A Handy Comeback

, , , , | Right | April 19, 2019

(I work in a popular, fairly cheap bakery and food-on-the-go retailer in the UK. We have a range of sandwiches, including several we can heat, but those are packaged in obvious brown packaging. We can’t heat any other sandwiches because of the ingredients.)

Customer: *handing me a cheese salad sandwich* “Hey, can you toast this for me?”

Me: “No, sorry, sir. We can only toast the sandwiches in the brown wrappers.”

Customer: “You won’t toast this one?”

Me: “No, sorry. Did you still want it?”

Customer: *pauses* “How am I supposed to eat it, then?”

(This isn’t said aggressively, but rather as if he’s utterly confused about this conundrum.)

Me: “Most people eat them with their hands; I don’t know about you.”

(There was a moment of stunned silence, and then he paid and left. Thankfully, my manager thought it was absolutely hilarious and I didn’t get written up!)

Aren’t They Just A Ham?

, , , , | Right | April 19, 2019

(At our deli, we have to change gloves whenever we switch from handling a meat to handling a cheese and vice versa. As such, we go through fewer gloves and move the line quicker if we slice as much of one product as we can before switching, so I’ll often gently try to guide the customer into ordering based on what I handled last. This exact interaction happens several times daily.)

Me: “Hello! Thank you for your patience! Are you ordering any cheese today?”

Customer: “Half a pound of honey ham.”

(I change gloves and slice their ham.)

Me: “Anything else for you today?”

Customer: “A quarter-pound of American cheese.”

Egg-Citing Times When Mom Is Away

, , , , , , | Related | April 17, 2019

When I was young, my mom ended up going out of town for a couple of days, leaving my dad and me to fend for ourselves. At some point during this time, we decided to hard boil some eggs to make egg salad sandwiches for lunch. Unfortunately, neither of us knew how long the eggs should boil — this was before the Internet, so we couldn’t Google it.

I remembered hearing the phrase “three-minute egg” before, so we decided to try that out. Alas, that turned out to be the correct time for a soft-boiled egg and the yolks were still liquid. We put most of the eggs back on to finish, but there was one egg that we’d already peeled before we realized this, and we weren’t sure what to do with it. We didn’t want to put a peeled egg back in the pot, but there was a microwave just sitting there…

Common wisdom states that the egg would now explode in the microwave, but that isn’t exactly what happened. After a minute or two, the egg looked fine and I guessed it was probably done, so we decided to cut it up. I put it on the egg slicer — the kind with an array of metal wires — and pushed down to slice it.  

In my memory, this is the point where things seemed to happen in slow motion. I remember that the egg seemed a bit resistant as if it was more rubbery than it should be, so I pressed down harder. I also vividly remember hearing a soft hissing noise caused by the escaping steam and the sudden realization that something was about to go very wrong. Before I could act on that feeling, however, there was a loud ka-boom!

When everything settled down, it turns out no one was injured, but it was a massive cleanup job. As the egg exploded, it exploded through the wires of the slicer and shredded itself, tossing tiny bits of egg all over the kitchen and even into the dining room next to it.

My dad and I cleaned up everything we could find, finished making our sandwiches, and decided that we didn’t really need to mention this incident to my mother when she got home. However, our secrecy was all for naught, as almost as soon as my mom walked in the door she asked, “Did something happen in the kitchen?” She was slightly shorter than my dad and me, and she was standing there looking up with a puzzled expression, trying to figure out why there were tiny bits of egg yolk stuck to the underside of the cabinets. We came clean immediately, and thankfully she got a laugh out of our culinary incompetence.

Since then, I’ve often wondered if I could standardize the process and create a weaponized egg that explodes on impact. The engineer side of me wants to try it out just for curiosity’s sake. However, the adult side of me can’t really think of a good use for such a thing that would be worth the extensive cleanup involved. I suspect I’m destined to never know more details about how to create such a unique egg explosion.

Let’s Wrap This Meal Up

, , , , , , | Related | April 15, 2019

(Sometimes on a Friday night, when my mother-in-law is on her way home, we decide to get from a local pizza place from dinner. I’m always the one to call it in, unless I’m not home, obviously. My mother-in-law says she wants a chicken cheesesteak wrap, and my husband and I decide to share a pizza. I call the order in and they ask if we want tomato and lettuce on the cheesesteak. I say yes because the last time she got a wrap she was upset because it had no lettuce on it. The following happens when we sit down to eat at home:)

Mother-In-Law: “You guys got pizza? [Husband], I said I would have eaten pizza.”

(This is the same woman who never wants pizza)

Me: “Do you want the pizza? I’ll eat the wrap.”

Mother-In-Law: “No, I’m hungry.” *unwraps the wrap* “Why does this have lettuce and tomato on it? I never get tomato.”

Husband: “I’m not eating.”

(He slid his paper plate across the table at his mother and went into the bathroom. I sat there and ate my pizza. He finally came back and ate. After dinner, I went upstairs and thought how grateful I was that I’d be visiting my friend in Tennessee for a couple of weeks, and I wondered how they’d get along without the house “secretary” to call in their orders. Then again, I wouldn’t put it past them to call me in Tennessee to call the stupid order in. They never have before, but hey, there’s a first time for everything.)

Not Really Getting To The Meat Of The Issue

, , , , | Right | April 15, 2019

(I work at a restaurant that caters to the vegetarian and vegan crowd. I answer the phone.)

Me: “Hello. This is [Restaurant]; how may I help you?”

Customer: “Hi. I was calling to make a reservation for a party of seven for next Saturday.”

Me: “Sure, shouldn’t be a problem. We have tables available for 5:00 or 8:00 pm that day; which would you prefer?”

Customer: “Eight will be fine, but I have a question. Does [Restaurant] serve any meat dishes?”

Me: “I’m afraid not, sir.”

Customer: “Are you serious? Not one thing? My daughter wants to eat there for her birthday; what am I supposed to do?”

Me: “Well, uh, I’m certain there’s something on our menu that you’d enjoy.”

Customer: “Probably not. So, how come you folks need to have your vegetarian dishes at regular restaurants, but you refuse to cater to us?”

Me: “Sorry, I couldn’t tell you. What we serve is the owner’s decision, not mine. So, did you want to cancel your reservation, then?”

Customer: “Nah, I’ll just eat before we go.”

Me: “…”

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