They Really Want It To Be Another Day

, , , , | Right | July 9, 2018

(I am a server, and our restaurant has just opened for lunch. I’m currently on the patio, setting roll-ups on each table. There is a customer reading our display menus a few feet away.)

Customer: “What is your soup of the day?”

Me: “Today, it will be Guinness Cheddar.”

Customer: “Thanks, I’ll be back with my wife.”

(He returns twenty minutes later with his wife, and asks for a table outside. And as soon as I direct them to a table, I put menus down and he asks:)

Customer: “So, what’s your soup of the day?”

Me: “I believe it is still Guinness Cheddar.”

(I go back inside.)

Me: “[Other Server], table 63 is all yours. They just sat down, and have asked me what the soup of the day is twice already.”

Server: “No problem.”

(He goes out to greet the table, and a couple minutes later, comes back inside laughing.)

Server: “They both asked me what the soup of the day is!”

A Physical Education

, , , , , , , | Learning | July 7, 2018

(I was always a clumsy kid, and as such, I’ve experienced my fair share of broken bones. Sixth grade is the first time I’ve ever needed crutches, and, because I am smaller and am considered “weird” by the other kids, I have been dealing with a lot of bullying. A boy steals one of my crutches during gym class for the second time in a week and humiliates me by poking me with it and telling me to chase him for it while the class laughs. I end up in the office, filing an incident report, and it is far from the first I’ve ever filled out.)

Administrator: “Honey, has this been going on for awhile?”

(I nod, still in tears.)

Administrator: “Okay, listen up, baby girl. Next time that boy tries to take your crutch, you have my full permission to take the other one and smack him upside his head with it. Nobody should be treating anybody like that.”

(I was stunned. When the kid got back from in-school suspension two days later, he tried to do it again, calling me “a little snitch b****.” I did what I was told to do, though I missed and ended up hitting him across his backside. He started to cry, and his mother came in the next day to complain, but was promptly told that it was done in self-defence and that he had been harassing me for months before this. The mother threatened legal action, but never went through with it, and the boy never bothered me again. I loved that administrator for sticking her neck out for me.)

Time To Slap Both Your Hands On Your Face And Scream

, , , , | Right | July 6, 2018

(I’m a cashier. I would describe myself as tall and blond, and I have only one hand.)

Customer: “Has anyone ever told you that you look like a celebrity?”

Me: “Once in a while. Which one are you thinking of?”

Customer: “One of the guys from Home Alone. Hmm…”

Me: “Oh, which character?”

Customer: “One of the crooks.”

To Sleep, Perchance To Downward Dog

, , , , , , | Learning | July 5, 2018

(My roommate and I are best friends, and as such, we’ll end up staying up much later than we should just laughing and hanging out. Our sleep schedule is kind of messed up, but we’re trying to fix it. Our grades are good despite this, I should point out. One of our other “friends” — really just a girl whose existence and company we tolerate at times because she’s unbearable to be around for long — of her own accord, decides that we can’t be left to our own devices and need a “motherly figure,” as she put it. I’ve pulled an all-nighter to finish studying for a test. It’s eight am, and I have just eaten breakfast and crawled into bed for a two-hour nap, exhausted, when the girl starts pounding on our door. We ignore her at first.)

Girl: *peeking through a crack in our window blinds — the dorm rooms are a converted motel* “I can see that you’re in there! Open the door! NOW!”

Me: *mumbling through my pillow* “This isn’t happening.”

Roommate: “I’ll get it.” *she opens the door* “What do you want, [Girl]?”

Girl: “Get up! We’re going to morning yoga! I’ve signed us up, and since you guys obviously can’t take care of yourselves, I’m going to make you. Get dressed! Let’s go!”

(I snap. I’m less than nice when sleep-deprived, and she’s been pulling this kind of crap for a while now. It isn’t a nice gesture; she is going about it as if she is our savior or something and it’s a burden to do it.)

Me: *face still buried in pillow* “First of all, you can’t make us do jack-diddly squat. And second, I swear, if you don’t leave us the h*** alone, I will personally throw all 90 pounds of you off of the balcony and take my happy a** right back to bed.”

(I didn’t get to see her face, but my friend described it as “thunderstruck.” She sputtered and quickly left, thankfully leaving us alone for the rest of the semester. We honestly weren’t bad enough to warrant the need for someone to “fix” us. Our sleep schedule was a little off, that was it. Oh, and I made an A on the test! That all-nighter was definitely worth it.)


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Obama-Drama Is An Art Form

, , , | Right | July 3, 2018

(I work as a hostess and cashier at a popular casual restaurant that serves breakfast all day. The customers are mostly older and middle-class, and usually pretty friendly. I am cheerful with them and make small talk as they pay their bills on their way out. On one occasion, a couple of seemingly pleasant older ladies come up to pay, and we get to talking about how I am also trying to make money doing commission artwork.)

Guest: “That sounds lovely. So, you do paintings?”

Me: “Yes, I’ve taken all kinds of commissions. Usually people give me a photo or something, and I’ll make a painting out of it. But I can do all sorts of things.”

Guest: “I’ll tell you what I’d like to see: Obama, swinging from a tree.”

Me: *speechless*

(The ladies finished paying and left, while I stayed silent, completely caught off-guard. Sometimes you never can tell when good ol’ southern racism will rear its ugly head.)

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