This Story Tips Both Good And Bad

, , , , , , , , , | Right | May 28, 2020

My husband and I are Australians on holiday in America. My cousin spent about two years working in America as a waitress and has drilled into us the importance of tipping our servers. Even when the service is shockingly bad, including the time they forget to put our order into the system for forty-five minutes, we tip at LEAST 18% because that is what my cousin recommended, and we’re a little stunned that servers work for pennies an hour and rely on tips to survive.

A large amount of staff who notice our accents seem pleasantly surprised when we tip them the proper amount or more. We stop for lunch in a little diner near our hotel and the waitress is AMAZING. She chats with us, asks about Australia and expresses how much she’d love to visit, tells us where to find a specific store I really wanted to visit but haven’t been able find, and is just all-around wonderful.

She is coming over with our refills:

Waitress: “Here we go, guys, here’s your—”

Mid-sentence, a small child who has been running around unchecked for the last half an hour slams into her legs. She drops both our drinks — one all over the kid and one directly into my lap.

The kid’s mother starts SCREECHING at the top of her lungs and demanding to see a manager. The waitress is trying to clean up the kid, apologise, and get us napkins all at once. I clean myself up as best I can and wave her off — I can easily pop back to our hotel to change — so she leaves to get her manager to deal with the screaming mother and her crying child.

She comes back a few minutes later with new drinks for us and is near tears; while her manager had her back, the other woman had said some awful things and her entire party of ten had left her without a tip. She drops off our drinks and we finish them, and she brings back the bill.

Waitress: *Still nearly crying* “I am so sorry about that, guys. I took your refills off the bill; those are on me.”

Feeling bad, my husband is trying to make her laugh.

Husband: “I think you’ll find they were on my wife and that demon kid.”

The waitress, realising we’re just kidding, does crack a smile as she walks off to handle another table. While we were already going to tip her about 25% on our tiny lunch bill — seriously, food is RIDICULOUSLY cheap in the States — for being so wonderful to us, my husband just rifles through his pockets for whatever he has on him in cash and shoves it into the billfold. It adds up to about $60 on our $19 bill, and we try to escape before she sees it as we don’t want her to thank us for it. 

We’re about five steps out the door when she chases us outside.

Waitress: “Wait! You guys, two of these are twenties! I know we joked that you’re used to your rainbow money but you’ve gotta read the numbers. Here!”

She tries to hand us back some of the money and we refuse to take it.

Me: “Honey, no, that’s your tip. You were amazing. Take it.”

The waitress seemed dumbfounded that we had deliberately left her that much, and my husband joked that it was to make up for the gremlin’s parents stiffing her. She legitimately started to cry and asked if she could hug us, which we accepted, and she went back inside.

I’m still stunned that she was honest enough to try and give the tip back to foreigners she thought didn’t understand. We saw her again a few times before we left — the food was incredible at that diner — and she was just as lovely each time. Tip your servers, people!

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Unfiltered Story #194957

, , , | Unfiltered | May 27, 2020

I work at a small, local music store as a social media and web content manager, however since we are short-staffed, I tend to double-up as a sales associate. One day as I am working on a project for our website, the phone rings.

Me: (Store), this is (My Name), how can I help you?
Customer: Yes hello, what do you have in the way of acoustic guitars?
Me: *warily glancing over at the wall of literally 100+ acoustic guitars* Uh, well, we are currently carrying (variety of brands).
Customer: Do you still carry (Brand)?
Me: No, we currently have (same list of brands). If you want to come stop by and have a look, you could get a better idea of what we carry right now…

He then launches into a variety of questions, some on specific models, some more vague pertaining to guitars as a whole. He asks about outdated models, brands I had never heard of before, and oddly dumb questions that he seemed too experienced to be asking about. I continue to insist he simply visit the store to see our selection, but he insists that I give him all the information he asks for over the phone. This conversation is now going on for close to 15 minutes, when this happens.

Customer: That (model) you mentioned before, can you strum it for me?
Me: *confused* Uh, sir? Over the phone?
Customer: Yes! Just so that I have an idea of the tone.
Me: I don’t know if that would be the best way to demo an instrument. The mic on the phone would never pick up the real tone of the guitar, if you could hear it at all. Again, if you want to demo a guitar, it’s best to stop in and–
Customer: Nothing fancy! Just take it down and strum it a little so I can hear it and know if I like it!
Me: (sighing as I pull down the guitar from the wall, lean close to the sound hole, and strum a few times) …As you can see, it likely didn’t carry–
Customer: Did you strum it? Were you playing chords? I couldn’t hear!

After I finally got the guy off the phone, I told my boss the story, complete with the bit about the strumming…

Boss: I’ve been dealing with that guy for 15 years. If he calls again, tell him you’re busy and hang up. Nobody has time for that.

Can’t Get The High Numbers

, , , , | Right | May 25, 2020

I’m trying to find a price match for a customer that already seems to be a bit off. Our online system is acting up and I’m without a cellphone.

Me: “Now, if you type in the barcode into your phone, it will pull up the item, and I can see what I can do.”

As I try reading the barcode, he tries to read it out loud, as well. After a couple of false starts, I try to speed things up a bit.

Me: “I’ll read it out for you. Sorry about that.”

Customer: “That’s okay. I’m f****** high.”

Me: “Ah. Okay.”

Customer: “And I don’t care if anyone knows.”

The rest of the transaction went by fairly normal as I tried not to laugh.

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Unfiltered Story #194875

, , | Unfiltered | May 23, 2020

(I am a maintenance worker who is currently working on a new subway platform & track with my coworker. There are stairs down to the platform from the entrance. A woman comes barreling down the stairs.)

Woman: Did I miss the train? HEY YOU (to me) do you know when the train comes?

Me: Um, lady, the trains don’t come to this station because it’s under construction.

Woman: What do you MEAN? THE TRAINS DON’T COME? I am going to be LATE to a VERY IMPORTANT MEETING!

Me: I’m sorry but I can’t magically make the trains come. Try taking the bus.


Coworker: Maybe you could do what <My Name> said and take the bus? Or better yet, just f*** off?

Woman: Well I NEVER. I have NEVER heard such INSOLENCE before. I’ll have you know that I probably make in a WEEK what you make in a f******* year.

Me: Be that as it may, your train still isn’t coming. Leave and let us do our jobs.

(The kicker? She was wearing ratty sweatpants and a stained shirt, and she had to push through THREE seperate “DO NOT COME THROUGH” and “STATION CLOSED: RENOVATION IN PROGRESS” signs.)

Theater Lovers, Avert Your Eyes!

, , , , , , , | Friendly | May 22, 2020

Some years ago, a friend and I had tickets to see The Scarlet Pimpernel on Broadway. We went with one of those bus tours and got to the theater early so we could take our seats and be comfortable.  

And then two things happened.

Incident one:

About ten minutes from the opening curtain, two gentlemen came to our aisle and began to argue with the women sitting next to us in the aisle. The women were in their seats and the men wanted them to get out. They debated the point — all of them leaning over us and getting tenser and more irritable as the debate went on — for several minutes until an usher was called over.

The usher looked at the men’s tickets and said, “You are correct. Those would be your seats… if you were coming to see The Scarlet Pimpernel. Unfortunately, your tickets are for The Lion King which is at the New Amsterdam theater.”

The men argued a few more seconds and then finally took off running. My friend and I and the ladies beside us couldn’t help but wonder out loud how you can see the name “Minskoff” and read “New Amsterdam” or read the name of the musical and mistake it for another.

We all settled back in. A loud buzz of voices started up behind us. Everyone in the theater looked back to the balconies where a large group of high school students was taking their seats. No problem. Schools bring kids to the theater all the time. They usually quiet down as soon as the play starts.

Not these kids.

The theater probably did themselves a disservice when they announced that “This performance has been selected to be taped for airing on PBS later this year. We ask the audience to please be on their best behavior.”

Almost immediately, the kids in the balcony started shouting random words and screaming at each other, and their teachers did nothing to stop them.

As the play began, it was almost impossible to hear the actors’ words or enjoy the music as the kids in the back continued to sing loudly — other songs, not the songs in the play — and shout out suggestions to the actors during quiet periods.

At one point in the performance, the characters gathered to quietly plan a coup and, even though we were sitting in the ninth row, we could not hear a word they said. Suddenly, at that point, the cast all stood up from their positions, went to the front of the stage, and said “SSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The audience joined in and we all waited until the kids were silent before the play resumed.

I took a quick look back at the balcony: two ushers were up there speaking with the teachers. Before the act was over, the balcony had been cleared and the rest of the play took place without incident.

I am sure the kids were screaming in hopes of seeing the play on TV and hearing themselves ruining the experience for everyone else. I have to wonder what kind of pea-brained little snot thinks that’s an appropriate thing to do. More to the point, I wonder why the teachers didn’t think it was their responsibility to shut the class up.

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