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Thank God For Observant Strangers!

, , , , , | Friendly | December 30, 2020

I’ve been visiting my brother in another state, and we go to grab lunch a couple of hours before I fly back home. Suddenly, a woman walks over to our table.

Woman: “[My Name]?”

Me: “What?”

Woman: “Are you [My Name]?”

I’m trying to figure out if I know her from somewhere.

Me: “Yes…?”

Woman: “I found your wallet. Here.”

I didn’t even realize that it had slipped out of my pocket! I happened to be wearing the same outfit as when I had my driver’s license picture taken, so the woman recognized me right away. I thanked her profusely. If she hadn’t happened upon my wallet and found me, I probably wouldn’t have realized it was missing until I got to the airport.

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It Was Right Under Her Nose… Er… Ears

, , , , , | Right | November 30, 2020

I’m a child, waiting in line to go through customs, which is something I’ve done often by this point in time. There’s a young, fashionable lady in front of us at the front of the line. Her suitcase has gone through and she has taken off her shoes, and she’s put her wallet and phone in the bin, but something is still setting off the metal detector. The male TSA agent helping her is confused.

Agent: “Ma’am, I just don’t know why it keeps going off! You’re sure you don’t have anything in your pockets?”

Lady: “I don’t! Except this gum, but I don’t think it would set it off.”

Agent: “Neither do I, but put it in the bin and go through again.”

The machine beeps again as she walks through.

Agent: “All right. Listen. I still don’t know what is setting off this machine. We have to pat you down, but I have to get a female agent for that.”

Lady: *Patiently* “That’s all right. I’ll wait.”

The male TSA agent leaves to find a female agent and comes back a few minutes later.

Female Agent: “Are you the one who keeps setting off the machine?”

Lady: “Yeah, and we can’t figure out why!”

Female Agent: “Hon, were you wearing those earrings when you went through? They usually don’t set off the alarm, but if that’s it, we won’t have to pat you down.”

The lady takes off her earrings, gigantic hoops that lay over her shoulders. She puts them in the bin and walks through, no problem.

Me: *Taking my shoes off* “Don’t worry; I’m not wearing earrings!”

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Allergic To Common Sense, Part 17

, , , , , , | Right | October 27, 2020

I have the very unfortunate luck to have bad seasonal allergies during this world health crisis.

I need to run some errands that my grandma normally does, but it’s safer for me to go, instead. Today, my allergies are especially bad, even with my medication, but it’s my day off of work so I gotta tough it out.

I’m at the grocery store — with a mask on, of course — when a woman walks by me with a strong-smelling perfume. Certain scents bother me a lot, and lucky me, this is one of those. I start to have a sneezing attack. Yes, I’m sneezing into my elbow. When I finish, I notice that the same woman is glaring at me — without a mask, might I add.

Smelly Perfume Woman: *Sharply* “If you’re sick, stay home.”

Me: *Caught off guard* “I have allergies. I’m not sick.”

Smelly Perfume Woman: “And I’m the Queen of England. Leave.”

Me: “After I finish my shopping.” 

I briskly walk down a random aisle in order to get away before her perfume causes me to sneeze again. I think that’s the end of it. I finish my shopping and check out, no problem. While loading into my car, I end up sneezing again. Who’s walking by but [Smelly Perfume Woman]? Just my luck.

Smelly Perfume Woman: “Why the h*** are you still here?! You’ll infect us all.”

Me: “Says the person who’s not wearing a mask.”

Smelly Perfume Woman: “I have a medical condition!”

Me: *Under my breath* “Last time I checked, stupidity isn’t a medical condition.”

Smelly Perfume Woman: *Snapping* “You need to go home if you’re sick!”

She turns her nose up and struts off, leaving me with a raised eyebrow.

Me: “That really just happened.”

Allergic To Common Sense, Part 16
Allergic To Common Sense, Part 15
Allergic To Common Sense, Part 14
Allergic To Common Sense, Part 13
Allergic To Common Sense, Part 12

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They Might Be Coming On To Something…

, , , , , , | Healthy | August 10, 2020

A bit of backstory for anyone reading old stories years from now: there’s a global health crisis going on, and a lot of people are acting like it’s either fake or no big deal. I’m waiting for an x-ray, and I overhear some medical workers talking.

Worker #1: “Did you hear that [disease] causes a loss of ability to orgasm?”

Worker #2: “No! Where did you hear that?”

Worker #1: “My girlfriend and I made it up, but if we spread that around, maybe people would actually care.”

This story is part of our Best Of August 2020 roundup!

Read the next Best Of August 2020 story!

Read the Best Of August 2020 roundup!

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Waiting For This Waiter To Stop Being A Cow

, , , , , | Working | June 4, 2020

I am forty-two weeks pregnant with my second child, and my family decides to go out for dinner. As I am going in for a C-section tomorrow morning, a few members of our extended family decided to come out for a nice vacation and to meet the new baby.

Our dinner party consists of nine people — seven adults over 21 and two children: an eight-year-old and a four-year-old. The table we’re sitting at is near the back of the restaurant, with the drink stand behind me along the wall and the kitchen doors along the same wall, across from our table, a couple of yards away at the most.

Our dinner party is fairly quiet. The children have a lot of papers to color, and when asked, they each indicate what they want for dinner. They are incredibly polite and are far more interested in what they are drawing than they are in making any noise.

The waiter, on the other hand, treats us as if we’re the biggest inconvenience in his entire evening. We made sure to come in early, at a time when the restaurant shouldn’t have been very busy, but I attempt to order my beverage twice, and when I am given a caffeinated beverage instead, I try changing it, to no avail.

The waiter treats my husband, parents, and uncle quite a bit better than he treats my cousin and sister. He is dismissive toward the children, and he is angry toward me. He doesn’t even indicate that he’s listened to our orders until my husband asks him to read the orders back to him, as he did with the three eldest adults at the table. He huffs and puffs and does so with attitude.

A few minutes before the entrees are served, the children are politely coloring, and the manager comes by to see how everyone’s doing. I tell him I’d like my drink order changed but the waiter couldn’t hear me over his walking away, and that I had noticed his deference to the three eldest people at the table.

A few minutes later, at the drink station in the path of the kitchen but behind me, the waiter is being asked about his serving style while the manager gets my new drink, and I overhear this gem.

Waiter: *To the manager* “Well, obviously, I serve who is paying the best, as I’ve been taught at my bartending job! The fat cow won’t pay; she’s more likely to walk out on it! The f*****’ brats are too busy running all over the place, and the cow’s too busy finding another entree to order to give a d*** about what they’re doing.”

My husband asked for a menu a little bit before he was done with his dinner because he wanted to order dessert. The kids had finished their food entirely — a first! — and they had earned desserts. As the waiter is wrapping up his remarks to the manager:

Me: *To my husband* “So, how much do cows tip?”

Husband: “Um… no, you tip the cow. But definitely not 30% like we’ve done here in the past.”

Me: *Quietly, but laughing* “Honey, he’s not… Oh, my goodness.”

My mom interjects quietly, leaning toward me, behind the youngest kiddo.

Mom: “Psst! Hey, I’m paying for this!”

Me: *Quietly, too* “Wow! Really? That’s very generous, but I’m still employed!”

Mom: “Yeah, but you’re on leave! I’ve got it.”

I tell my husband about the blueberry muffin on the menu and mention that I am so glad that my craving for those is over, as I am sick of blueberries at that point. We discuss dessert options, make sure the kids know what they want, and we both agree that we should order brownies. 

The waiter finally meanders back to our table from the drink station to take our dessert orders. He immediately makes it clear that he had heard my tipping comment and knows that he’d been heard as well, but… still. Hmm…

Waiter: *Looks at me* “And ma’am? What will you have?”

Me: “Hmm.” *Closes menu* “I’ll have the chocolate—”

Waiter: “Good!” *Turns to my husband* “And for you, sir?”

Husband: *Sternly* “Wait until she’s finished.”

I look the waiter in the eye.

Me: “I will have a chocolate brownie.”

Husband: “And I will have the same.”

Yes, that is an exact quote.

The waiter takes the entire table’s orders, including the children’s sundaes, and scurries off to the kitchen. He comes out less than five minutes later with six of the nine desserts. I notice that my brownie, as well as the children’s sundaes, are missing. I try to get his attention to ask about the three remaining desserts, but he ignores me and doesn’t say a single word to any of us while serving the desserts. No “the rest will be out in a minute” or “I don’t have room on my tray and I’ll be right back.” Nada.

After the waiter sets my husband’s brownie in front of him, he ends up loitering near the kitchen door, a couple yards away from the table, watching us, but apparently blind to my husband’s and my attempts to get his attention.

The manager comes out of the kitchen, as the rest of the table is finishing with their desserts, with two sundaes and a mountain-shaped blob with a pad of butter melting all over the top that has an X cut into it. It could have been a blueberry muffin last year.

Manager: *To me* “Sorry for the wait, ma’am.”

The manager attempts to set the suspected “blueberry muffin” down.

Me: “No! No. Really. I did not order this. There is no way. I did, however, order the chocolate brownie, but your waiter once again tried to ignore my request. Maybe he thinks I was speaking cow? But, my husband literally said, ‘I’ll have the same thing,’ so how did he end up with a brownie if y’all think I ordered this monstrosity?”

Manager: *Immediately embarrassed* “Uh, um… Er, oh, yeah. I’m so sorry about everything. I’ll have that brownie right out to you.”

The manager hands the kids their sundaes.

Manager: “I must say, you guys are so well-behaved, thank you! My kids would be running amok by now, but you’ve been very courteous all evening! The table next to you guys has had nothing but great things to say about you, too.”

Eldest Kid: “Thank you!”

Youngest Kid: “I have a coloring book! See? I’m painting a Spongebob!”

They hold up the crayon-covered pages.

Manager: “Wonderful! That’s just… great. Great, yeah.” *To me* “I’ll be right out with your dessert.”

Five minutes later, the waiter flounced over and dropped the check in front of my uncle, narrowly missing his dessert plate. My mom took the check from him after a brief argument, and my husband distracted me with a cute magic trick he was showing the kids as the check was paid.

The brownie never showed up. And I still have no idea how much my mom tipped on the order. I hope it was still over ten percent. No waiter, no matter how awful their day is going, deserves to be stiffed — and by that, I mean given less than a ten-percent tip. Even if the waiter ignores one person at the table like what happened in my situation, the other eight people there were given adequate service. We all compared our experiences that evening after the fact, but my mom would only confirm that she was charged correctly.

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