I’m home from university during my first year. I’m out with some friends from my hometown, catching up over a few drinks. I get a text message from my girlfriend. I read the preview line of the message.

Preview: “Oh, my God, I think I’m pregnant…”

My heart stops, my blood runs cold, and the bottom drops out of my stomach. We’re both only eighteen and we have only been dating a month or two. Neither of us is in a position to be having a child. Not to mention, the few times we have been intimate, we’ve taken sufficient precautions, so the question of HOW this might have happened is also racing through my mind.

I open the conversation to read the rest of the message and begin to formulate a response. And then, I read the full text.

Message: “Oh, my God, I think I’m pregnant with an Indian Food Baby. I have eaten SO much curry! How’s your night going? xxx”

My brother and I are functionally nocturnal. We sleep at 10:00 am and wake at 4:00 pm. After a stressful night at work, the two of us find a pub and buy some drinks. As the weather is nice, we decide to sit outside while we drink.

A woman passes by with a bunch of young children. She sees us and points us out to her children.

Woman: *Pointing at us* “Disgraceful. It’s not even eight. Drinking at this hour. Kids, make sure you don’t become like them. You all must study hard and not be drunk deadbeats like them.”

Me: “Ma’am, really? You don’t want your kids to become doctors? Okay.”

Brother: “Pity. We need more surgeons on the night shift. Accidents can happen at any hour.”

Me: “Like that old man that had a stroke at 4:00 am?”

Brother: “Or that drunk driver that crashed at 2:00 am?”

Me: “Whatever. Kids, if your mom doesn’t want you to save lives, then who am I to complain?”

As we speak, we pull out our staff lanyards for the local hospital, grin, and knock our bottles together. Admittedly, we are a bit drunk by now, which is why we are being so unprofessional.

Woman: “Don’t listen to them, kids. They’re liars and drunks and a disgrace to society.” *Drags them away*

I’m working on the bar on a fairly busy night, serving a table of regulars.

Regular #1: “[Beers], please, [My Name]!”

Regular #2: “Actually, I’ll have a latte. Have you got any biscuits to go with it?”

Me: “No, I’m sorry, we don’t.”

Regular #2: “That’s fine—”

Regular #1: *Butting in* “That’s not good enough. We’ll be expecting a wedge of cake on the side for the inconvenience!”

They all laugh and I know they’re just joking around, but as a special treat, I decide to quickly run into our back storeroom and grab a mini muffin from our breakfast stock. I’m not really supposed to just give them away, but our company has a policy that focuses heavily on going the extra mile to make guests happy, so I figure this counts.

I pop it down beside [Regular #2]’s latte, but before anyone can say anything, [Regular #1] grabs the muffin off his buddy’s plate and gobbles it up in two seconds.

Regular #1: *With a mouth full of crumbs* “Aw, cheers, [My Name], you’re a real star!”

I don’t know how to react while staying professional, so I just kind of walk away to serve other people. While I am taking care of other customers, [Regular #1] keeps coming back up to the bar.

Regular #1: *For the third time* “Hey, [My Name], can we get more muffins?”

Me: “Sorry, buddy, I can’t do it. I wasn’t supposed to even give you that one.”

Regular #1: *Whining* “Oh, come onnn, [My Name], just two more for the other guys!”

I feel bad for [Regular #2] not getting his muffin, but my gut tells me his mate is just going to pull the same stunt and eat anything else I bring out.

Me: “It was supposed to be a one-off treat for [Regular #2]. I was trying to do something nice and you ruined it. That’s your own fault. It’s done. It’s over. You ruined it. You’re not getting any more.”

He huffed off back to his table. Months later, he still occasionally tries to get free muffins out of me, and he even dropped me in trouble with my manager by complaining to them that I “wouldn’t give [him] free stuff anymore.”

I’m working in a very loud pub. I’m deaf in one ear but can lip-read sufficiently enough to have had three years of bartending with no problem. I have occasional issues with certain words, but I tend to parrot back orders to make sure.

Lady: “Two double gin and tonics, please.”

Me: “Two double G&Ts! Any particular gin, ma’am?”

Lady: “Just the house.”

I start pouring drinks.

Lady: “No, no Gordon’s!”

Me: *Shows her the bottle* “This is Tanqueray, ma’am, not Gordon’s.”

Both are similarly sized green bottles.

Lady: “Bombay?”

I am irritated because I’ve just wasted two doubles’ worth of Tanqueray because she didn’t bother specifying a gin.

Me: “Of course. I can do Bombay, instead.”

I start pouring Bombay.

Lady: “No, not Bombay! Gordon’s!”

Me: “We don’t sell Gordon’s, ma’am. I asked if there was a specific gin you wanted and you didn’t clarify so I poured the house. Is there anything else you would like?”

Lady: “I’m allergic to Bombay and Tanqueray! That’s why I want Gordon’s!”

I’m now worried, because allergen violations are a huge problem in my district.

Me: “Oh. May I ask what it is that you’re allergic to so I may advise a certain gin?”

Lady: “Juniper.” 

For anyone that doesn’t know, to legally be classified as a gin, it HAS to contain juniper. She settled for Hendricks and didn’t die.

My mother is allergic to rapeseed oil and paprika. When we eat out, she looks at the menu, picks something she doesn’t think will have paprika on it, and then, when she orders, tells the waiter she’s allergic to rapeseed oil.

We were eating out one evening and my mother ordered her food and mentioned her rapeseed oil allergy and all was fine. The food arrived and it was sprinkled all over with decorative paprika.

My mother threw a tantrum and started almost shouting at the waitress. I had to shout across the table to get her to stop laying into the poor waitress because she clearly didn’t realise that the waitress wasn’t a mind reader.

Her excuse? We go to the pub a lot so the chef should have known not to put paprika on it.

Now, whenever I go out with her, I make sure she mentions both allergies, just in case.

Related:
Allergic To Common Sense, Part 17
Allergic To Common Sense, Part 16
Allergic To Common Sense, Part 15
Allergic To Common Sense, Part 14
Allergic To Common Sense, Part 13