No Such Thing As Judgement-Free Pizza

, , , , | Working | January 8, 2018

(My coworker and I love giving each other crap, and some of the stuff we say to each other can be alarming to others. We are rearranging the office. Before the move, I had a cubicle in the back corner, so I was able to snack without anyone seeing. Now, I have a desk right by the front door.)

Me: “I don’t know if I like this change. I can’t eat discreetly anymore.”

Coworker: “Why do you have to be discreet? Do you think people are keeping track of how much you’re eating?!”

Me: “Maybe.”

(Every time she passes my desk and I’m snacking:)

Coworker: “Wow, eating again? I better write that down.”

Me: *evil glare with pizza in my mouth*

Putting The Ice Into Sacrifice

, , , | Right | January 4, 2018

(I am working concessions at the cinema. Company policy is that we put a certain amount of ice in every cup and then the fountain dispenses the right amount for that size cup. I have just handed a woman a large [Soda]. Note: We do sometimes top the drinks up a bit more, though we are not required to, as long as the customer is polite.)

Customer: “Excuse me, this is all ice.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we are required to put that much ice in unless asked otherwise.”

Customer: “Well, I want a new one with no ice.”

Me: “Not a problem, ma’am.”

(I remake her drink for her.)

Customer: “Why isn’t this filled to the top?”

Me: “Our fountains automatically dispense the correct amount in to the cups.”

Customer: “But it’s nowhere near full. There was more in the other one.”

Me: “There is the same amount of [Soda] in both cups; the other one looks like more because of the ice.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous. I demand my drink for free!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry but I gave you what you paid for so I can’t give it to you for free.”

Customer: “This is so stupid.”

(The customer then pours her drink all over my counter and throws the cup at me.)

Customer: “Now get me another one and make it right.”

Me: “Okay, ma’am; that’ll be £3.29, then, please.”

Customer: “I’ve already paid for it!”

Me: “No, you paid for the one you just poured all over my counter. Since you purposely spilled it I am not required to replace it. If you want another drink you have to pay.”

Customer: “F*** you!”

(She stormed out of the cinema. She complained about getting a £3.29 drink for free, but had no problem leaving without watching a film she paid £9.39 for.)

Don’t Know What They’ve Been Eating On That Ranch

, , , , | Right | January 4, 2018

(A woman and her teenage daughter approach the order counter.)

Me: “Hello, what can I get for you today?”

Mother: “I’ll have the Caesar salad.” *to her daughter* “What will you have, honey?”

Daughter: “What’s on the Chicken Bacon Ranch?”

Me: “Um, chicken… bacon… and ranch?”

(The mother burst into laughter as her daughter turned bright red.)

Geographically-Challenged Anxiety

, , , , | Working | January 4, 2018

(Due to anxiety, I don’t have a driver’s license, though I’ve been working to overcome it. This means that while my parents are away, my brother has to give me rides to work. It’s Saturday morning, and he’s dropping me off on his way to visit a friend. Suddenly, I start panicking.)

Me: “[Brother], did I turn the stove off?”

Brother: “I’m sure you did.”

Me: “But what if I didn’t? No one’s home. The house could burn down!”

Brother: “You’re being paranoid. You didn’t leave the stove on.”

Me: “Please, we have to check!”

Brother: “If we turn around, you’ll be late.” *annoyed* “Fine! I’ll go back and check after I drop you off.”

(I settle down and get to work on time. Soon after, I get a message from him, telling me that the stove was off. Relieved, I get on with the day. Lunchtime comes, and my manager takes her break. She pops into the break room, then goes into the back office. I think nothing of this, as she often goes into the office during break to talk to her new boyfriend. Ten minutes later, as I’m helping a customer, I smell something off. I run into the break room to find it full of smoke, and a smoldering lump in the microwave. After making sure the fire’s out, I calmly walk past curious customers into the back office.)

Me: “Hey, [Manager]? Just thought you should know, your food has been reduced to a carbon form.”

Manager: *looking up from her phone* “Huh?”

Me: “Your food was on fire.”

(She sprints past me. She had been so distracted by messaging her boyfriend that she set the timer to 40 minutes instead of 4. The store now reeks of smoke and burned food, and the microwave is busted. She buys me lunch, since I now can’t cook my own, and I settle into the back office to eat. I pull out my phone and call my brother.)

Brother: “What’s up?”

Me: “You know how I was freaking out about the stove being on and the house burning down?”

Brother: “Yeah?”

Me: “Well, my boss’s food just caught fire in the microwave. The store is full of smoke.”

Brother: “Oh, my God! Are you okay?”

Me: “Yep. I just wanted to let you know I am not paranoid. I just had the wrong place and the wrong time.”

Pound Some Beers, Not The Staff

, , , , | Right | January 3, 2018

(I’m hostessing at a restaurant near a very well-known theater and we have just emptied out after a massive rush. We ran out of a certain beer and in midst of the craziness, we forgot to take down signs on our revolving door advertising the said beer we ran out of. A group of loud intoxicated people come in the revolving door. With some back and forth — I have trouble understanding them — I finally get them seated at a table.)

Me: *to their server* “Heads up, they’re really drunk.”

Server: “Got it, thanks.” *the servers determine if intoxicated people can be served or not*

(He heads over to the table. The next thing I know, one of the drunkest, burliest men is yelling at the server and I catch “sign” and “door” and the name of the beer we ran out of.)

Server: *to me as he walks quickly to get a manager* “He’s upset because we don’t have that beer were advertising on the door.”

(The manager goes over and apologizes for our mistake and explains we are just bouncing back from a packed house that had an hour-plus wait. The drunk angry man stands up and starts swearing, and my equally burly manager kind of guides him to the door and asks him to leave. The drunk guy keeps screaming about false advertisement and then starts RIPPING off all the signs in the revolving door, as he’s going through it.)

Manager: *while the few remaining guests stare* “Well, at least he saved us the trouble of taking them off that door.”

(Luckily we all got a good chuckle, especially at the immaturity of that man.)

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