She’s Just Jealous Because Her Left Hand Is Useless

, , , , , , | Friendly | January 26, 2021

I’m a Caucasian woman, and I’m rather lazily eating sushi and reading on my phone in a food court while waiting for a movie. Suddenly, a woman storms up to me, demanding angrily:

Woman: “Who are you trying to impress?”

Me: “I— What? No one.”

Woman: “Everyone can eat with chopsticks.”

Me: “Oh. Okay. Well, I’m just eating sushi. I’m not trying to impress anyone.”

Woman: “Yeah. ‘Cause everyone can eat with chopsticks.”

Me: “Okay. If everyone can use chopsticks, then how would I be trying to impress anyone?”

Woman: “You’re using your left hand!”

Me: “What? I’m left-handed.”

Woman: “That’s ridiculous.”

Me: “What?”

Woman: “Left-handed is for writing.”

Me: *Pause* “What?”

Woman: “Just because you write with your left hand, it doesn’t mean you have to show off.”

Me: “Seriously? I do everything with my left hand. I’m left-handed.”

Woman: “Left-handed people write with their left hand. You can do everything else normally. You shouldn’t show off.”

Me: “I— I’m sorry you think I’m showing off, but I really can’t use chopsticks with my right hand any more than you can with your left.”

She was so upset that I put my chopsticks and phone down and ate the last few pieces with my right-hand fingers.

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Not What You Expected Skinny Noodles To Be

, , , , , , | Working | July 8, 2019

(I am at a mall and decide to get lunch at the food court. I’m not up for fries and don’t feel like eating meat, so I take some fried noodles with veggies at a place with the usual westernized Asian fare. I get a plate and pay, then start to eat. After a couple of bites, I feel something in my mouth and pull a very long, thick, black hair from my mouth. I’m not the most squeamish person, but my appetite is gone. I decide to tell the lady who served me and is currently turning over the mountain of noodles they keep on their flat stove. She is not wearing a hat or hairnet, and has, well, quite a long, thick, black ponytail.)

Me: “Hi. I ordered these noodles and found a hair in them…”

(Almost before I can finish my sentence the lady barks back at me.)

Server: “That is not my hair. That is your hair. You put it in the food to get more free food!”

(I have a braid, but my hair is brownish-blond at the outgrown roots and a faded red in the lengths. It’s obviously not mine. The black hair is so thick, you can see it coiled on top of the yellowish noodles without having to look too close.)

Me: “Well, I can’t tell you whose it is, but it’s not mine. And I don’t want…”

(“…any free food; I just wanted to let you know!” is what I intend to say, but she again loudly speaks over me.)

Server: “No! You fat Germans always just want more food! Eat half and more, complain, and get another plate free!”

(She then TOOK THE PLATE from the counter between us and CHUCKED THE REST OF THE NOODLES at me! I instinctively stepped back but got some on my shoes nonetheless. I moved awkwardly and slipped on the saucy mess, falling rather unlucky on my hand. It hurt. A lot. I started crying and felt very shaken. A couple from a nearby table came over and some others got up, as well. Somebody told me to get up and sat me on a chair. Meanwhile, the server was shouting stuff in a language I didn’t understand. A guy in a suit from mall management came over and asked if I needed an ambulance. The man from the couple helping me talked to me, told me he was some sort of sports coach, and asked to see my wrist. He gently prodded it and moved it, proclaiming that it was probably not broken but I should get it checked anyway. I declined the ambulance; the suit-guy got me an ice pack from somewhere. They stayed with me until my boyfriend could pick me up, as I was still quite queasy, to drive me to the emergency room near our home. In the end, nothing was broken. The owner of the Asian shop contacted me through the mall and apologised a lot. He said his sister was going through some rough personal stuff and just snapped. I was almost sorry for her. But I will never enjoy Asian noodles without a bad feeling in my bones.)

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Getting Rid Of That Ingredient Is No Small Potatoes

, , , , , , | Right | June 25, 2019

(I overhear this conversation at a salad bar after grabbing some food during my lunch break.)

Customer: “Oh, and can I get no potato in that?”

Employee: “I’m sorry, no potato?”

Customer: “Yeah.”

Employee: “In your potato salad?”

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Feeding The Violence

, , , | Right | June 19, 2019

(I work in a food court. There’s a line for pick-up where customers can get their food previously paid for, though from time to time some entitled people think they can just cut in line. My coworker is helping the people in line when a woman walks up to the front of the line and slaps a ticket for a food item in front of him.)

Coworker: “Ma’am, please wait at the end of the line for your turn.”

Woman: *scowls, but goes to the back of the line*

(The line keeps moving until it’s the woman’s turn. My coworker reaches out to take her ticket, but she slams it on the counter.)

Woman: *impatiently* “Come on.”

([Coworker] hands her the food item, which she snatches out of his hand violently. The food item comes apart from the force and scatters all over the floor, leaving half of it in her hand. Most of the customers in line gape at the scene.)


(Before my coworker could speak, she stomped off. Turned out she went to get a manager, whom she screamed at. She didn’t get anything out of it, nor did she get her food. We’ve yet to see her again.)

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Give Them No Quarter

, , , , | Right | April 27, 2019

(I work in a fast food joint in a mall food court. We only have a partial menu due to the fact that the store has limited freezer space. This guy comes up to my register and is staring for a good solid minute before placing his order.)

Customer: “Yeah, I want a quarter-pound burger with cheese meal.” *nodding at the menu as if looking at said meal*

Me: “I apologize, sir, but we do not carry that meal at this location. We have a limited menu, as we do not have the freezer space to carry both the regular-sized patties and the quarter-pound ones.”

Customer: “So, you don’t have the quarter-pound burger meal?”

Me: “No, I am sorry. We do not.”

Customer: “Oh, okay! I will have a double quarter-pound burger meal, then!”

Me: “…”

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