They Wanted Skinny Fries

, , , , | Right | November 6, 2018

(I work in a bar and restaurant chain with a pretty diverse menu. We have many meals that are listed twice — one normal that comes with fries, or a “skinny” option with salad, instead. This happens far too often.)

Customer: “I’d like a skinny chicken burger, please.”

Me: “That’s the burger and salad, right?”

Customer: “Yeah, the skinny chicken burger.”

(Transaction completed, we deliver the food.)

Customer: “Where are my fries?!”

The Barking Mad Policeman Is Worse Than The Bite

, , , , , , | Legal | October 31, 2018

(I am attacked by a dog when I am cycling home from work. A huge mastiff jumps, and his claw slices into my arm, so I’m losing a lot of blood and I will need stitches. I need to get to hospital immediately. It is rush hour, and my car is only twenty metres away. I decide to drive myself, instead of calling an ambulance. Just outside the hospital, I see blue lights behind me. I pull over, get out of the car, and start speaking immediately.)

Me: “I’ve been mauled by a dog. I’m going to Accident & Emergency.”

Officer: “Why are you driving in the bus lane?”

Me: “Seriously? I need to get seen immediately. That’s more important than driving a bus lane. Really, now is not the time.”

Officer: “When did this happen? Where? Was anyone with you?”

Me: “Ten minutes ago on [Street], by myself. Why? Are you investigating the dog?”

Officer: “You should have called an ambulance. You shouldn’t be driving like that.”

(I’m livid at this point. The cop can see a huge wound on my arm, but he is arguing about this right literally in front of the hospital. I have had enough. Technically, he could ticket me for this, but I take my chances.)

Me: “What exactly did you observe about my driving that makes you think I can’t drive with an injured arm?”

Officer: “Nothing in particular. You can’t concentrate properly with—”

Me: “So, you have no evidence that my driving is impaired. Look at my arm. I will need stitches. Would I get stitches in an ambulance?”

Officer: “No, you—”

Me: “Exactly; an ambulance would be no better than a taxi. Also, it’s rush hour. A tiny car like this–” *points at my Smart car* “–gets me through the traffic. Now, I have more urgent matters to attend to in the hospital over there.” *points 300 yards away* “If you have any more questions, ask me during triage.”

Officer: “You can go now. This time only, you can use the bus lane for turning into the hospital.”

Me: “You don’t need to tell me.”

(In the hospital, I am given six stitches immediately. Then, the following happens:)

Me: “The cop tried to tell me I should have waited on an ambulance. You’re the medic. Would it have made any difference if I got an ambulance?”

Nurse: “Not in the slightest.”

Me: “And was I in a fit state to drive?”

Nurse: “Perfectly. Keep it dry, and the stitches out in two weeks.”

Me: “Thank you, sir.”

(Police later told me they don’t investigate dog attacks at all, even though I was hospitalised and I have the name and address. Where do these people get their priorities from?)

Soda-Fried Chicken

, , , , | Right | October 16, 2018

(I have just dropped my wife off at work on a Saturday morning. I am hungry so decide to stop at a restaurant chain for something to eat. It is too late for one of their breakfasts, so I decide to go for an early lunch. This exchange happens:)

Cashier: “Hi, what can I get you?”

Me: “Yeah, hi… Can I get… uh… a… [chicken meal that comes with dip], please?”

Cashier: “Would you like the meal?”

Me: “Yes, please.”

Cashier: “What drink would you like?”

Me: “Uh… a… Coke, please.”

Cashier: “And which dip?”

Me: *not really paying attention* “Coke!”

Cashier: “Pardon? I asked which dip?” *laughing now*

Me: *embarrassed* “Oh! SORRY! No dip, please.”

Cashier: “Okay, that will be [price].”

Me: *as I am paying her* “I don’t think my chicken would taste very nice dipped in Coke!”

Cashier: *laughing* “Yeah, go ahead and try it and tell me how it works out!”

(When my food arrives:)

Cashier: “Here you go, sir!”

Me: “Thank you! I don’t think I’ll be dipping my chicken in Coke after all!”

Cashier: *laughs* “Enjoy your meal!”

(I felt really silly, but I’m glad I was able to brighten this young lady’s day!)

Doing A Good Deed Should Be Like Riding A Bike

, , , , | Legal | October 13, 2018

(I find a child’s bicycle abandoned on a street. I bring it home for safekeeping, and report it as “found property” on the police non-emergency line. There is a queue of ten minutes, and the call is taken by a civilian. The Police Service of Northern Ireland is a target for terrorist attacks, so there are — rightly — numerous procedures to handle the risk.)

Police #1: “Thank you for calling the Police Service of Northern Ireland. What is your full name, please?”

Me: *gives name* “Hi, I found a child’s bicycle abandoned in [Street, Town]. I brought it back to my house for safekeeping. I’m reporting it as found property.”

Police #1: “What’s your address?”

Me: *gives address*

Police #1: “And a description of the bike?”

Me: “Black frame, BMX style, for a child aged seven or eight.”

Police #1: “Will you hand it into a police station, or can we give your contact details if the owner turns up?”

Me: *not comfortable giving details to someone I don’t know* “I’ll take it to a police station.”

Police #1: “Which station, and when?”

(I’m sensing this will get difficult. I’m doing a good deed, but I have a busy, chaotic schedule.)

Me: “Erm, when do the police stations open in the East Belfast area?”

Police #1: “They open at 11 am.”

Me: “ELEVEN?”

(This seems very late, even though many have reduced hours over the years. This means I can only return it after I finish work, which just delays it even more. I change my mind.)

Police #1: “Yes, 11 am.”

Me: “Forget it. Just give my details to the owner if they turn up.”

Police #1: “Okay, thanks for calling.” *ends call*

(I realise I’m missing some information. I don’t know what details he has given, or what the process is when found. I haven’t been given a Crime Number, but I am now responsible for a some random kid’s bike. I phone up again.)

Me: *explains situation* “Basically, your colleague was rude and didn’t explain how it works. Can you help?”

Police #2: “Yes. If — and that’s if — the rightful owner turns up, we then give them your phone number, and they phone you.”

Me: “Tell me please: what phone number did he use?”

Police #2: *number I’m calling from*

Me: “He never asked me for my number; that’s just the number I called from. Is that how you guys do things? Just use the caller ID number? What if I was calling from my mate’s phone?”

Police #2: “Yes, he should have asked. Should I change the number?”

Me: “No… What’s the Crime Number? I’m also not comfortable with my phone number being given out like that. Can’t I just hand it into a police station?”

Police #2: “The Crime Number is [number], which he should also have given. Unfortunately, you would need to tell us which station in advance.”

(I’ve had enough. [Police #1] was terse and rude and didn’t do his job. Now, I’m being made to jump through hoops for my generosity. No good deed goes unpunished.)

Me: “Tell you what. If you want it, come and get it. Send a police officer round to my house. It’s easier to take it to the dump than a police station.”

Police #2: “I can send an officer round if you like.”

(Three hours later, I get a call from an unknown number — another security measure.)

Officer: “Hi, is this Mr. [My Name]? I’m [Officer] from [Town twenty minutes away]. I hear you found a kid’s BMX bike you would like to hand in?”

Me: “That’s me, constable. My address is [address]. Look for the smart car outside my house; bring a magnifying glass.”

Officer: *laughs* “Okay, see you in twenty minutes.”

(Out of respect, I ALWAYS address police officers here by rank, and make them laugh. He has an extremely dangerous job, and checks below his car for a bomb every morning. Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings. I can see straightaway how many resources it has taken to recover this kid’s bike: two police officers, both in bulletproof vests, armed with Glock 19 handguns. One is at my door, and one is in the police car eyeballing me. This is the absolute minimum deployment. Anywhere else in the UK or Ireland, police would rarely be armed at all. I could have expected an office assistant. Not here, though. In Northern Ireland, police officers are always armed, and never alone, even for the most trivial of tasks.)

Me: “Evening, constable. This is the bike. It’s in a bad state of repair; the brake cable is hanging on by a thread. Keep that in mind before you play any pranks on your sergeant [superior officer].”

Officer: “Thanks. I’ll get this into the car.”

Me: “Also, I apologise for dragging you out here. This bike has no monetary value, and you have far more important things to be doing. Your colleague on the phone wasn’t much use.”

Officer: “Civilian, eh?”

Me: “Yup. For future reference, what’s the easiest way to get rid of something I find? This could be a kid’s pride and joy… or a refugee’s only means of transport. Does the nick need to know in advance I’m coming?”

Officer: “Nope. Just drop it in. Some stations are open late. If it suits you, they’ll work with it.”

Me: “Great, I’ll take note. Hey, you should race your buddy back to the barracks in that. Have you your hi viz in the back of the car?”

(He laughed, said thanks, threw the bike into the back, and drove off. Two police officers, and forty-five minutes. At the rate a police officer is contracted out, that’s about £70. A taxi could have done it for £20. Really, don’t punish selflessness. If you don’t have a choice, at least acknowledge their efforts.)

Not Quite The Brightest Spark

, , , | Right | October 4, 2018

(I am serving a woman buying lightbulbs and other electrical bits and pieces. NOTE: We do not sell non-electrical related hardware.)

Customer: *as I finish the sale and hand her the items* “Thank you very much. Oh! You don’t sell [type of flask that keeps hot things hot and cold things cold], do you?”

(I look at my manager, a surprised look on my face. He returns the look.)

Me: “No, sorry, we just do electricals. You would need to go to [Hardware Store across the road] for that.”

Customer: “That’s okay, I’m going there anyway; just thought I’d ask here!”

(I don’t get why she asked us if she was going to the other shop anyway!)

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