Yesterday, my wife convinced me to go to a tulip farm. Spending time picking up tulips, paying for them, and having to stand and walk around for three hours for Instagram pictures was not fun. By the end of that event, we were tired and hungry. I wanted to eat somewhere fun and found a hibachi place. My kids were excited, and my wife was happy with her haul.

We arrived at the hibachi place and were led to our seats. We had great service from the staff. (More on that later.) I forgot to mention that I had a toddler and wanted a high seat for my daughter so she could see the griddle. The employee who seated us pointed to one of the waitstaff and indicated that I needed a high chair. I was ten feet from the chair and the waitress was further away, so I waved her off and grabbed the chair myself.

As I returned to the table, another couple was being led to the other side of our table (each hibachi setup sat nine or ten people) so I stopped to let them pass. After passing, a woman turned around and said something to me, but it was noisy and I was concentrating on getting my daughter seated. As I struggled with the seat belt, I felt a tap on my shoulder, but I seated my daughter first.

Then, I turned around, and the same lady was literally inches from my face telling me a bunch of things.

Me: *Giggling* “Sorry, I don’t work here.”

I don’t know why she thought I did at all. Everyone who worked there was dressed in black and white; I was wearing a T-shirt and had mud on my shoes, and my hair was tossed around like I haven’t slept in days. However, she insisted and kept raising her voice at me. (Granted, it was noisy.)

Me: “Ma’am, I don’t work here.”

She was heated, yelling, and getting angry. She said it was about her food allergies and that if she got sick, she would sue me.

Me: *Tired of this* “I don’t care about your allergies because I don’t work here.”

She put her finger in my face, still yelling. My wife noticed, got up, swatted the woman’s hand away, and stood between this lady and me.

Wife: “Ma’am, this is my husband. He doesn’t work here.”

Then she turned around and sat me down. The lady kept raising her voice to my wife.

Lady: “But he was so rude to me!”

At that point, the lady’s husband was red and grabbed to sit her down. This interaction lasted for less than a minute. The staff came by and calmed everyone down and made sure everyone was seated. They asked if I wanted to be moved, but I said no, I was fine where I was. Then, they asked the lady if she wanted to be moved, and she said no, but she seemed pretty pissed off.

The hibachi chef noticed all this as he rolled his cart in. He started his routine, and my wife and kids loved it. I just sat there, happy as a clam that everyone was having a great time and I would get to eat.

At one point during the dinner, the hibachi chef started spraying my kids with water, which they loved. For the adults, he would spray them with white wine from a bottle to loosen them up. When he got to me, he gave me a really long douse.

Chef: “You need a double! you work overtime today.”

I thought this was hilarious. When he got to the lady, he gave her the tiniest spray.

Chef: “Maybe not too much for you.”

She giggled but was obviously not entertained.

As the chef did his routine, we had a good time and ate good food. My kids loved it, and to me, that was the important part.

After the routine, the chef started cleaning up. He tossed a clean rag and scraper near me, and without missing a beat, I yelled, “Yes, boss!”, got up, and started scraping off the grill. The chef started barking at me even more. I moved faster and more frantically. Then, a member of the waitstaff brought a mop and bucket, and I started mopping. Everyone was laughing, and my kids were going crazy. It was hilarious — to me, at least. So, to add to it, I spontaneously asked everyone to give a generous tip for the show, even though it wasn’t necessary, and they did — except for you know who.

I was finally urged back to my chair with clapping from my family. The chef gave me a handshake for being a good sport and went on his way. We finished eating and were served dessert. We then heard talking from the corner where the lady and her husband were now arguing; she was mad at me, and her husband allowed it all to happen. I really felt bad at that point and just wanted everyone to leave on a good note. I apologized it was easy for me and I had no stake in their argument.

Me: “Hey, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, but I was tired and hungry. I just want to have some fun with my kids.”

It did seem to help. We finished eating and packed up our stuff to leave.

As we were leaving, this lady was in the lobby complaining to the manager about everything. My wife stopped and chimed in. Apparently, the manager already knew and made it clear to the lady to calm down. Then, he spoke to her in the most stereotypical Asian accent.

Manager: “Oh, so sorry, no refund. Now you go home.”

The lady’s husband pulled her out to the parking lot at this point. Sorry, dude.

Then, that manager turned to us and spoke with the most New Jersey accent.

Manager: “I can’t believe that accent worked. I hope you guys had a great time.”

He talked to my wife and kids while his staff helped me get our stuff into the car, walked us out, and gave my kids some takeaway snacks. They loved it.

Overall, it was a fun day.

I live in a small town. One afternoon, I go to the local post office to mail some packages and letters. I’m waiting in line with two people ahead of me and four or five people behind me. There are two clerks on duty.

An angry man is yelling at the female clerk and aggressively gesturing with his smartphone.

Customer: “What do you mean, my package isn’t here?! My phone shows that it was delivered!”

Clerk: *Trying to stay calm* “Sir… whoever sent the package put in the wrong zip code. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

Customer: *Holding up his smartphone* “That’s not what my phone says. It says it was sent to [My Town] just now! Where is it?!”

Clerk: *Looking at her computer* “Sir… I understand, but it’s not here. Look, my system shows that it’s in [Small City about twenty minutes away].”

Customer: “Well, can you call someone?! I need that d*** package!”

Clerk: “There’s no one for me or you to call. It’s in [Small City]. I can’t do anything about this until it arrives in [My Town].”

Customer: *Getting more irate* “What the h*** is your system saying is wrong with the package?”

Clerk: “Sir, I keep telling you… Whoever mailed the package wrote the wrong zip code.”

Customer: “Listen, the zip code for [My Town] is [zip code ending in a six], is it not?!”

Clerk: “Yes, it is, but for whatever reason, it was read as [zip code ending in a zero], so it got sent to the wrong post office.”

Customer: “I don’t understand why you can’t just give me my f****** package!”

Clerk: *Starting to lose it* “Sir, I keep telling you this. I don’t understand what you want me to do. The package is in [Small City]. I can’t just magically change the zip code on a package that I don’t physically have! You’re trying to get me to do something that is literally impossible!”

The argument lasts for about five minutes in total until, eventually, the man gets frustrated and leaves, swearing and muttering under his breath.

After he leaves, the clerk sighs with relief and everyone behind me starts talking about the man’s behavior. The male clerk tries to get the man’s attention, but he’s already out the door.

Coworker: “Sir! Sir! Sir!”

Clerk: “Stop. Let him go. If he wants that parcel so bad, he can drive to [Small City]. They’ll have to deal with him.

Coworker: “Yeah… you’re right. Sorry.”

I eventually walk up to the counter.

Me: “What was his problem?” 

Clerk: “I don’t know what he expected me to do. His package is physically not in this building.”

Me: “You handled that quite professionally.”

Clerk: “Thanks. It’s not the first time that’s happened.”

I handed the clerk my items, paid the postage, and wished her a nice day.

There is a new Japanese donut store in my parents’ town. One day, while stopping by the ramen house adjacent to it, I decide to pop in and get some milk tea. They have a seasonal donut that looks good, so I decide to get one as well. 

There are no other customers in the store and only one employee working. After she does some things around the space, she takes my order. After handing me my tea and donut, she goes back to work. I stand there for a moment before she looks back at me, confused.

Employee: “I’m sorry, did you need something else?”

Me: *Pauses* “Yes… To pay?”

Employee: “Oh. Huh.”

She looked confused but rang me up. The seasonal donut was supposed to be a dollar extra, but she didn’t ring that in. By then, I’d been there for nearly ten minutes, and I knew my ride was circling the block, so I just swiped my card and left. 

It’s a college town, but she was a middle-aged woman. She seriously was willing to let me leave with ten dollars worth of food without paying!

I am a woman and own a store. This is apparently unbelievable to many men. Here are some of the men that have been mistaken as the owner of the store instead of me.

• A man asking me questions about multiple products. Surely, he is the owner and not me, the one answering everything.
• A man wearing a dirty tank top and shorts with flip flops in winter, talking to himself very loudly.
• A guy shopping, who couldn’t have been older than twenty.
• My husband, who was unloading boxes right next to me. My husband said he didn’t know anything; he was just helping because “the boss has a bad shoulder”. The man then went looking around for another man as I sat there with my arm in a sling.
• And finally, a very obviously inebriated man sitting on the steps of the apartment complex across the street.

One thing our company is known for is a mobile rewards program, which gives you a variety of coupons to use at checkout.

I’m working the register, covering for a coworker who had to run to the bathroom. A woman comes up carrying a small coffee and has her phone out, showing a coupon for “$1 any size coffee”. I ring up the coffee and scan the coupon.

Me: “Your total is $1.07, ma’am.”

She gives me a very confused look.

Customer: “But… it’s a dollar.”

My coworker keeps a stash of extra change at the register, so I volunteer it for if she doesn’t have the seven cents (added for tax). She gives me another confused look and tries to walk out of the store.

Me: “Ma’am, you still have to pay.”

Customer: “But it’s a dollar.”

Me: “Yes, the coupon makes it so the cost is only a dollar. Add the tax and you get $1.07, which you still have to pay.”

Customer: “But… it’s a dollar?”

At that point, I was debating getting just letting her go, but I once again pointed out that the coupon only made it so her coffee cost a dollar, plus tax. She still had to pay for the coffee. She seemed reluctant to pay, but in the end, she used her phone to pay and proceeded to walk out. I could hear her muttering “But it’s a dollar” as she stepped outside.

Related:
Taxing Taxing, Part 18
Taxing Taxing, Part 17
Taxing Taxing, Part 16
Taxing Taxing, Part 15
Taxing Taxing, Part 14