Being Cool, It’s In Her Jeans

, , , | Right | February 20, 2020

(I’m a young woman with an alternative, kind of gothic-like taste of clothing. Today, I happen to be at a kind of a “girly” store — the place where people generally least expect me to be — and I’m wearing black flared jeans that are covered with rings, chains, and straps. A little girl, about four years old, approaches me.)

Girl: *staring in awe at my jeans* 

Me: “Hi there. You like my jeans?”

(The girl rushes to her mom, pulling her shirt to get her attention.)

Girl: “Mommy, mommy! That lady wears weird pants! But they’re cool! Oh, Mommy, can I get those, too?”

Mother: “When you get older, hun. I don’t believe they come in your size.”

(She then smiled at me, and the little girl looked like I’d made her day. Well, she made mine by thinking I look cool! A welcome relief to all the usual loathing looks, that’s for sure.)

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Frosted Coffee Gets A Warm Welcome

, , | Right | February 19, 2020

(In my first month at the job, I struggle a lot. I am having a hard day one day and I am putting on my best cheeriness and being as happy as I can, overcompensating really. A lady and her teen daughter about my age come through, and they order a frosted coffee.)

Me: “That always sounds good; what does it taste like?”

Customer: “It tastes like a frappuccino.”

Me: “Oh, then I definitely need to try one!”

(I left to go make her drink. When I brought her drink out to her, they handed me a receipt. They had gone up to my coworker and bought me a frosted coffee AND THEN went to my manager to make sure I got it after my shift and that he knew they paid for it. It made my night!)

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Elton John’s Early Adventures

, , , , , | Friendly | February 15, 2020

(Two friends and I are the tender age of 18 and decide to go out clubbing for the first time. We find a club, we party, we drink… waaaaay too much. We decide to leave but can barely make it down the stairs. I have a vague recollection of someone shouting, “Call an ambulance!”, but us shooing them away saying we are fine. So, there we are, standing at the edge of the main street of the busy clubbing area, dozens of people walking past us, with no idea how to proceed as we are all too trashed to even work out how to get home. After a while, a man dressed in sparkly trousers, crazy yellow glasses, and a white furry coat, carrying a speaker and another couple of large bags, comes to talk to us.)

Man: “Are you guys heading somewhere?”

Us: “Yeah, we just need to get home.”

Man: “You look like you’ve had a big night. Where are you heading?”

Us: “[Suburb].”

Man: “Okay, well, if you don’t mind coming via [Other Suburb 15 minutes from ours], we can share a cab, and then I can drive you home.”

Us: *with, apparently, no idea about personal safety* “Oh, that would be so good. Thank you!”

Man: “It’s all good. I’m a DJ; I’ve just been playing at [Nearby Club]. I see people like you guys all the time; it’s kind of refreshing. I’m happy to help.”

(He gets us a cab, loads his stuff in the back, opens the passenger door for us and gets in the front. We try to be polite and ask about his DJ-ing, but none of us can make much coherent conversation. We get to his place and get out of the cab, which he jumps in to pay for before any of us can offer.)

Man: “If you guys just want to wait on the path, I’ll just get my gear inside and get the car.”

(He returned in five minutes with his car, we piled in the back seat and gave him the address, again trying unsuccessfully to converse, and we were soon at our destination, all of us trying not to fall asleep or vomit. We got out, the man wished us well and drove off, and we all somehow managed to get into the flat and collapse on the floor for the next ten hours. Twenty years later, my friend and I still refer to this man as “the angel.” We couldn’t remember his DJ name so we were never able to track him down and soberly thank him or pay for the cab fare. Our night could have ended horrifically. We were unbelievably lucky to have such a nice, honest, decent bloke come to our aid in our moment of need. He never even said anything to make fun of us for our predicament — which would have been totally warranted. The world needs less drunk teenage idiots and more blokes like this guy.)

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When Phoning In The Customer Service Is A Good Thing

, , , , | Right | February 10, 2020

(I visit a certain pizza place almost weekly. Most people know me by now and also know my regular orders.)

Server: “Hello, your regular order?”

Me: “Yes, please. Are there any promos going on?”

Server: “Yes, we have a 2+1 promo going on. You get three and pay for two.”

Me: “Nice, what are the conditions?”

Server: “Oh, it’s for when you call in your order or order it through the website.”

Me: “All right, too bad I’m not at home. Just my regular order, then.”

(The server puts in the order and I notice the price is a lot lower than usual.)

Me: “Eh, did you get everything?”

Server: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “But the price…?”

Server: “I don’t know what you mean, ma’am. I just took your phone order.”

Me: “My… phone order?”

Server: “Yes, ma’am, but you’re here very early. You just ordered by phone and you are already here! But we’ll start your order right away!”

(She smiled really brightly, letting me know what she had done. I hope she won’t get into trouble and we enjoyed our free pizza!)

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A Dollar Difference Is All It Takes

, , , , | Right | February 7, 2020

(I’ve worked at a local grocery store for two years, mainly as a cashier. I have just gone through a string of irate customers and am feeling mentally exhausted. Then, a kindly old man I recognize as a regular customer pulls up in one of the mobile carts. My smile changes from a forced one to a real one at the sight of someone friendly. He comes in late, usually, so I have plenty of time to scan him through, as well as bag his items for him, while having a pleasant conversation. He is known for pushing tips on those who help him. I’ve just finished bagging the last item and have placed it on the mobile cart.)

Me: “There you go, sir. Have a great day! I’ll send someone out to get your cart once you are finished.”

Customer: “Thank you, young lady. Here, this is for you.”

(He pulls a dollar out of his pocket and tries to hand it to me.)

Me: “Sir, you know we can’t accept tips.”

Customer: “Oh, come on. You all work really hard and deserve some extra money.”

Me: “Sir, this is really kind of you, but I must decline.”

(He then threw the bill at me — it landed on the bagging area — and drove away laughing maniacally.)

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