Making Italy Great Again  

, , , , | Right | December 2, 2019

Hostess: *in Italian* “Hello, sir, welcome to [Restaurant]!”

Customer: *in English* “Godd*** it, speak English, for God’s sake! Stop this barbaric dead language!”

Hostess: *switching to English* “I’m sorry, sir, but this is Rome, and most people here speak Italian.”

Customer: “Why? They should speak the good, proper language of English, not this freak stuff.”

Hostess: “But, sir, we are in Italy. Most everyone here speaks the language of our country.”

Customer: “Well, they shouldn’t. They’re just dumb to not learn our language as well as their own.”

Hostess: “Well, sir, how many languages do you know?”

Customer: “Just English. Good old English, like we all should.”

Hostess: “Well, I’m sorry, sir, but we cannot serve bigoted a**holes. Goodbye.”

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Unfiltered Story #178390

, | Unfiltered | November 28, 2019

( my mother is in the queue at the grocery waiting to do her shopping. There is a customer in front of her. Customer has quite an annoying way of placing her order…)
Customer: “Give me 2 kilos of oranges, but check that there are no moldy ones in there. Also one kilo of apples, and make sure that they don’t have spots. Oh, and two fennels, but only if they are fresh… etc…”
(Customer finally completes her order and walks away.)
Grocer: “How can I help you?”
My mother (loud enough to be heard in the while shop): “Well, since the good stuff has already been bagged, give me your moldy oranges, bad apples, and whatever else is rotten…”

Your “Opinion” Is Colored With Flaws

, , | Right | November 12, 2019

(The customer in this story is an old acquaintance of the company CEO. He will show up randomly with odd demands like a few cans of oil or to have weldings done. In addition to being a deadbeat payer and generally wasting everyone’s time, the customer is also rude and prejudiced.)

Customer: “Oi! Is [Company CEO] in? I need to ask him a question.”

Me: “He’s at a meeting now; I don’t know when he’ll be available.”

(I’m hoping that the customer will just leave, but he just loiters in our office, making small talk, even though there’s a waiting area in the hall. The CEO comes out of the meeting room, still talking with one of our foremen, who is a person of color.)

Customer: “Oi! [CEO], I need some…”

CEO: “Hi, [Customer]. Sorry, I’m busy right now; I’ll be coming down to talk to you in five minutes, okay?”

(The CEO goes upstairs; the customer keeps hanging around.)

Customer: “There are just too many [racial slur]s around these days. I’m sorry if that offends you; it’s just my opinion. I hope none of you is a foreign worker.”

(My coworker, who has a citizenship but was born in Argentina, and is the CEO’s cousin to boot, chimes in.)

Coworker: “No hay problema: estamos todos de aquí!”

(“No problem: we’re all natives,” in Spanish!)

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Not So Perfectly Done

, , , , , | Learning | September 9, 2019

In middle school, I had a terrible art teacher. She would do nothing other than screaming and insulting our drawings.

For the summer break, she gave us homework: a single drawing, but it had to be perfect. I wasn’t that good at the time, so I worked very hard on it and it took me the entire three months of break.

We came back to school and the moment came to show her our work. All she told me was that the drawing wasn’t good and that I had to do it all over again for the week after. 

Of course, I had no intention of doing the work of three months in one week — it would turn out even worse, anyway — so all I did was add some shading to it, but it was basically the same.

I showed it to her the week after and she gave me a B… after bragging about how she could tell if we put effort into our work or not.

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Bombarded With Booze

, , , , | Related | May 14, 2019

(My family and I go on holiday to ski, and we do the usual skiing holiday stuff: go down slopes, stay in chalets to eat and rest, gather for dinner in an osteria, and so on. I am only a few years old, so most of my time there is spent with a ski teacher, but one day my mom leaves me in the care of my 14-year-old sister and her tagalong friend. After spending most of the afternoon going down gentle slopes and playing in the snow, my sister and her friend decide to stop at a bar for a bit. We are in Italy.)

Sister: “Hey, [My Name], you want hot chocolate, right?”

Me: *nods*

Sister: “[Friend], go pick up two bombardini and a shot of vodka.”

Me: “What’s a bombardino?”

Sister: “Hot chocolate with whipped cream!”

Me: “Oh.”

(I trust her on that and wait at the table. Then, my sister’s friend comes back with two tall glasses full of a brown liquid topped by whipped cream, and a tiny glass of clear liquid.)

Sister: “Here. Be careful, it’s hot!”

(I take a sip. I immediately feel a very, very bitter taste in my mouth, as my stomach churns and my mouth feels cottoned. I get up in a panic and run outside the bar’s palisade before stopping, kneeling, and vomiting profusely. My sister’s friend runs up to me.)

Friend: *yelling* “Why did you actually let him drink it?!”

Sister: *shocked* “I didn’t think alcohol could be that bad for him.”

(For the uninitiated, a bombardino is a cocktail composed of eggnog, brandy, coffee, and whipped cream. When I got back to the hotel, I looked absolutely miserable, my mom forbade my sister from watching over me for a long time, and I got a distaste for alcoholic drinks.)

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