Fast(Food) Becoming A Problem

, , , , , , | Working | June 28, 2017

(I very rarely hit up fast food restaurants as I don’t care for their food. I had to rush out the door this morning, though, and decide to grab some breakfast as I have a long day ahead of me.)

Me: “Hello! Can I get a number 10, the two-sausage breakfast burritos, please?”

Worker: “A number 2? Okay.”

Me: “No, sorry, a number 10.”

Worker: “Oh. Okay. We have ranch, bbq, and honey mustard. What kind of sauce would you like?”

Me: “For the burritos? Hot sauce, if you have any.”

Worker: “Hot or mild?”

Me: “Hot, please.”

Worker: “Mild?”

Me: *just wanting to get out of here at this point* “Mild is fine.”

Worker: “What to drink?”

Me: “An iced coffee with sugar free vanilla, please.”

Worker: “A caramel coffee. Anything else?”

Me: “No, sorry, an iced coffee with sugar free vanilla… That’s everything.”

Worker: “Okay, your total is [amount much higher than the menu price].”

Me: *hits head on steering wheel*

Welcome To The Hotel Exaggeration

, , , , , | Working | June 27, 2017

(I used to work at a very prestigious five-star hotel in Central London. Naturally with the territory comes some guests who, in my experience, were impossible. This is however not that kind of story. I am currently an hour into the morning shift when my service phone rings. The call registers from the front desk.)

Me: “In-Room Dining. [My Name] speaking.”

Front Desk: “Hi, [My Name]. Can you go to [Guest Room] and help [Affluent Guest] out, please?”

(Note: Affluent Guest, as I would soon find out, was a regular at this hotel. She also established a reputation with most if not all the hotel staff as being incredibly demanding and impossible to please. This is the first time I am dealing with her.)

Me: “Sure. What is the problem, may I ask?”

Front Desk: “You know? I actually haven’t got a clue, mate. Is this your first time dealing with her?”

Me: “The guest? Yes. Yes, it’s the first time.”

Front Desk: “Okay, just to let you know she’s VERY impatient and extremely rude, so be careful, okay?”

Me: “Thanks for the heads up. I’m on my way to the room now.”

(I hang up and head up to the floor that Affluent Guest is on. On the way I cross paths with one of the housekeeping associates.)

Housekeeping Associate: “You going to [Affluent Guest]’s room?”

Me: “Yeah.”

Housekeeping Associate: *rolls eyes* “She’s craaaaazy. Don’t let her get her way!”

Me: “I won’t.”

(I’m a little bit concerned about how much of an issue this particular guest is perceived as, but for benefit of the doubt I just put it down to exaggerations on the hotel’s part. I find the room, knock, and then enter to see a frail, old Chinese lady sitting on the sofa.)

Me: “Good Morning, ma’am. My name is [My Name]; I understand you’re having some sort of issue with your room?”

Guest: “Hello, my dear. Yes, I cannot get the window to open, see? And it’s very hot in here!”

(From the moment I walked in I could feel the humidity. On this particular summer day in London, the heat was out in force.)

Me: “I see. Unfortunately, ma’am, because we are on the seventh floor, the windows are locked shut for your own safety. Have you tried your air conditioning?”

Guest: “I have, my dear. But I don’t know how to work it properly.”

Me: *starting to get a little bit concerned* “Okay… has anyone else came to the room to help you?”

Guest: “Yes, but they didn’t do as I asked. They thought I wanted to change rooms! All I want is to get the air conditioning working.”

Me: “Of course, I completely understand, ma’am. Let me see what I can do for you.”

Guest: “Thank you so much, young man.”

(I go over to the A/C unit and realise that not only is it not on, it’s also broken. In regards to the guest, the perception of her being anything but pleasant has completely faded away at this point, but I’m more so concerned that this elderly lady was allowed to sit in such heat for such a long time.)

Me: “Okay, ma’am. I realise what’s the problem. Your A/C unit here is not working for whatever reason. Did anyone else check the unit?”

Guest: “No, not at all!”

Me: *stunned at this* “Okay. Here’s what I’m going to do now for you. I will be calling the engineers to the room to see if they can fix the A/C. In the meantime, I would recommend you go down to the restaurant on the second floor. We have air conditioning down there so you can cool off and relax whilst the problem here is fixed. I’ll also ask the restaurant to have a cool drink waiting for you to make up for the issue. How does that sound, ma’am?”

Guest: “That sounds very nice! Thank you for your understanding. May I have your name?”

Me: “You certainly can. It’s [My Name].”

Guest: “Thank you, [My Name]. I will be leaving a message about your conduct tomorrow before I leave. Thank you so much for your time!”

Me: “It’s my pleasure, ma’am. Have a nice day!”

(I left, happy that I was able to resolve the guest’s problem AND shatter the pretensions of nearly everybody else about that guest, and all because I didn’t over exaggerate her issue, and instead treated her problem as something that was easy to fix in less than an hour. Never let other people’s perceptions cloud yours.)

Would Jew Risk It?

, , , , , , | Working | June 27, 2017

(My family and I are driving to Idlewild for a mini vacation, and stop at a local restaurant on our way to our cabin. We sit, are greeted pleasantly, and chat with the waitress. All perfectly pleasant, until we try to order. My mother wants to know if a particular soup has pork in it, as the meat is not specified on the menu.)

Mother: “Excuse me, could you tell me if there’s pork in this soup? Or pig of any kind?”

Waitress: “Oh, let me go check.”

(So far so good. She comes back out with the cook and the apparent owner.)

Cook: “We don’t cook this with pork in it. Can I ask why you can’t have pork? Is it an allergy?”

Mother: “No, it’s a religious thing. We’re Jewish.”

(The cook and the owner, as well as the waitress, all appear deeply confused and affronted. We try to explain the religious abstention from pork and other such forbidden foods, explaining it is our preference, not something we advised for everyone.)

Waitress: “Jewish? Well, that’s stupid. Why can’t you just eat the pork. It’s perfectly good food!”

(We were stunned, offended, and quickly left, paying for our food and throwing out the soup soon after, on the off chance they did actually put pork in it.)

Evolving To Avoid Tipping

, , , , , | Working | June 26, 2017

(When visiting a friend we go to a local restaurant. While we’re waiting for our order, I’m telling him about my aquarium and a certain fish I have.)

Me: “So the betta is actually able to breathe air directly. They evolved to survive in a rapidly changing environment. Repeated floodings and stuff.”

(A wild waitress appears with our order.)

Waitress: *glares at me*

Me: “Thank you.”

Waitress: “Hmpf!”

(We’re both rather confused, considering she’d been nice enough when she took our order. When we want to pay up, I decide to pay since my friend had invited me the last time.)

Waitress: *still glares at me*

Me: “Is there a problem?”

Waitress: “You’re very rude!”

Me: “Excuse me? How am I being rude?”

Waitress: “You’re trying to impose your beliefs on me!”

Me: “I what?!”

Waitress: “I don’t believe in evolution! And you’re yelling about it all the time!”

Me: “Are you serious? First of all, I wasn’t yelling. And second, I wasn’t even talking to you!”

Waitress: “Well, you should consider that there are people who don’t believe in that stuff, so you shouldn’t talk about it!”

Me: “I don’t even… Are you serious? Look, just let me pay up and we’ll leave.”

Waitress: “Fine!”

(She gives me the bill. I cross out the tip part and pay.)

Waitress: “What? You didn’t write down any tip!”

Me: “I find it very rude that you’re trying to impose your beliefs on me!”

Waitress: “What? What beliefs?”

Me: “I don’t believe in tipping.”

(She was furious but shut up. We left.)

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The Architect Of Their Demise

, , , , | Working | June 26, 2017

(I am alone at the insurance company.)

Agent: “We have a plan if you miss work due to accident or illness.” *gives details* “Would you like the plan for just yourself or for your wife, too?”

Me: “My wife would like the plan.”

Agent: “Okay. We need details on both your work. This is just for accident or illness.”

Me: “Your plan doesn’t cover my work so it’s just my wife.”

Agent: “You don’t work?”

Me: “Just babysitting for family, friends, and neighbors. You don’t cover that.”

Agent: “Yes, we don’t. So what job do you need covered?”

Me: “Junior architect at [Company].”

(Fast forward until the contract.)

Agent: “Your wife actually needs to sign the contract herself.”

Me: “Not a problem, she can come in later.”

Agent: “This one is yours, though. Check over it carefully and sign when ready.”

(A minute passes.)

Me: “Hey. Why is my wife’s work plan under my name?”

Agent: “You’re not the architect?”

Me: “No. My wife is the architect. I gave you all this information.”

Agent: “And she babysits, too?”

Me: “No. I babysit!”

(The agent was very confused but eventually adjusted the plans properly.)

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