The Ten Doctors Versus The Ten Commandments, Part 2

| Right | October 31, 2013

(I am queuing for my meal at a diner. I am a huge ‘Doctor Who’ fan. I am looking at an annual from the old series (1963 – 1989) when the customer behind me in the queue looks over at me.)

Customer: “Hey! Why are you reading that bulls***?”

Me: “It’s not bulls***.”

Customer: “It is! That thing’s evil! It lies about how the universe was made! It says the universe has more than humans!”

Me: *annoyed* “Look, if you want to be b****y, then push off.”

(I see the customer leave, and I get my meal, thinking nothing more about it. Then the customer gets the seating next to me. I’m about to get away when she comes near, but she gestures to stop.)

Customer: “Listen, I’m sorry I was like that. It’s just that I’ve had a bad history with the show.”

Me: “What happened?”

Customer: “How old are you?”

Me: “20.”

Customer: “When I was a few years younger than you, I watched that show like anything. I absolutely loved it. But my parents are members of [really religious group], and said it was against our belief. I kept telling them I didn’t care what they said; I liked the show and I know this sounds silly, but I loved The Doctor. He actually did look good then. But my mom threw the television out the window and shouted at me. So I get memories whenever I see it.”

Me: “I am SO sorry! Listen, I’m really sorry I did that. If you want, I can give you the annual. You’ve missed out a LOT.”

Customer: “I don’t know about anything that happened in the last 30 years on the show. My parents even told me I was being a stupid lovesick girl. Well, they’re in the old people home now, so I don’t care.”

(I proceed to tell her most of what I know, and give her an address for a shop of old show memorabilia. I’m just happy someone can overcome their problems.)

 

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Not Listening Makes You Out Of Order

, | Working | August 28, 2013

(I have just gotten to work, and there is a slight rush going on. I get to work making orders in the back. After the rush has died down, there are still two orders left, and I make them, double checking them to make sure the orders are correct. I shout out the first order to Coworker #1, who needs to take the food out to the customers.)

Me: “Order up! Mushroom swiss and tots!”

Coworker #1 is standing near the front, looking towards the door, but doesn’t turn around.)

Me: *louder* “ORDER UP! Mushroom swiss with tater tots!”

Coworker #1: “Is this a cheeseburger with no lettuce and onion rings?”

Me: “Uh… no. It’s a mushroom swiss with tots.”

Coworker #1: “Oh.”

(Coworker #1 takes the order out. A few moments later, I have the cheeseburger with no lettuce and onion rings ready.)

Me: “Order up! Cheeseburger no lettuce with onion rings!”

Coworker #1: “So, this is a mushroom swiss with tots?”

Me: “No, that was the last order. This is the cheeseburger no lettuce with onion rings.”

Coworker #1: “Crap! I gave that last order to the wrong person!”

(Coworker #1 hurries off with the burger. I look at Coworker #2, who is working the grill.)

Me: “Really? Did that really just happen?”

Coworker #2: *shrugs* “Some peoples’ kids.”

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Really Creped Out

| Right | July 21, 2013

(I am a customer waiting for a table at a chain restaurant that specializes in breakfast. They are having their annual ‘free pancake day’ promotion. The free pancakes are available only for sit-down customers, not takeout. Another customer approaches the hostess station.)

Hostess: “Hi, how many?”

Customer: “Do you do takeout?”

Hostess: “Do you mean for the free pancakes?”

Customer: “Why would you even ask me that?!”

Hostess: “I’m sorry, ma’am; that’s just what everyone else has been asking today.”

Customer: “Well, I’m not everyone else. You have so many other things on your menu; why would you assume I want pancakes?”

Hostess: “I’m sorry. Yes, we do takeout.”

Customer: “Whatever. I don’t even want to eat here anymore. F*** you guys; you disgust me!”

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Never Again

| Right | November 12, 2012

(I often go to a diner near my apartment that’s popular with bikers, who are as a rule, very courteous customers. However, the number of motorcycles out front often attracts a crowd of what the regulars call ‘wannabes’. These are people with new motorcycles and flashy tattoos that just want to show off.)

Customer #1: *showing his friends his arm* “Look at this tat, man. Knife through the heart, and then through an eye. I wanted to show that I’m tough and all, but I wanted something new, so I asked him to add the eyeball.”

Customer #2: “I got an eye, too. It’s on the palm of my hand. Like the monster from that maze movie.”

Customer #3: “Aw, man. I could never get anything on my hand. That’s gotta hurt like s***.”

Regular: *to himself* “P***y.”

(Unfortunately, the three overhear. They jump up and surround the man.)

Customer #2: “What, you think you’re so tough? You think your tats are so bada** , huh?”

(This particular customer is in fact ‘so tough’. He looks old, but he’s a retired police officer.)

Regular: “At least my tattoos have some kind of meaning to them.” *rolling up his sleeve, pointing to tattoos* “Dead kid. Took a gang off the street. Arson.”

Customer #1: “You murdered a kid?!”

Regular: “Nope. Showed up when somebody else did.” *rolling up his other sleeve to reveal a badge tattoo* “Because of this.”

(Realizing he’s a former policeman, the wannabe customers recoil.)

Customer #3: “Pig!”

Regular: “If I still had my nightstick I’d—”

(Suddenly, the owner’s elder mother appears.)

Elderly Mother: “Ruhe!” *all four turn to stare at her* “Well, that’s what they used to say to us if we made a fuss about our tattoos, you know.”

Customer #2: “You got a tattoo, lady? What is it, a ball of yarn?”

(With that, the mother rolls up her sleeve to reveal a concentration camp tattoo.)

Elderly Mother: “No, just a number.”

Customer #1: “What does that even—”

(Customer #2 suddenly realizes what the tattoo means. He immediately drops some cash on the table, grabs his wannabe friends, and heads out the door at a breakneck pace. The regular? He sits there for about ten minutes staring at his own tattoos, before finally finishing his food and leaving… but not before leaving behind a hundred dollar tip.)

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