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Their Hearts Were No Longer In It

, , , , , , | Right | October 30, 2017

(I work in a very busy restaurant in the “function room.” This room holds ten tables of ten seats each. I always work alone in this section. I find many large tables so much easier to manage and serve than lots of smaller, two-seat tables. A table is celebrating a birthday. All guests at the table range from ages 18 to 25, and they have been “playing up” pretty much all night, making stupid requests, like asking for another serviette because the one they had wasn’t folded the same as another or sending a meal back to the kitchen because they decided they wanted what the person next to them was having. You know, those type of guests!)

Birthday Boy: *handing me a pen, which you have to click at the top to use* “May I please have your autograph? I get everyone I meet at my birthday dinner to sign a serviette.”

Me: *feeling a little chuffed to be asked* “Sure, I’d love to.”

(The customer hands me the pen, and I go to “click” the pen to make it work, and in fact it isn’t a pen but a small shock-emitting device. Once it shocks me — which isn’t a small shock, mind you! — everyone at the table starts to laugh, finding it so funny to shock a complete stranger.)

Me: “Ouch! That wasn’t a very nice thing to do!”

Birthday Boy: “Oh, it’s funny. See? Everyone is laughing!”

Me: *wanting to get my own back at him for shocking me, and for being so rude all night* “No. It’s not a nice thing to do! Let me tell you why. Three years ago I was diagnosed with a heart defect, and I now wear a pacemaker. The shock you just gave me could have put me into cardiac arrest! I don’t know what ‘manners’ your parents taught you, but young man, don’t ever do that to another person again. You don’t know their medical history; you don’t know anything about them.”

Birthday Boy: *looking like he has just seen a ghost* “Oh, I am so, so, so, so sorry. I didn’t know! Oh, geez, I feel so terrible now.”

(The whole entire table is now as quiet as a mouse, looking down and feeling terrible.)

Me: “Good. Now you know not to do that stuff again!”

(I walk out of the function room and into the kitchen and tell the restaurant owner what has just happened. He is ready to go and kick them all out when I stop him.)

Me: “Nope. Just leave it. I have a feeling my words did enough damage.”

(For the rest of the night, the table was the most perfectly-mannered table I had ever served. When it came time for them to leave — after they helped me clear off their table! — they called me over. They had already paid their bill, and they asked me to please close my eyes. Not trusting them, I told them I’d rather not, but [Birthday Boy] insisted, promising me nothing bad would happen. So, I played along, and someone took my hand and put it upright. Knowing what the feel of money is, I knew they were putting notes into my hand. Each and every single person at that table gave me a tip, and at the same time they all said “sorry.” My little “white lie” about having a pace-maker earned me $265 in tips! Ka-ching!)

Whistle To Make You Bristle

, , , , | Right | October 30, 2017

(A customer walks into the shop and sees all three staff members serving customers. He starts to whistle at someone working in the back, who is also serving, to get their attention. The staff member ignores him since they are already with a customer. A senior staff member finishes up and addresses the whistling customer, who is trying to get his attention now with more whistling, no “hello” or “excuse me” or anything.)

Staff: “Do I look like a dog?”

Customer: “What?”

Staff: “Do. I. Look. Like. A. Dog?”

Customer: “No, but I am in a rush.”

(The manager has overheard everything and comes out to see the customer.)

Manager: “Hey, buddy. We’ll get you taken care of, but first, go outside, and then come back in and treat my guys like they’re human beings. You don’t treat my staff like animals.”

Customer: “You’re joking, right?”

Manager: “No. My guys will not serve you until you do. No one serves him until he comes back in.”

(The customer walks out. The staff expect him to keep walking, but he comes back in.)

Customer: “Hi, sorry about before. I want to place an order.”

I Wash My Hands Of You!

, , , , , , | Working | October 27, 2017

(I am in high school, and I work for a major fast food chain. We have a sink near the grill area where employees wash their hands. One of my coworkers constantly gives me a hard time about how often I wash my hands. Normally I am a quiet and non-confrontational person, but today I have had enough:)

Coworker: *seeing me heading towards the sink* “Look, [My Name] is going to wash her hands again. What, are you OCD or something?”

Me: *angrily* “I have just wiped down every table in the lobby, swept and mopped the floors, cleaned both bathrooms, and taken out all the garbage. Do you want me touching your food?!”

Coworker: *stammering* “Uh… No.”

(He never bothered me again.)

Missed The Point Of Missing Class

, , , , , , | Learning | October 27, 2017

(I’m a junior in college. I’m a biology major, but I’m taking my first ever physics class, 200-level, this semester because I’ve been trying to space out my general education classes. A few weeks before classes start, I contact all of my professors to let them know that I’ll be missing one class so I can stand up at my sister’s out-of-state wedding. Most of my professors are completely fine with it, and accept that life stuff happens, but my physics professor is furious, and, without ever having met me, tells me I can’t miss any classes and I need to find a different section. The only problem is that he’s the only professor teaching the class I need. After I talk to the chair of the department, the professor finally, grudgingly, allows me to take the class. This happens when I’ve come back from the wedding, after the class gets out, around 9:00 pm.)

Professor: “[My Name]! Wait! I want you to know how disappointed I am that you missed class, and that you don’t care about your education. I can tell you have great potential, but you need to apply yourself! Join a research lab! Make your classes your priority! I’ve had so many students like you, such potential, but they just aren’t as involved on campus as they should be; they never find their mentor or put in the time they should…”

(He continues in this vein for at least twenty minutes, almost without taking a breath, and I finally decide to see if I can find a spot to cut in.)

Me: *as soon as he pauses for breath* “I appreciate it, Professor, and I know you’re disappointed I missed class, but I couldn’t not be at my sister’s wedding. I do need to get going tonight though; I need to stop by my research lab and make sure the pH of the tanks hasn’t gone too high and check the concentrations of our last round of samples so I can send the results to [Mentor], and I need to stop by my campus job and pour the micromedia culture plates for the virology class tomorrow, and I still need to finalize the room reservation for the blood drive [Honors Group] is hosting next week, and confirm the volunteers for the free tutoring sessions [Other Honors Group] is hosting. This is why I try not to miss days; the classes usually aren’t a problem, but catching up on my research and work? That’s a pain.”

(He looked faintly stunned. I wasn’t making any of that up either; it was a busy couple of days catching up after I got back. Don’t go making generalizations about people you don’t know, though!)

Cause And Defect

, , , , , , , | Right | October 26, 2017

(I work as a hostess and cashier in a 24-hour diner while in high school. One of the waitresses is basically the epitome of all diner waitresses; she’s in her 40s but looks older, she has a gravelly, whiskey-and-cigarettes voice, she takes no crap from anybody, she’s very popular with all our regulars, and she’s absolutely unflappable. It’s a weekday in the summer, late evening, after the dinner rush but before the bars close and all the drunks come to us, so it is quiet. My manager and I are standing behind the main counter near the cash register talking, and [Waitress] has just refilled coffees for three guys in a booth and is standing there chatting, holding the half-full coffee pot in her right hand. She is mostly talking to the two guys on the left side of the booth, and apparently the guy on the right side thinks he isn’t getting enough attention, because all of a sudden he reaches out and grabs her butt cheek.)

Me: “Oh, my God, [Manager]! Did you see? That guy just groped [Waitress]!”

(The manager heads for the gap in the counter to go intervene — I don’t think he knows what is coming, just that it won’t be pretty — but without even missing a beat in her conversation, [Waitress] just turns her hand over and pours the entire remaining contents of the coffee pot into the groper’s lap.)

Groper: “F***! S***! You b****!”

(At this point, one of his buddies “helpfully” tips his glass of water into the groper’s lap, and my manager is laughing so hard that he has literally fallen on the floor. The ice water bath does cool the guy’s scalded scrotum enough that he is able to get up and come yell at someone less likely to conk him with the coffee pot than [Waitress], and as [Manager] is still on the floor and thus out of sight, that’s apparently going to be me.)

Groper: “Did you see her pour coffee on me? I want her fired!”

(I am a particularly baby-faced 16-year-old at this time, so how he thinks I have the authority to fire anybody, much less this waitress literally old enough to be my mom, is beyond me. I look to my manager for help, but he’s still down, laughing so hard he’s wheezing. Nonetheless, I’m pretty sure he’ll have my back if I need it; he’s like that.)

Me: “Yeah, I saw it, right after I saw you grab her butt. We don’t have to put up with that.”

Groper: “You… I… She can’t! I’ll call the cops! Yeah, that was assault. I’ll call the cops!”

Me: “Well, I guess you could. Or you could just hang around; there’s usually a couple of them dropping in around now for some coffee before they go round up drunks. They like to sit in [Waitress]’s section, so that’ll be convenient. You can tell them your version, and we can tell them how she was so startled her hand slipped after some pervert grabbed her butt, and we’ll see which one they think is assault.”

(At this point the guy just shrieks and stomps out. One of the busboys who’s come out of the back to see what the commotion is about starts to run after him, since he’s walking out on the bill, but our manager, who has managed to regain his feet, waves him off — it’s just coffee, not worth chasing an angry customer into the dark. Meanwhile, the other two guys who were with him come up to the register, and even though they’ve gotten separate checks, they pay his, too, so that works out.)

Groper’s Buddy: “Sorry about him. His girlfriend dumped him, and he’s totally been acting like an a**hole.”

Me: “I think you might have your cause and effect switched around there, but yeah, okay.”