Not What You Expected Skinny Noodles To Be

, , , , , , | Working | July 8, 2019

(I am at a mall and decide to get lunch at the food court. I’m not up for fries and don’t feel like eating meat, so I take some fried noodles with veggies at a place with the usual westernized Asian fare. I get a plate and pay, then start to eat. After a couple of bites, I feel something in my mouth and pull a very long, thick, black hair from my mouth. I’m not the most squeamish person, but my appetite is gone. I decide to tell the lady who served me and is currently turning over the mountain of noodles they keep on their flat stove. She is not wearing a hat or hairnet, and has, well, quite a long, thick, black ponytail.)

Me: “Hi. I ordered these noodles and found a hair in them…”

(Almost before I can finish my sentence the lady barks back at me.)

Server: “That is not my hair. That is your hair. You put it in the food to get more free food!”

(I have a braid, but my hair is brownish-blond at the outgrown roots and a faded red in the lengths. It’s obviously not mine. The black hair is so thick, you can see it coiled on top of the yellowish noodles without having to look too close.)

Me: “Well, I can’t tell you whose it is, but it’s not mine. And I don’t want…”

(“…any free food; I just wanted to let you know!” is what I intend to say, but she again loudly speaks over me.)

Server: “No! You fat Germans always just want more food! Eat half and more, complain, and get another plate free!”

(She then TOOK THE PLATE from the counter between us and CHUCKED THE REST OF THE NOODLES at me! I instinctively stepped back but got some on my shoes nonetheless. I moved awkwardly and slipped on the saucy mess, falling rather unlucky on my hand. It hurt. A lot. I started crying and felt very shaken. A couple from a nearby table came over and some others got up, as well. Somebody told me to get up and sat me on a chair. Meanwhile, the server was shouting stuff in a language I didn’t understand. A guy in a suit from mall management came over and asked if I needed an ambulance. The man from the couple helping me talked to me, told me he was some sort of sports coach, and asked to see my wrist. He gently prodded it and moved it, proclaiming that it was probably not broken but I should get it checked anyway. I declined the ambulance; the suit-guy got me an ice pack from somewhere. They stayed with me until my boyfriend could pick me up, as I was still quite queasy, to drive me to the emergency room near our home. In the end, nothing was broken. The owner of the Asian shop contacted me through the mall and apologised a lot. He said his sister was going through some rough personal stuff and just snapped. I was almost sorry for her. But I will never enjoy Asian noodles without a bad feeling in my bones.)

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An Alarming Response

, , , , , | Friendly | June 19, 2019

(After a drink at a local bar, my friends and I head to a local all-night burger restaurant for a bite to eat. My friend realizes his wallet is in the car, and it’s pouring rain. To get to his car more quickly, he tries to leave through the back door instead of the front and sets off a horrible, wailing alarm. The staff is very understanding but at a loss for what to do. A key is needed to shut off the alarm, and the manager has gone home for the night. While they call him in, my friend, who feels terrible, is standing in the rain, holding the heavy door open so the sound is muffled inside the restaurant. The staff informs us that the manager will be in soon and drops off our food. A minute later, a drunk customer from another table stumbles up to us. We recognize him as a patron of the bar we have just left.)

Drunk Guy: *angrily* “Who did that?”

Me: “We’re so sorry–”

Drunk Guy: *pointing at me* “Was it you, girlie?”

Me: “No, it was my friend, but it was an accident–”

(As I’m speaking, he grabs my glass of water and takes a big drink out of it. He then proceeds to lean forward and spit the mouthful of water back into my face. My friends leap out of their seats, his friends rush over to pull him back, food and drinks are knocked everywhere, and I’m standing there in shock, dripping.)

My Friend: “[My Name]! Are you okay?!”

Me: “My… my glasses…”

(It was all I could think to say. As the staff ran over, the drunk guy ran out of the restaurant, hopped in a car, and drove away. The cops were called immediately and got there just after the stunned restaurant manager arrived with the alarm key. While they were both interviewing me and my friends, the drunk guy drove back into the parking lot and was promptly arrested for assault and DUI. His friends were apologetic and tried to pay for my meal, but the restaurant had already remade all of our food and comped it. We pooled all the cash we had between the four of us to tip the staff, who were nothing short of amazing the entire time. I’m not sure what the moral to this story is. Look out for alarmed exit doors?)

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The Gift Card Can’t Be Used In Prison Cafeterias

, , , , | Right | June 7, 2019

(I’m in a large, well-known store, waiting in line at customer service. The next customer is called.)

Customer Service Agent: “How can I help you?”

Customer: *loudly* “I need to pay for this with my gift card and the cashier wouldn’t help me. You need to do it.”

Customer Service Agent: “I don’t see why there would be a problem if you have the money on the card. The total is $[total]; go ahead and scan your card.”

Customer: “I don’t have it with me.”

Customer Service Agent: “That is a problem, then. I can’t use the card unless you have it with you; you’ll have to go get it if you want to use it. Do you have another form of payment? Or, I can hold this for you while you get your card.”

Customer: *starting to yell* “You just said I could do it; now you have to! All these people heard you say you could use my card!”

Customer Service Agent: “We have to have the gift card to use it. We have no way to access the card information or balance.”

Customer: *yelling* “My card is at home. H-O-M-E, home! I rode the bus for two hours to get here to buy this, and I’m not going home without it.”

(The customer suddenly lunges forward, reaches over the counter, and grabs and yanks the agent’s shirt, causing her to lose her balance and fall. The second agent at the desk grabs the phone and calls 911 as another customer rushes forward to pull the first customer away from the desk. Within moments, a police officer is present, as there is a substation actually in the store. The offending customer is still yelling about not riding the bus home to get the card as he is led away, now in handcuffs.)

Police Officer: “No, you aren’t going home to get the card. You’ve earned yourself a free car ride, and it’s not to your house.”

(The agent said she was okay, but she was checked by EMTs, as she’d hit her head on the edge of the counter when she fell, and then was led away by store management. All of us in line had to give our names and phone numbers to another store employee in case they needed to contact us for a statement, but I never got a call so I don’t know how it ended.)

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They Don’t Give You A Badge For That

, , , , , | Right | June 6, 2019

(I am a senior patrol leader in my Boy Scout troop, which basically means that I am responsible for almost everything in the troop. We have been having a standard meeting until I notice a woman with her daughter, around 17 or so, come into our meeting place. I think that they are simply the parents and sibling of one of our members, so I think nothing of it until the meeting closes and everyone packs up to go home.)

Woman: *marches over to me* “I want my daughter to join your Boy Scout troop.”

Me: *flabbergasted* “Wait, what? You–“

Woman: “Exactly what I said. I want my daughter to join your Boy Scout troop.”

Me: “Um, I don’t think that is physically possible unless you know, your child gets, I don’t know, a gender switch?”

Woman: “What?”

Me: “You know, when someone doesn’t want to be a specific gender and they want to change—“

Woman: “I know exactly what a gender switch is, but that was nothing to do with that. I just want my daughter to join your Boy Scout troop.”

Me: *completely done by this point* “Uh, you know what the ‘Boy’ in ‘Boy Scout’ stands for, right?”

Woman: *blank stare*

Me: “Miss, are you—“

Woman: *irate* “This is unacceptable. I demand to see your superior.”

Me: “Uh, sure.”

(I call over my scoutmaster. The woman is absolutely nuts at this point, tearing her own hair and hitting the walls while my scoutmaster tries to calm her down. I start packing up my own things so I can go home.)

Woman: *screaming now* “THIS IS SEXIST. I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU WON’T LET MY DAUGHTER JOIN YOUR BOY SCOUT PATROL!”

(My scoutmaster is a retired Marine and is very proficient in martial arts.)

Woman: *SWINGS at my Scoutmaster* “LET MY DAUGHTER JOIN! LET MY—“

(My scoutmaster instinctively blocks the attack and, after a quick tussle, ends up on top of her while pinning her arms underneath her, making it impossible for her to move. Everyone is staring at her. One of the parents, who is a cop, walks over.)

Cop Parent: “All right, [Scoutmaster], no need to strain your back. I got it from here.”

Me: *to the 17-year-old girl* “Was she actually serious?”

Girl: “Yeah, she thought I was useless around the house despite being the only one in our family working, so she wanted me to join Boy Scouts. What a f****** moron.”

(Best part? The girl and I realized we went to the same high school and we started hitting it off. The second best part? When the woman showed up to court for attempted assault and disturbance of the peace, her daughter said, in front of her, “Frankly, she was always overzealous about other’s actions, but never considered her own. Personally, I think she deserves it.”)

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You’ll Get A Kick Out Of This

, , , , , , , | Right | June 6, 2019

(I work at a cafe located between a dance studio and a karate studio. Because of our position, a lot of kids and teens from both studios eat here. During this incident, a young man in his twenties is harassing a group of teenage dancers still in their ballet leotards.)

Man: “Hey, baby, nice a**! Can you bend over backward for me?”

(The girls look uncomfortable, so I intervene.)

Me: “Sir, if you continue to harass my customers, I will have to ask you to leave.”

Man: “You can’t kick me out, you little s***! I’m a paying customer.”

(I’m about to say something when a ten-year-old girl in a karate gi walks up to the man.)

Man: “Oh, little karate kid is here. Be careful and don’t break a nail.” *laughs*

(Out of nowhere, the little girl grabs the man, flips him, and kicks him in the groin. Now the man is lying on the floor in pain. The dancer girls and I look shocked, the little girl just shrugs and walks up to the counter.)

Little Girl: “Can I have ice cream, please?”

(The dancer girls offered to pay for the little girl’s ice cream, but I gave her the ice cream for free.)

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