The Terrible Twos At Twenty Thousand Feet

, , , , , , , | Friendly | August 28, 2019

I am flying home from Spain with my two-year-old son. The airline gave us the option of pre-selecting our seats beforehand to ensure that I would be next to my son.

However, bizarrely, our seating arrangements put me on the window and him on the aisle with a space in between.

I try to appeal to the stewardess but she tells me that I will have to ask the person who was assigned the seat if they will move.

Just before takeoff, a group of lads boards the plane. They are wearing matching shirts. All of them look worse for wear and are clearly coming home from a stag do/lads holiday.

One of the lads comes and sits in the seat between me and my two-year-old. I ask nicely if he wants to move to either the aisle or the window, but he declines. In fact, his exact words are, “Don’t rabbit on at me, love. I’ve had a long week and I just want to sleep off some of these drinks.”

Fair enough.

What follows is what I can only describe as a nightmare to a childless, 21-year-old male with a hangover.

My son decides that this new man is his best friend. He asks him every question under the sun. He tries to get him to play Paw Patrol and help him with his colouring. When the drinks trolley comes around, the man has to help him with his drink as I can’t reach.

This goes on for an hour before I get up and take my son to the toilet.

When I get back to our seats, the man has silently moved to the window seat and fallen asleep against the glass.

I did warn him.

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The Greatest Grump In England

, , , , | Right | August 27, 2019

(I work in a hotel. I’m working overtime, I’m sorting out all the loose ends, and I’m tired. A guest comes in to check in, starting a long queue of other guests. Oh, yes, it’s a busy night.)

Me: “Well, sir, here’s your room. Just go down the right hallway and it’ll be on the top floor.”

Guest: *grumble-grumble*

(Oh, yes, this will be a good one, I think. Sure enough, he comes back five minutes later.)

Guest: “That room has one bed in it; I will not be subject to sleeping in a bed with another man!”

(It is at this point I realize he HAS another guest with him, silently standing in the background. His room is a single room.)

Me: “Well, sir, I do have rooms left with a truckle bed. If you’ll allow me to go make one up for you, I’ll sort it.”

Guest: “Well, you’d better. I have to get to Leeds in the morning. Good night guarantee, my a**!” *grumble-grumble-grumble miserable*

(I make the bed up, which takes about forty-five minutes because guests keep hitting the buzzer, and we HAVE to respond to that the second we hear it go off. A regular guest comes to check in.)

Regular: *to the grumpy guest* “Have you been sorted, mate?”

Guest: “I hope so, after waiting a bloody hour for this girl to get things sorted.”

(I just smile, say I’ve got it sorted, and give him the key to the room. I finish checking the regular in and I sit down to move rooms around. Lo and behold, the guest comes back yelling at me.)

Guest: “I’m not a bloody child! That bed is too small! Good night’s rest, indeed! This isn’t fair, you know! I’m over fifty years old; I don’t need to sleep in a bed that small! You need to call your manager and get this sorted right now! And what’s more? I won’t be waiting in the lobby for you. I’m going to go wait in the room and sit on that small bed while you sort it. It’s your job to sort it.”

Me: “Yes, sir, I’ll let you know what happens.”

(He stormed off, cursing and blaming me for all his problems and whatnot. After sorting things out with the manager, I finally managed to get him a room with a sofa bed the size of a twin bed — which is bigger — and I moved him. He accepted this and I went back to my desk to move him around again. Then, I discovered, to my amazement, that this wasn’t our fault at all. The company the grumpy guest works for had booked the room as a single after all. And if you book a room where it says, “Double/triple/quad as a single,” and we don’t have anything in the double/triple/quad type, we will put you in a single room because there is supposed to be ONE person in the room. So, I called my manager to let her know, and she said she’d be sorting that company out. I love my job.)

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Two Movies About A Time Warp

, , , , , , , | Friendly | August 25, 2019

It was Halloween and the local theatre was playing The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

My best friend and I dressed up. He went as Rocky and I decided to dress as Frank N Furter. We went all out.

When we arrived at the cinema, the usher told us that there was a half-hour wait before the screen would open to allow us inside. The film did not start for forty-five minutes.

My friend and I waited in the coffee shop past the ticket check with all of the other Rocky Horror fans, when I noticed that some people were going into the screen we had been directed to. I made a comment and my friend dragged us after the people so we could choose some good seats before they were taken.

We pushed open the doors — my friend in his golden hot pants and body glitter, me as a sweet transvestite — to a completely full theatre, waiting for the tail end of the season’s most popular action movie.

Rather than turn tail and run, my friend suddenly clapped and remarked that he hadn’t seen the film. He pulled me into a seat and I slowly sank deeper and deeper as we watched the last ten minutes of Looper.

So many people turned around in their seats to catch a glimpse of us in costume, and whispered to one another, that no one could hear the dialogue for the end of the film.

When the film ended, we stayed in our seats and watched Rocky Horror without an issue. When we got chatting to one of the ushers as we were leaving, they remarked that they had seen us slip into the theatre, but thought that the reactions we would get were too funny to bother stopping us.

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The Pluck Of The Irish

, , , , , , , | Working | August 23, 2019

(I work at an Irish pub owned by a management company. I am the assistant manager. Our general manager has come in recently and has not dealt much with the area manager yet. One day quite soon after Saint Patrick’s weekend — our busiest day of the year — our area manager comes in for a meeting with the two of us, as he occasionally does at random intervals, mainly to complain about stuff. It is worth noting that both the general manager and I are Irish, and the area manager is English.)

Area Manager: “So, why haven’t you put up those posters I asked you to put up?”

General Manager: “You sent that message this morning; we haven’t had time yet.”

(It is 9:00 am. The message to print and put up the posters came at 8:00.)

Area Manager: “Oh, I see. Typical f****** Irish, can’t do f******* anything we ask you, can you? Both of you are useless. F****** Paddies.”

(For a second, the general manager and I stare at each other, stunned. Then, the general manager stands. It’s worth noting he is huge, and towers over the area manager. Everything he says is delivered in a very calm, but hugely menacing voice.)

General Manager: “You get out of my pub, right now, or I’ll put you out through the f****** window.”

(The area manager seems to realise he’s made a mistake. He laughs nervously and looks at me. I’m pretty much a pacifist at the best of times, but this guy has been getting on my nerves for a while, and this is the last straw. I stand, as well.)

Area Manager: “And what are you going to do?”

Me: “I might open the window first.”

(The area manager left very quickly. He was later transferred to another area once my general manager complained and refused to work with him anymore. The kicker? The company was owned by an Irishman.)

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Little Kids Will Just Not Give It A Rest

, , , , , , | Right | August 23, 2019

(It’s 9:30 pm on a Friday night. We shut our cigarette kiosk at 8:00 pm, due to the fact that we usually don’t have the staff to run it and it’s pointless when only five or six customers want cigarettes between 8:00 pm and 10:00 pm. The kiosk has a sign stating to go to the customer service desk and an employee will come and serve you the cigarettes. I’m stood at the customer service desk, taking a quick swig of my drink in between stocking, when a little boy comes round from the direction of the kiosk.)

Little Boy: “My dad said to ask if you are taking a rest?”

(I blink, as the boy has said it innocently but the comment seems directed at the fact I appear to be just stood there, despite the fact that I just stopped for a quick drink.)

Me: “Um, did your dad want cigarettes?”

Little Boy: “No, he said are you enjoying your rest!”

(The boy goes back around and returns a moment later.)

Little Boy: “Also, my daddy says he wants cigarettes.”

(I sighed and went round to serve him. The dad looked a bit sheepish, as he obviously didn’t intend for his son to relay his sarcastic comment/question!)

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