a bit more fancy than we usually frequent, but open late and tasty. There is only one other group of people at a nearby table, and one of the men seems to suffer from tics. It is impossible not to notice since one involved him randomly shouting “HA!” every few minutes. The first time that happens we look over, but realizing that his friends seem to take it as normal, we ignore them. I happened to have watched a documentary on Tourette syndrome just the night before, so I figure we shouldn’t ruin his night by staring. My friends and I never discuss it, but simply pay attention to our own conversation. As the other group gets up to leave, the guy with the tics and a woman come over to our table. We shut up immediately, realizing our conversation had become quite loud and rowdy (what with being in high spirits and discussing all the ways in which people could die in the middle of a restaurant…) and we think they are about to tell us off.)

Man: “Hey, guys, I just wanted to thank you for leaving us in peace tonight and not making a big deal of my tics.”

Friend #1: “Oh, but you shouldn’t thank us. It’s common courtesy, isn’t it?”

Man: “You’d think so, but most people stare at what they don’t know.”

Friend #2: “Maybe that’s it. I watched a show about Tourette syndrome just the other night, and they interviewed several people who have it.”

Friend #3: “Wait, you watched that show, too?”

Me: “So did I… Wow, that’s odd. It was really interesting, though!”

(The man was looking increasingly happy listening to our exchange, but it was the woman next to him who started laughing. She gave him a little shove and he smiled sheepishly, then mimed polishing a shoe. How did we know what the movement meant? Well…)

Friend #1: “Hang on. That was you in the programme, wasn’t it.”

Man: “Um, yeah.”

Woman: “And he’s been so nervous about the show airing, you wouldn’t believe it. He was afraid people would make fun of him.”

(We all assured him that he had no reason to be nervous or ashamed or anything. It WAS a good show that illustrated the various tics people might suffer from and how it impacted all areas of their lives, and shame was a big part of it. As they left you could tell the guy was much happier, and we were simply stunned that without discussing it, we’d all happened to watch the same show and draw the same conclusions from it… AND happened to meet that guy that night.)

Not Always Sautéed

| NJ, USA | Working | February 8, 2017

(I’m a fussy eater, because I’m on a strict regimen of counting my calories. We’re eating at a chain restaurant. It’s a somewhat busy Tuesday night, and there’s only one waitress. There is a manager, but he’s doing absolutely nothing to help her.)

Uncle: “What are the soups today?”

Waitress: “Just the vegetable beef; we’re out of the chicken noodle.”

(I had planned to have chicken noodle soup and grilled chicken, so I spend an age trying to work out what I can have that fits my calorie budget for dinner. All the while, the waitress is standing at the table, dancing back and forth as if impatient – understandable – and finally she says she’ll put my aunt’s and uncle’s orders in and come back for me. Perfectly understandable. Eventually, I check the numbers on the vegetable beef soup and find out it fits my original plan, barely.)

Waitress: *comes back* “So, know what you’re having?”

Me: “Give me the grilled chicken dinner, with a bowl of the vegetable beef and two sides of steamed zucchini and squash.”

(She leaves, and I finish my coffee quickly. As expected, my aunt’s and uncle’s orders get there before my meal, and I ask for a refill. She says it’ll be just a minute. Five minutes later, I get exasperated waiting, and get up to go and buy a coffee at the truck stop to which the restaurant is attached. By the time I get back, my coffee’s been filled, and my meal has arrived – with sautéed zucchini and squash. I flag the waitress down when she’s on her way back to the kitchen from serving someone else their meal.)

Me: “Excuse me, this zucchini and squash is sautéed.”

Waitress: *gives me a blank look*

Aunt: “He ordered steamed.”

Waitress: “Well, it’s the same stuff. What’s the difference?”

Me: “About a hundred calories.”

(This is a lot, when it’s about 8% of your daily calorie budget and you’re already running up against your ceiling.)

Waitress: *rolls her eyes and takes it away*

(She then returns after serving another customer; not only is it still sautéed zucchini and squash, I’m pretty sure it’s the exact same plate, just heated up and, if anything, sautéed a bit more.)

Me: *thinking* “I guess some people think they’re the protagonist in a Not Always Right story, and the customer’s a fussy dumb-a***.”

Page 1/512345
Next »