Customer: “I heard about these Teslas and how advanced they are.”

Me: “Yes, they’re quite high-tech!”

Customer: “I saw the autopilot thing. That s*** really works?”

Me: “Depending on where you’re driving, yes, it works! It does come as a monthly cost, though, so—”

Customer: “You gotta pay extra? That’s annoying. I’m not even convinced it’s safe! What if it crashes? Do these things come with an ejector seat?”

Me: “Uh… no, sir, they do not.”

Customer: “So, that’s another extra I gotta pay for? Man, when you add in all the things you see in the ad, these things are really expensive.”

He walked away, leaving me wondering exactly what ad he saw where the Tesla demonstrated an ejector seat.

This happened about seventeen years ago in a major city in the very south of the Netherlands with a Renault dealership.

I had a new job, and we needed a second car. We bought a new Twingo, a car that went for about €12,000. There were two stipulations in the contract when we bought the car. The first was that we had to get financing through Renault. The second was that three years of maintenance were included. We financed a minor part for three years at 0% interest.

After the first year, I took the car for its first service. I had about 12,000 km on the odometer. When I dropped the car off, I was asked if there was anything that needed attention. I think I answered something like, “Do whatever you need to do…”

In the late afternoon when I picked up the car, three rather bulky men were standing behind the service desk. I remember that they were really focused on me when I was presented with the bill. The bill was for about €1,000. And for a one-year-old car with just 12,000 km! I immediately understood what had happened. They must have figured that they could inflate the bill with all kinds of nonsense maintenance actions since I had given them carte blanche, and to avoid any troubles, they made sure that I could be intimidated by having three people present.

Me: *Very friendly* “May I have my car key, please?”

Representative: “But you have to pay first!”

Me: “No, I don’t. Please may I have my car keys?”

Instead of enlightening them straight away, I kept going like this for a bit longer.

When things started to get a bit unfriendly, I reminded the representative that I had bought the car at this dealership, including three years of maintenance. All three guys turned a few shades paler. They frantically searched for the contract, whispering, and eventually moving away to the office out of earshot.

It took about ten minutes before the representative came back out and handed me my keys.

I ended up getting its third service just before the three years had elapsed, and as soon as I got the title to the car, I traded it in for a car of a different brand. And as you would expect, the bill for the second and third services was less than €300 to €400.

An older man and a teenager are at my checkout. One of the items they’re purchasing is a slab cake from our bakery with “Happy 16th Birthday!” written on it.

Me: “Happy birthday to whoever is turning sixteen!”

Teenager: “Oh, I am actually.”

Customer: “My nephew, turning sixteen! Can you believe it?! I told him I’d give him twenty dollars for every A he got at the end of the year, and he got nothing but A’s! Can you believe it?!”

Me: “That’s amazing, congratulations!”

Customer: “Yeah, he’s a hard worker.”

The uncle then spots a homeless man sitting outside the store — his usual spot. The uncle turns to his nephew.

Customer: “Work hard and get a good job, or you’ll end up a useless bum like him. F****** drain on society, I swear.”

I actually physically stop scanning items for a second, since the change of the uncle’s tone is so jarring. The nephew notices this, too, but doesn’t say anything straight away.

I ring up the total and tell them.

Nephew: “When I’ve been here before, I’ve been asked if I’d like to round up the purchase to give to a charity.”

Me: “That’s right! If you’d like to do that, you could donate thirty-one cents to one of the charities that our store supports.”

Nephew: “Do any of them support homeless people?”

Me: “We actually do!”

Nephew: “I’d like to donate to that one, please.”

The uncle scoffs but doesn’t protest.

Customer: “I see what you’re doing, [Nephew]. Whatever, fine, it’s just thirty-one cents.”

Nephew: “I’d like to donate all of this, too, please.”

The teenager produces a pile of cash from his pocket. It’s easily over a hundred dollars.

Customer: “What?! No! That’s your birthday money! That’s for you!”

Nephew: “And this is what I’m doing with it.”

Customer: “I forbid it! I told you that money was for you to invest!”

Nephew: “And I am. I’m investing in the people that society has forgotten. You wouldn’t take back the money that I earned fair and square now, would you, Uncle?”

The customer glares at his nephew and then at me, as if I could do anything about it, and then he just kinda gives up.

Customer: “Fine. Waste your money. You’ll never get another cent from me!”

The uncle storms off, and the nephew actually donates all the money!

Nephew: “Honestly, if he hadn’t won $100,000 in the lottery a couple of years ago, he’d be homeless, too. I’ll consider this his hypocrite tax.”

The next generation will be all right… 

Related:
Homeless Is Where The Heart Is, Part 13
Homeless Is Where The Heart Is, Part 12
Homeless Is Where The Heart Is, Part 11
Homeless Is Where The Heart Is, Part 10
Homeless Is Where The Heart Is, Part 9

This was in a recession, right after my best friend at the time and I had finished high school. We were working at the Renaissance Faire. We had sewn period-accurate costumes from scratch, and what we were paid to work there barely covered the cost of materials and transportation. We didn’t have other jobs yet.

Friend: “So, I saw a mug I want to buy.”

Me: “Oh?”

Friend: “You know how the other guys have mugs with them for getting drinks?”

I looked over at someone pouring homemade alcoholic cider into a mug, out of view of visitors.

Me: “But you can’t drink yet, and you already bought a pretty flask for water. I’d love to see it, though; I bet it’s pretty.”

We walked around the fair and looked at various expensive handmade wares, including the carved modern mug. It was $60, and the minimum wage was about $7, so even if we had other jobs, that’d be a lot.

Later, I saw [Friend] with the mug.

Friend: “I had just enough money left to buy it.”

Me: “Do you have your debit card with you? We need to eat and buy gas, and I didn’t bring enough cash for both of us.”

Friend: “Oh, I don’t have other money.”

Me: “Bu… you… what? At all? Even at home or in a bank?”

Friend: “Yeah. I’m sure it’ll work out, though.”

Me: “?!”

I never looked at her the same after that.

I went to a nice restaurant to celebrate a promotion at work. They seated me in a somewhat awkward area, but I had a nice view out the window, so I didn’t mind.

Halfway through my meal, after my food had been brought out, my waitress vanished. I never got a refill on my drink, and she didn’t come out to present me my bill. I watched faces entering and leaving the kitchen area, and I couldn’t see her at all. I assumed she had gone off shift and the handoff didn’t go correctly.

So, I approached one of the other waitresses and politely asked for my bill. She said she’d be right out with it. I watched her enter and leave the kitchen area multiple times, but she did not bring me my bill. I approached her again and asked for the bill again. She once again repeated that she’d be right out to help me with the bill, and she asked me to please be patient. 

I waited a not-insignificant amount of time, and then I approached another waitress and explained the circumstances. She too said she’d be right out with my bill. She too continued to service her customers and ignore my table.

I approached a third waitress, explained the circumstances, and asked that she please not fob me off like the other two had.

Waitress: “Look, I’m going to be real with you. You’re not seated in my section, so I’m not going to do anything for you. Go ask someone else.”

Me: “Do you know who’s covering the section I’m in?”

Waitress: “Right now?” *Glances at my seat* “No one’s covering that section right now.”

Me: “Can you get the manager to bring me out the bill?”

Waitress: *Practically growling* “No. I’m busy with my section. Find someone else to help you. Good day.”

I was so flummoxed by her hostility that it short-circuited my brain a little bit, and I was out the door with my stuff before I remembered that I was looking for someone to help me pay. At that point, standing on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, I sighed, shrugged to myself, and walked off.

I’ve never been back. Some friends have recommended the place to me, but I’m worried that they might have a big picture of me on the wall saying, “Dine and Dasher — do not serve this person!”