What A Total Pitch

, , , , , | Right | November 10, 2017

(I am the late-night manager and cook at a restaurant which also has a really good “dive” bar. One guy gives his credit card and orders for everyone. I am sitting at the bar and listening to him interacting with my bartender.)

Patron: “Can I have a pitcher of [Beer]?”

Bartender: “Sorry, sir, we don’t have drafts. We only have bottles.”

Patron: “But you do have pitchers, right?”

Bartender: “Yeah.”

Patron: “Can I have a pitcher of [Beer]?”

Bartender: “We don’t have beer on tap.”

Patron: “But you do have pitchers, right?”

Bartender: “But…”

Patron: “Why can’t you give me a pitcher of beer?”

Bartender: *fed up* “Okay, whatever.”

(The bartender proceeds to open bottles of said beer, pour it into a pitcher, and hand it over to the patron.)

Patron: “See, that was easy. You could have done that a long time ago and saved us time.”

(The patron comes back a while later.)

Patron: “Can I have pitcher of Long Island Iced Tea?”

(The bartender gives me a confused, “help me” look.)

Me: “Sorry, sir, we don’t serve cocktails by the pitcher.”

Patron: *turning towards bartender* “Can I have a pitcher of Irish whiskey?”

(The bartender proceeded to slam his head on the bar.)

In His Eyes It’s Not So Cut And Dry

, , , , , , , | Right | November 9, 2017

(As my three other coworkers are drying cars off outside, an older man and a boy around five years old walk up to our blow dryers inside and look in. After finishing up the car we are drying, I approach them to see if they need anything.)

Older Man: “See? That’s what the dryers look like.”

Young Boy: “Th-that… is so… coo-cool!”

(They both see me coming over.)

Older Man: “Hello there, young lady! My grandson would like to know what the dryers feel like. Can he go in there for a moment?”

(I glance at the child, who is bouncing up and down at the moment, and it is obvious to me now that he has some sort of disorder.)

Me: “I wouldn’t recommend it; those dryers are extremely powerful and loud. Especially with cars coming through, it’s very dangerous to be in there right now. You can stand out here and observe, but don’t go in, please.”

(At this point, another car has arrived at the outside drying station, so I run back to help. As the car pulls away, the blow dryers turn on for the next car. All of a sudden, a loud scream is heard. We all glance over to see the boy standing in the middle of the dryers, clutching his hands to his ears and screaming. He isn’t moving out of the way of an approaching truck. I sprint over, pick him up, and get him outside. The grandpa appears from around the corner.)

Older Man: “DON’T TOUCH MY GRANDCHILD! What do you think you’re doing?!”

(I immediately put the boy out of harm’s way and back off, just as the giant truck comes out.)

Me: “He was standing in the middle of the dryers! Why didn’t you stop him?”

Older Man: “I let him go in there while I grabbed my phone out of my car!”

Me: “You let him? Even though I just got done telling you how dangerous that is?!”

Older Man: “It’s not dangerous; it’s just a large hair dryer, duh. I should be asking you what gave you the right to pick him up!”

Me: “Sir, those dryers are meant for cars, not people. It’s more similar to an airplane engine than a hair dryer. Besides, your grandson was about to be run over and sucked into the conveyor belt below. And he was screaming and crying from the noise, as well.”

Older Man: “No, you were assaulting him! I will sue you for this!”

Me: “…”

A Self-Serving Why

, , , , , | Right | November 9, 2017

(I am serving at the returns desk. To the far end of the tills is a staff-only area where we sort out the clothing into appropriate sections, sort lost property, etc. All floor staff need access to this area and, as such, often walk back and forth behind the tills whilst tidying up.)

Customer: “I don’t understand why people keep walking behind you; they should be on the tills serving so I don’t have to wait so long.”

Me: “Unfortunately, for security reasons, not all staff are allowed on the tills. Each till is only operated by one person, because if multiple people used the same till money could be stolen and the store wouldn’t be able to tell who it was. Therefore, those people are not allowed to use these tills.”

Customer: *irate* “Yes, yes, yes I get that. But I still don’t understand why they can’t serve me.”

(I had to grit my teeth not to point out I had just told her why.)

Trying To Resuscitate Their Knowledge

, , , , , , | Learning | November 9, 2017

(My coworker has just returned from a three-day first aid course, so he can be qualified as the first aide for our pool and gym. On his first day back, we are discussing how his course went.)

Coworker #1: “Oh, God, the course was so boring. I had to fight to stay awake the entire time.”

Me: “Was there nothing that interested you?”

Coworker #1: “Well, the guy who took the course did say he had done something from the course a lot of times.”

Coworker #2: “Resuscitate someone?”

Coworker #1: “No something else, to help keep them alive.”

Coworker #2: “Resuscitation?”

Coworker #1: “No, it was something else! The main thing we learned.”

Coworker #2: “That’s resuscitation!”

Coworker #1: “CPR! He had done CPR to save people!”

Coworker #2 & Me: “What do you think the ‘R’ stands for?”

Coworker #1: “…”

Me: “Please tell me you didn’t sleep through the course.”

(We don’t plan to leave him as the sole first aide of the gym any time soon.)

A Bunch Of Regular A**holes

, , , , , , , , | Right | November 8, 2017

(I operate an ice cream parlor in a small seasonal family resort. Business is slow and the shop is intended to be run by one person. Ice cream is served in the customer’s choice of a cup or in one of three different types of cones, which are stored in plain sight, right behind the ice cream freezer. A couple walks into the shop; they are my only customers at the time.)

Me: *genuinely happy, because these are the first people I have seen in a while* “Hey, guys! How are you doing today?”

(Neither of them responds; they just walk up to inspect the different flavors visible through the glass freezer. I don’t really let it get me down; this happens a lot.)

Me: “Let me know what I can get you, whenever you’re ready.”

Woman: “Cookies and cream.”

Me: “Sure thing! In a cup or a cone?”

Woman: “Cone.”

Me: *I point to each of the types of cones on display as I say their names* “Sure. Would you like a sugar cone, cake cone, or this big waffle cone for an extra 50 cents?”

Woman: “Regular.”

Me: “Sorry, which type of cone? I have this smaller sugar cone here on the left, this flat one in the middle is the cake cone, and this big one here on the right is the waffle cone that costs an extra 50 cents.”

Woman: “I said, ‘regular.’”

(She jabs her finger vaguely in the direction of the entire rack of cones from the opposite end of the counter, but I have no way of telling which one she’s pointing at. I make a judgment call based on my best guess at where she pointed and pick up a cake cone.)

Me: “Sure, would you like one scoop or t—”

Woman: “No, d*** it. Listen to me. I want a regular cone. Regular. I’m speaking English here!”

Man: *to me* “Yeah, dude. Come on, she said it three times now. Are you having a bad day or something?”

Me: “Woah, hey. Different people mean different things when they say, ‘regular.’ I’m just trying to get you what you want. Is that the small sugar cone on the left, or the big waffle cone on the right?”

Woman: *yelling* “I DON’T CARE WHAT OTHER PEOPLE MEAN! I’M AN AMERICAN AND I WANT A REGULAR F****** CONE. I AM NOT SOME [RACIAL SLUR]. I AM SPEAKING F****** ENGLISH. REGULAR! REEEEEEGUUUUULAAAAR!”

(My patience is wearing thin. I carry the whole cone rack over and put it on the counter in front of her.)

Me: “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to stop yelling. I still don’t know what kind of cone you want. ‘Regular’ isn’t one of the options, no matter what country you come from. The small cone on the left is the sugar cone. The big cone on the right is the waffle cone. Say one of those words, or point to one, or leave. Those are your choices.”

Woman: *points to the sugar cone, which is the smaller one of the two* “That one! The regular cone! We call that a regular cone in America!”

Man: “How do you work in an ice cream shop and not know that?”

(I scoop her the ice cream and try to recollect myself before handing it to her.)

Me: “There you are. Sorry about the confusion. Can I get you anything, sir?”

Man: “Yeah, rocky road on a big regular cone.”

(I guess correctly that “big regular” means “waffle,” since at least he used some sort of descriptive word for me to go by. I scoop his ice cream and ring them both up. The man pays for them both with cash, and I hand him back the change.)

Me: *in complete cheerful customer service autopilot* “There’s your change. Have a nice day!”

Woman: “F*** you.” *she grabs the man’s hand with the change, fishes through it, extracts two pennies, and slams them angrily into my tip jar* “Here’s what your customer service was worth to me!”

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