Every Racist Bone In His Body

, , , , | Right | October 19, 2018

(I am a manager at a particular restaurant with very high after-church trade. A well dressed fella enters, making it known to all that he’s the pastor of a local church. After sitting down, having a drink, and ordering a meal; he calls me over.)

Customer: ‘Go tell one of those [awful racist slur] to dig in the bin for bones for my dog.”

Me: *shocked* “Excuse me? One of those whats?”

Customer: *repeats racial slur and points at one of the waiters* “One of those things!”

Me: “Here we refer to people who deliver your food as waiters, not that. We don’t tolerate hate speech.”

Customer: “Well, just tell it to get me bones!”

Me: “Tell HER, and she has a name. You won’t like this but her job is not digging in dustbins and I neither can nor will I insist that she digs in bins. If you want bones, you’re welcome to get them yourself.”

Customer: “I’m a pastor and a customer! If I want a [racist slur] to dig in a bin for me, you damn well will make it happen.”

Me: “Sir, whatever you think of her is up to you. However, she is a human being, she WILL be treated with respect. I believe you might enjoy dining elsewhere. Please leave.”

Customer: “F*** you! You’re nothing but a [racist slur] lover. I’m reporting you.”

Me: “Be my guest. Goodbye.”

(Next day I got a call from head office. Turned out he did report me. Sadly for him, instead of a reprimand, they were well chuffed he got kicked out. The service agent he called also heard countless slurs used.)

Work For The Company For A Spell

, , , , | Right | March 31, 2018

(I work in a help desk environment, and the majority of the calls we get are for password reset.)

Me: “Help desk. [My Name] speaking.”

Caller: “Yes, I need my password reset, please. I can’t remember it.”

(I take the user’s details and provide her with a new password.)

Me: “The password is the name of the company you work for.”

Caller: “How do I spell that?”

Brush Off The Hearing Loss

, , , , | Related | August 12, 2017

(I’m playing with my two-year-old son when the following exchange happens.)

Son: “I want to play with the toilet brush!”

Me: “No! Yucky!”

Son: “The toilet brush! The toilet brush!”

Me: “I can’t let you. You can get sick.”

(Son runs to the main bedroom, which has an en-suite bathroom. I chase after him. My wife is in the bedroom.)

Wife: “Hey, what are you looking for?”

Son: “The toilet brush!”

Wife: “The story blocks? Sure, here they are!”

(Son happily walks out of the bedroom with his box of story blocks. I still don’t understand how I got what he said so wrong!)