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A collection of stories curated from different subreddits, adapted for NAR.

How Do You Restaurant?

, , , , | Right | CREDIT: KingOfArms | November 29, 2020

I walk into work today to complete chaos. It’s a holiday that’s specific to my state, apparently, so we are pretty busy.

I am trying to rush to a table outside with waters when a couple of people stop me in the crowded lobby.

Customer #1: “We have a reservation; do we need to check in, or should we just head to our table?”

Me: “Head over to the host stand to check in, please.”

I point them in the right direction. They thank me and I continue on my mission to take water to the outside table.

I am stopped again by a group. I can see that they have sat themselves at the lower-level patio, at a table that is pretty far away from everything else but close to the parking lot. One of the group members is an old lady.

Customer #2: “Excuse me! We’re sitting here because she’s old and she can’t walk up there.”

Me: “That’s perfectly fine, as long as nobody needs that table right now. Just send one person up to the host stand and they will be able to seat you.”

Customer #2: “There’s seven of us. How do we do this?”

Me: “One of you just needs to walk up to the host stand and they will be able to find you a table.”

Customer #2: “But how do we do that?”

Me: “Only one of you needs to go up. The hosts will be able to find you a table.”

Customer #2: “There’s seven of us and she’s old.”

Me: “She doesn’t need to go up. Only one of you does. The hosts can assist you.”

About a minute goes by as we keep having the same exchange. They’re literally asking the same thing over and over and I keep answering the same thing. Then, finally, it registers in their brains that one of them needs to go in.

Customer #2: “Well, we have two people inside checking in right now.”

Me: *Internally facepalming* “Okay, great. The hosts will find you a table.”

I walk away and greet my table and get their orders, and as I am walking back, a member of the group of seven comes down.

Customer #1: “We got the table ready! Time to go in!!”

Coincidentally — yet not surprisingly — the two people who had stopped me in the lobby earlier were part of the other group I spoke to. Sigh.

They Don’t Pussyfoot With Pet Safety

, , , | Healthy | CREDIT: deadeyes2019 | November 28, 2020

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.

My girlfriend has a cat, and I’m allergic to it; I get incredibly itchy. I treat these allergies with promethazine, and it works perfectly.

I queue up at the pharmacy, and it comes to my turn to order.

Me: “Hi, could I get the [Promethazine Brand], please?”

Dispenser: “Of course. Can I ask what you’re using it for, sir?”

Me: “My cat allergies.”

Dispenser: *Frowning slightly* “Excuse me for a moment.”

She walks to the back and I can see her discussing something with the pharmacist. Then, she returns.

Dispenser: “I’m sorry, sir; we can’t sell you this if you are going to give it to your cat.”

I am slightly taken aback by this and try not to laugh.

Me: “Sorry, I meant it’s for my allergies to cats.”

We both laughed, and she jokingly claimed that it had been a long day.

That brand even has a cat on the packaging here in England.

Why Would You Want A Reluctant Person To Hold Your Infant, Anyway?

, , , , , | Friendly | CREDIT: elephantturtle85 | November 27, 2020

I’m a twenty-four-year-old woman, and I have a diagnosed phobia of children, especially babies, and especially babies’ drool. I’ll gag and even throw up if a baby touches me. Unfortunately, no one ever believes this. This happens when I am around, in a shopping centre.

My mom and I are out shopping for groceries and my mom’s friend Karen up with her baby. They start small-talking, and I step back and start looking at something on a shelf to avoid looking at the baby, since it’s drooling and if I see it I’ll start gagging,  which is always awkward and embarrassing.

[Friend] asks me to hold her baby for God knows what reason. I decline, saying I’ve never held one and it’s unsafe. She then starts to walk over with the drooling nightmare, so I start backing away and I gag.

Friend: “Why did you gag? My baby isn’t disgusting! What the h*** is wrong with you?!”

Mom: “Oh, she’s weird with germs. It doesn’t matter. I’ll hold her.”

Friend: “No! I want her to hold her! She’s just being dramatic.”

She starts getting closer to me and I start gagging more dramatically; my eyes are watering and everything. The more I gag, the louder and angrier she gets, the closer she gets, and the worse I get. At this point, she’s right in front of me and I’m backed against a shelf

My mom tries to defuse the situation, but [Friend]’s holding a baby, so what can Mom really do?

Eventually, she pushes the child, who is now sobbing, too close to me. A bit of saliva from the sobbing gets on me, and I projectile vomit my breakfast all over [Friend] and her baby.

She started screaming hysterically, my mom laughed hysterically, and I was just unbelievably embarrassed, so I ran to the bathroom to clean up.

Just Keep Swimming… Far Away From Me

, , , , | Friendly | CREDIT: richardkeck | November 26, 2020

I swim competitively in a club. I am at a meet against a rival swim team, about to race. I am getting ready to swim, doing stretches, when the lady timing the lane taps my shoulder.

Lady: “Can you move a bit? My son is swimming next.”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to swim after the group in front finishes.”

Lady: “What do you mean? I’m sure you made a mistake. Please move to the side now.”

The lady shuffles to the side to reveal her son, who looks pretty young or maybe just short; he is on the other team and looks kind of confused.

Me: “How old is your son? I’m pretty sure he’s supposed to swim in the other pool.”

The older kids are racing in a different pool than the younger kids.

Lady: “I know for a fact that my son is supposed to swim in this pool, in this lane. Now please move.”

The kid starts telling his mother that he thinks I am correct, but the woman waves him off.

Me: “Uh, ma’am, can you get the stopwatch ready? I’m swimming in, like, twenty seconds.”

Lady: *Raising her voice* “I think that you mean that my son is about to swim. Now, please move to the side. I want my son to get a good time.”

The official blows his whistle, and the swimmers in the other lanes get onto the starting blocks. When I begin stepping up on the blocks, the lady grabs my wrist and pulls me back.

Me: *Annoyed* “What are you doing? I’m about to swim.”

Lady: “That is it!

The lady pulls me back and pushes her son up to the starting blocks, and before I can try to stop it, the official says:

Official #1: “Take your marks!”

I yell towards him.


The official puts down his microphone and yells:

Official #1: “Quiet down, son, a swim meet is going on!”

That’s +100 self-confidence for the woman.

Another official runs up to us.

Official #2: “What is going on here?”

Me: “Uh, this lady is trying to stop me fr—”


The official looks at the lady’s son on the starting blocks.

Official #2: *Calmly* “Son, get down from there; you’re supposed to swim in the other pool.”


The official waves her off and helps her son get off the blocks. He takes the stopwatch from the lady.

Official #2: “You can go now, ma’am. I can time this kid.”

The woman angrily walked away, her son right behind her, running to get to the other pool. The son missed his race, and I bet the lady yelled at him like it was his fault.

The official let me get up on the blocks, and I finally got to swim my race. I did really well! I dropped some time from previous races, and I had a good story to tell my friends afterward!

Parking Illegally Is No Day At The Beach

, , , , | Friendly | CREDIT: nerothic | November 26, 2020

I live a ten-minute walk from the beach. As you can imagine, on nice days, people park in our neighbourhood — free parking — and walk to the beach. There is a lot of paid parking space closer by. Parking is quite enough for the residents, but not for us and tourists who don’t want to pay or can’t get a parking space closer by.

My husband and I decide to remove some poles from our front yard so that I can park my car there. It’s small and fits just right, and there is enough room to get the bikes out of the shed and things out of my car. Our front yard is our property to be very, very clear.

Here is where the entitled people come into play. One weekend, the weather is quite nice: not too cold, lovely sunny weather, and overall pleasant for the time of the year. My husband and I take our son out to a petting zoo. We choose to go with my car so that my husband won’t have to drive circles around the neighbourhood afterward.

After a couple of hours, we come home to find someone parked in our front yard. Yeah, no. Not your house, not your yard, so certainly not your parking space. We decide to call the non-emergency line from our local police station to ask for advice.

Police: “You go ahead and call a tow truck, and we’ll send someone over to supervise.”

Okay, cool.

Then, the tow truck company is called and they say they will be over in around twenty minutes; they have some other towing to do.

I decide to stay outside to wait for them. The tow truck company comes, we show proof of residence, and they start to do their job after getting some drinks from me. (Mom always taught me to be kind and look after people, even if they do the jobs you hired them for.) They have their drinks, give a business card for the owners just in case, and leave with the car. I go to my car and put it back in our own front yard.

Two and a half hours later, our doorbell rings. The entitled people who owned the car have returned from their extended walk on the beach. I open the door.

Man: “Hello. Our car is supposed to be here.”

Me: “Yes, it used to be. We had it towed as it was on our property.”

Woman: “But there’s no sign, so we are allowed to park here.”

Me: “No, you’re not. This is private property, and we don’t need to put a placard or anything.”

We had checked that.

Man: “You little liar! You just stole our car and sold it.”

Me: “No, I didn’t. I have the phone number of the towing company.”

I try to hand them the card.

Screaming ensues from the both of them. I’m still standing in the doorway, and my husband is throwing anxious glances through our living room door. I’m nineteen weeks pregnant and he doesn’t like the sound of what is happening outside.

Then, the fun begins. The man tries to force entry to our home. My husband sees this, pushes the man out, and closes the door. Afterward, we dialed for some police assistance.

Meanwhile, we have a pair of banshees at the front door, ringing the doorbell and pounding on the door. A couple of minutes later, the police show up. My husband is not having me near them again. He goes outside where the entitlement comes wafting through the air towards us. He explains the whole situation to the cops while the couple keep screaming things like, “Liar!” and, “Thief!”

My husband even calls the tow company, and they affirm that they have towed a car with the given license plate number.

It comes to a point where the cops give the couple two options: either leave willingly or leave with a couple of shiny bracelets on.

They left… screaming. The tow truck company called us afterward, just to tell us how it went and ask if we were okay. They told us they had loads and loads of fun messing with them a bit.

And now, three times a guess what is screwed on our side of the shed? Yep, a note saying that our front yard is private property and cars will be towed.