Unfiltered Story #159881

, , , | | Unfiltered | August 4, 2019

So to set the scene. The pub I work at is in a very affluent and rich area of London that sits on the River Thames. We have a terrace and below that benches where could dip your toes into the water if you chose to. If it rains then we’re dead, if the suns out then we’re as alive as newborn baby. The weather had been s**t all week but the so called ‘Spanish Ploom’ blew up and it’s all of a sudden 30 degrees on a Saturday.

Bear in mind that customers at this pub are great at handling particular things not being available and understand that the bar staff is not responsible.

At the point of my story we had 30+ people at our ‘island’ bar and hundreds more enjoying beer, food and sunshine. Good for business but bad for the three bar staff trying to get around to each customer whilst using our photographic memories to know who came first. Couple this with a menu exhausted of most items and a soda water gun that has just broken down under the pressure.

Me: Hi, what can I get you?

Lady: Hmmm could I get a Peroni, a large malbec and a white wine spritzer please?

Me: I’m really sorry but the gun that supplies the soda water is broken so don’t have any.

Lady: What’s the difference between soda water and sparkling water?

Me: (No idea at the time. Since researched it for future ammo) I’m not sure. Would you like a bottle of sparking water?

Lady: You’re going to charge me for it? It’s not my fault you have no soda water.

Me: I understand that but they cost £2.50 per bottle and we can’t just give those out for free. I’m sorry.

This is when she storms off to her table and I serve the next customer. She comes back over and I finish up and go straight back her, avoiding the gaze of dozens of other customers already p***ed at waiting.

Me: Hi again

Lady: Hi.Thanks for waiting for me (sarcastic).

Me: (Urgh but ignored, although I getting really annoyed now. I hate rude customers). Have you decided what you would like?

She pulls up the menu and points to two of the things we do not have on the menu.

Me: I’m really sorry but we don’t have those. It’s been really busy today. I can tell you what we do h…

She now screams to a table across the pub where I see an older woman, an older man and somebody I’m assuming is her husband.

Lady: Mum! They don’t have the mussels either. Jesus Christ.

The Mother now storms over to the bar and takes her place next to her daughter. She is very angry.

Mother: So you’re telling me that you don’t have soda water and you don’t have anything on the menu. What’s the point? What do you have?

Me: I was just going to…

Lady: Well go on then.

They were already rude to begin with but they had just punched through my ceiling of suffer-ability.

Me: (Calmly). Listen. Can we just stop this right here please? I know it’s annoying but it’s not my fault this has happened. I can only serve you what we have and you’re being incredibly rude to me. I’m a human like you are and there is no need for you to talk to me like this.

Lady: You’ve been rude to me since the beginning! When I went back over to the table I told them that the server (me) is being really passive aggressive to me (she means polite but firm, we have 30 customers and three bar staff. No time to dilly dally).

Mother: Why are you even doing this job?

I could have explained that I was doing this to support myself through University but wanted this interaction over with. It’s the point in customer service that you would love to continue and perhaps turn them to your way of thinking but not in front of other customers. Who are now enjoying the show with your manager in the corner making customers coffee.

Me to Mother: This is the first interaction we’ve had and the first thing you did was shout at me.

Mother: Well if you can’t handle that then you’re in the wrong profession.

Here is when I turn to a colleague on the other side of the bar and call out to her. I wanted to swap customer but it wasn’t possible. It seemed the right thing to do but in hindsight it’s like sending your friend to Bali with a bag of drugs so you could get high whilst they get the firing squad.

Welcome the five seconds of awkward silence.

Mother: Oh I don’t to stay here now anyway.

They storm off and I see every customer on my side of the bar staring wide-eyed at me. I’m not sure if it was sympathetic as I kept my voice down and they couldn’t here me.

Then I hear a shout:

Mother: Where is your manager? I want to see your manager

I’m not sure if I was bothered here but it couldn’t be a great thing for me. Having to explain myself in front of angry customers without being rude and then having to walk away knowing they’d give their deranged view of what happened would be unpleasant. I pointed to the coffee machine and said over there and carried on serving other customers with a smile as though nothing had happened. After ten seconds I had a look around and noticed the manager still working away and the ‘angered’ customers nowhere in sight.

For the sake of this story it would have been great for that next step to have been taken. It shows how messed up it can be in customer service that you would be worried for your job because you were mistreated by others.

Sometimes You Can’t Beat The Old Guard

, , , , , , , , | | Working | July 5, 2019

(My husband and I own a pub. While I am away interstate visiting family, a new security guard is hired. His job is mainly to check IDs and keep out or remove drunk people. Upon returning, I stop by to see my husband.)

Me: “Hi! You must be the new guard.”

Guard: “You can’t come in.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Guard: “You’re pissed; you can’t come in.”

Me: “What? I haven’t even had a drink.”

Guard: “Bulls***. I can smell it on you. Now, leave before I call the cops.”

Me: “Look here. I don’t think you realize—“

Guard: “Are you deaf, as well as fat and ugly?! You’re not coming in. Now, waddle off before I call the cops.”

Me: “Listen here. Get [Husband] out here now!

Guard: “You really are as stupid as you are fugly. F*** off or I’m calling the cops.”

(I pull out my phone and call the pub, as my husband would not likely answer his mobile.)

Husband: “[Pub], [Husband] speaking. How can I help you?”

Me: “Hey, babe, it’s me. The new guard isn’t letting me in. Can you come out, please?”

Guard: “Your pathetic little boyfriend isn’t going to get you in. I say who comes in, and a fat, ugly piece of s*** like you is not getting in. Now, f*** off before I kick both you and your boyfriend’s a**es.”

(My husband is still on the other end of the phone and hears everything. He and the other guard, who is working inside, come rushing out.)

Husband: “[Guard], what the h*** do you think you’re doing?”

Guard: “This woman is drunk and refuses to leave. I’m about to call the police.”

Husband: “No, you’re refusing to let a sober woman in, who also happens to be my wife and an owner of this pub. [Other Guard] will get your stuff; you’re banned from here for life.”

Guard: “But, but… I didn’t know she was your wife. That’s not fair!”

Husband: *now practically shaking with anger* ”It doesn’t matter if it’s my wife or another patron; you should never speak to anyone the way you just did. You’re lucky she hasn’t kicked your a** for it. Now, I suggest you apologize before she does or calls the cops for threatening her.”

Guard: “Umm… I’m sorry. Please don’t fire me.”

Husband: “Too late. You’ll be lucky to get another job after this gets out. You need to get off our property. Go to your car and [Other Guard] will bring out your stuff. You’re hereby banned from here.”

(The guard walked to his car while calling me various names and yelling how this was all my fault. Over the next week, he kept ringing the pub and when I’d answer he’d threaten me. Also, my windshield was smashed, the side of my car was keyed, and my tires were slashed — all caught on the CCTV cameras. Eventually, he was charged with malicious damage and making death threats. He was sentenced to eight months in jail and lost his security license.)

Maybe They Were Telepaths

, , , | | Related | June 24, 2019

My parents offered to take my wife and me out for lunch to a place my mum had selected, one of those “gastropub” places you see popping up all over the UK. She chose well, as the food was delicious, the menu was varied, portion sizes were excellent, and the service was very professional. We really enjoyed our lunch. The weird bit was this.

On this particular Sunday afternoon, the place wasn’t really very busy; there were just a few families like us and a couple of barflies. Almost all the other patrons were, like us, fairly typical of the sort of clientele you’d find in a place like this, in the sense that they were chatting, laughing, and generally enjoying themselves. I say, “almost all,” because the three people at the table behind ours were most definitely the exception.

They were an elderly couple and their adult son who arrived around the same time we did. They looked at their menus and spoke to the waitress only to order drinks and food. The rest of the time they sat there in total silence. And I really mean that. While waiting for their food, the three of them sat there looking daggers at each other. When they got their food, there was still no conversation, not even of the, “Oh, that looks delicious,” or, “How’s the chicken?” variety. Throughout the entire meal, they just stared at each other.

I bet Christmas is a bundle of laughs in that household.

They’ll Be There By The Twelfth Round

, , , , , , | | Legal | June 18, 2019

(This story is courtesy of my father-in-law. He is a regular at a busy little pub in [Large City] with an interesting mix of clientele. This pub is located on the main road and shares a car park with a reasonably large police station. One night things get a bit rowdy and a large scale fight breaks out. Windows are being smashed and people are staggering away bleeding. Naturally, the landlady calls the police.

Landlady: “This is the landlady of [Pub] on [Street]. We’ve got a massive brawl going on; could you please send some help?”

Dispatch: “No problem, but the nearest officers we have right now are 30 minutes away.”

Landlady: *glances down the street at the busy and active police station* “Isn’t there anyone who can get here faster?”

Dispatch: “Sorry, duck, there isn’t. Tell you what; do you think you can keep the fight going until we get there?”

Boxer Botherations

, , , , , , | | Right | May 3, 2019

(I work in a fairly busy pub and have picked up a number of funny stories, but this one has to be the strangest. A new coworker comes up to me and informs me that a homeless man is bothering some guests who are eating at one of our outside tables. She doesn’t know how to deal with it and the duty manager is sorting out a problem in the cellar, so as the most experienced employee around, I have to deal with it. It’s late October, and though it’s a sunny afternoon, it’s still quite chilly out. I go to see what the problem is and find a drunk man holding a half-empty bottle of wine — a brand that we don’t sell — with no lid, harassing a mother and daughter at our outside table. At the next table over is a family of tourists, including some young children, who are also visibly disturbed.)

Me: “Excuse me, sir, I’m going to have to ask you to move on.”

Homeless Man: “What for?”

Me: “You’re bothering our guests.”

(He seems beside himself with rage and starts sputtering.)

Homeless Man: “If your guests are, are experiencing botherations, then that’s no business of mine!”

(He proceeds to set the wine bottle down on the women’s table, pull off his shirt, kick off his shoes, drop his trousers, and run down the street in his boxers. I’m shocked, the two women are shocked, the tourist family is shocked, and the doorman, drawn over by the sound of commotion, is also shocked.)

Doorman: “What did you say to him?”

Me: “I just asked him to move on!”

Doorman: “Well, he’s f****** moving!”

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