You Say Potato, I Say Disgusting

, , , , , , , | | Working | May 17, 2018

(I can’t eat gluten, which makes eating at restaurants a pain. I normally just make my own meals, but my mother-in-law wants to take me out to lunch, so I find a nearby restaurant with gluten-free options. We sit down, I ask for the gluten-free menu, and we both order. Our meals arrive, including dishes of baked apples. The service hasn’t been great, and my mother-in-law is already looking for a fight when I start to eat my baked apples and see something pale and mushy floating in the cinnamon sauce.)

Me: “Um… What is this?”

Mother-In-Law: “Let me see.” *fishes around in the bowl with a fork and grimaces* “That’s hash brown casserole. They must have reused the spoon. Does the casserole have gluten? Are you going to be okay?”

Me: “I’m not sure; I only checked things I was going to order—”

(My mother-in-law has already run off to get a manager. She returns with the manager and they’re arguing.)

Manager: *holds up the gluten-free menu and points* “It clearly states right here that we can’t take responsibility for allergies. It’s a shared kitchen, and we can’t guarantee anything. Your health is not our responsibility ,and if you can’t accept that, then you shouldn’t be eating out at all!”

(He is nearly shouting and my mother-in-law looks ready to explode. Finally, I manage to interrupt.)

Me: “What if I didn’t have an allergy?”

Manager: “What?”

Me: “What if I we’re just a regular customer who thought it was sort of disgusting that you’re using dirty spoons in the kitchen and leaving old potato in my dessert?”

Manager: “Oh… I… I’ll go talk to the kitchen.”

(He came out a few minutes later and said that he couldn’t comp my meal, but would remake my food free of charge. I politely declined. I have no interest in eating anything that comes out of that kitchen, ever again.)

Gluten Out Of Ten For Ignorance, Part 3

, , , , , , | Working | May 16, 2018

(My son loves going to a pancake restaurant. I, on the other hand have a gluten allergy and it is therefore a very difficult place for me, but I agree to try it. I ask for an allergy menu, which they do not have, but the manager comes over to talk to me.)

Me: “Hi, I have a gluten allergy and can’t have anything with wheat in it.”

Manager: “No problem. We took wheat off the menu. We no longer use wheat in the pancakes.”

Me: “Then what do you put in your pancakes?”

Manager: “Buttermilk.”

Me: “What holds the buttermilk together and makes the pancake?”

Manager: “Just regular white flour.”

Me: “Um, regular white flour is made from wheat.”

Son: “Mom, you win. Let’s go someplace else for breakfast.”

Gluten Out Of Ten For Ignorance, Part 2
Gluten Out Of Ten For Ignorance

The Biggest Plague In This Store Is You

, , , | Right | May 16, 2018

(I’ve just been getting over a nasty cold. I am still a little worn out and have a bit of a runny nose. Because of this, I have tissues with me and take care to use them if I need to. This takes place while I’m looking for dish soap and other cleaning products.)

Old Woman: “Excuse me, you need to leave!”

Me: “What? Why?”

Old Woman: “You’re disgusting, spreading disease all over the store; I will report you for this!”

(The woman then follows me around for five minutes, ranting and insisting I’m going to infect her, that I’m sickening and that I need to leave. I start out by interjecting several times that I have tissues with me, that I’m not really sick anymore, and that I’m just looking at cleaning products and not touching or being near food. She eventually leaves before quickly coming back with a confused-looking worker.)

Old Woman: “Here she is. Make her leave!”

Worker: “I’m sorry, ma’am. What is it you’d like me to do?”

Old Woman: “She is filth. She’s been infecting the entire store, rubbing snot everywhere, and she will make me sick and I might die. Tell her to leave!”

Worker: “I can’t; she’s not doing anything wrong, ma’am.”

Old Woman: “I will file a complaint. I will have your job! And YOU!” *turns to me* “You make me sick and I hope you die.”

Me: *finally fed up* “Lady, shut up and leave me alone before I blow my nose on your ugly f****** jacket.”

(The worker started laughing, and the old woman left, screaming about how filthy I was and how I was going to kill everyone around me.)

Periodic Jerks Are An Occupational Hazard

, , , , | Friendly | May 15, 2018

(I work as a cashier at a grocery store. In my line there are two people, both males in their late teens or early 20s. [Customer #1]’s items are a box of maxi-pads and ice cream. [Customers #2] starts laughing.)

Customer #2: “Look at him! Is it that time of the month for your girlfriend, or are you a [transgender slur]? And what’s with the ice cream? Cheating on your diet or somethin’?”

([Customer #1] is not particularly muscular, but definitely not out of shape. After I scan his items, he turns to the guy and glares at them.)

Customer #1: “Not that it’s any of your business, but my little sister got her period for the first time. She’s the only female in the house, so we didn’t have pads on hand. I’m also buying her favorite ice cream to cheer her up, since she wasn’t looking forward to it.”

([Customer #2] turns red and goes to another checkout.)

Me: “Your total is [total] and thank you.”

Customer #1: “For what?”

Me: “For putting him in his place. That guy buys condoms almost every week, brags about his girlfriend, and yet flirts with every female cashier, myself included.”

Customer #1: “I feel bad for his parents.”

Kindness Is Sewn Into Them

, , , , , | Hopeless | May 15, 2018

When my daughter was seven weeks old, she was diagnosed with a medical condition that required wearing an ugly harness under her clothes to fix her dislocated hip. This meant that she had to get a load of specialised clothing to fit over the top, and a lot of the lovely things we’d been given as gifts when she was born were no longer useful.

I’m quite handy, so I managed to make a lot of clothes for her, but I was still disappointed by the loss of some lovely clothes, in particular one trousers-and-top outfit with little ducks on it. I wondered if I could modify the little trousers, and my mum suggested writing to the company, a small independent one, to see if they could send me some scraps of fabric to fill in the gaps. I sent them an email, explaining the situation, and they got back to me right away asking how much I needed.

Thinking I was likely to only get tiny offcuts, I asked for just a foot square. I offered money, but they refused to take any. A few days later, I got a full metre square in the post — enough to make a whole new pair of modified trousers — and some little t-shirts, too. I also didn’t have to take apart the existing trousers, so when she came out of the harness a few weeks later, she could go back to wearing them. That company is now one of my favourite places to buy baby clothes.

Finding out that your tiny baby is unwell is such a frightening experience, but it’s amazing how willing people are to help you out.

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