Where Is The Dislike?

, , , , | Right | August 21, 2017

(I run a walking food tour and recently put out a competition for someone to win a double pass on the tour, including lots of delicious food bought for them along the way. It was a Facebook competition and people had to ‘Like’ our page, ‘Tag’ a friend, and ‘Share’ the post. You’d think it would be fairly simple, except some people would put extra comments in.)

Me: “Don’t forget to Like our page, Tag a friend, and Share the post, to give you a chance to win!”

Customer: “I tag [Name #1] and [Name #2] and [Name #3]. We would love this. We need some fun and great eating at the moment because our 18-year-old brother was killed in a car accident last Saturday.”

Me: *to a friend* “Well then, now I will feel guilty if I don’t give it to them, but who says that just to win a prize?

The Charitable Thing To Do

, , , | Working | August 17, 2017

(My grandmother has developed dementia. This means my dad and his siblings have to do a lot of her administration. My mother has been doing her taxes for the longest time and she has complained about the long list of donations to charities my grandmother has been doing every month, as this apparently makes her taxes very complicated to deal with. For this reason, and because we can’t know for sure if my grandmother is still supporting these charities, my dad, as her legal representative, decides to cancel almost all charity donations. However, as my grandmother didn’t keep much track of them herself, and did some as she had already started to develop dementia, some of them cause quite funny conversations.)

Dad: “I would like to cancel the monthly donation from [Grandmother’s Account] please, as [Grandmother] has developed dementia.”

Charity #1: *searching* “Ah, I see the donation; however, it is under a different name. Does [Grandfather] approve of the cancellation, too?”

Dad: *starts laughing* “Well… [Grandfather] has been dead for… how many years now?”

(At this point I enter the room.)

Me: “18 years.”

Dad: “18 years, my daughter says.”

Charity #1: “Ah, I see. I guess he does approve. We’ll cancel it for you and you’ll receive a confirmation email.”

Some Customers You Have To Bear With

, , , , | Right | August 16, 2017

(The fast food restaurant where I work is located on a busy road with deep woods behind the building. Our dumpsters are located on the edge of our parking lot, closed in with fencing. I am cashing out a woman and her two small children (under five years old), the only customers in the building. My coworker, who had just been running out the trash bins, runs into the building through the side door and SLAMS it behind her, peering over her shoulder.)

Coworker: “[My Name]! There’s a BEAR in the dumpster!”

Me: *forgetting there are children* “Holy s***, no.”

Coworker: “I went to open the fence to the dumpster and a BEAR climbed over the side wall and ran into the woods!”

(My manager grabs the phone in the office to call the police or animal control while my coworker is still peering out towards the woods to see if the bear comes back.)

Me: *turning to the customer and her kids* “Well, ma’am, I’d say you’re going to have to stay in a while. I don’t feel safe letting you out of the building. I’ll get you some sodas, too, for the trouble.”

Woman: “I can’t stay here! My dog is in the car with the windows open. What if she sees the bear and starts barking? The bear could come back and get into the car to get the dog, or the stupid dog might jump out of the car and run after the bear!”

Me: “I… see… Where are you parked?” *hoping she was parked on the front end of the building facing the highway away from the dumpsters*

Woman: “It’s the blue van.” *this is parked on the same side of the building as the dumpsters*

Coworker: “OH, MY GOD, HE’S BACK!”

Me: *internally swearing*

(The woman is absolutely INSISTENT on leaving, so my coworker and I go out with her, my coworker keeping an eye out for the bear once he wandered back into the woods. The woman’s car is parked roughly twenty feet away from the side door, so I grab one child by the hand and she picks up the other, and we get the kids in the car quickly, buckle them up, and my coworker and I wave her off once we run (nearly peeing our pants) back into the building. An hour later my shift ends and I make my way out of the building toward my car. Two cop cars have arrived by that point to make sure that anyone who pulls in stays far away from the dumpsters and the woods and to make sure the bear doesn’t come back. I am parked right up along the dumpsters, so I talk to one of the cops as I got into my car.)

Cop: “Did you call in for the bear?”

Me: “Not me; my manager. I didn’t see the bear myself. Have you?”

Cop: “Yeah, it was a little baby bear.”

Me: “Oh, god, that’s even worse. Who knows what kind of mood Mama Bear is in?!”

Cop: “Yeah, I just had to try to explain that to some crazy woman with two babies. When we pulled in they were walking up the hill with their dog because they went into the woods to take pictures of the baby bear.”

Me: “They– Wait, WHAT?!”

Cop: “Yeah, see, they knew about the bear but when she saw it was a baby bear she said the staff was ‘being ridiculous,’ so she parked again to let her kids see the bear and they went down the hill. My supervisor yelled at her about endangering her children and molesting the wild life and stuff.”

(So to recap: I escorted this woman and her kids to the car, basically volunteering to be HUMAN BEAR BAIT if necessary so her kids could be buckled up and get home safely, and her response was to say “Screw it. I’ll just FEED MY KIDS TO THE BEAR.”)

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’re Not Playing Around In That Playground

, , , | Right | August 12, 2017

(I’m about six years old. My grandparents operate a big, Oktoberfest-y beer garden with up to 1000 visitors a day, and a connected playground. When I visit for the summer I am always eager to help. Since they can’t have a child running around behind the tills, they invent the job of ‘playground supervisor’ for me and tell me to see that everybody is having fun. I’m doing just that when I see a kid shove another kid from the swing and spit on him.)

Me: “Hey! You can’t do that!”

Rude Kid: “Shut up! I can do whatever I want!”

Me: “No! That was bad! Please apologize and let him back on the swing…”

(In the same moment I feel the hand of an adult violently grabbing me by the arm and yanking me to the nearby registers. My grandpa, who was standing behind it, sees this from afar and already comes around the front of the till.)

Rude Adult: *to me* “You’ll be sorry for that!” *to my grandpa* “This spoiled brat was rude and insulted my child and me! I want you to throw him off the premises alongside his useless parents or I’ll give him the whipping he very clearly needs! And I want you to comp my meal for the hostile environment you exposed my child to!”

Grandpa: *quietly by visibly furious beneath the surface* “[My Name], why don’t you go back to the playground?”

(I turned around and went back to the playground but still could see that it was dawning on the rude woman that she made a terrible mistake. A few moments later an employee came and escorted the rude child alongside his mother and her friends out of the beer garden. I don’t know what was spoken but they looked mortified and I’ve never seen them back in the years since.)

1 Thumbs
1,033
VOTES
Page 1/1912345...Last
Next »