Not So Tender About The Chicken, Part 2

, , , , | Right | August 12, 2020

Old Woman: “So, what kind of food do you do here?”

Literally the entire menu is behind me, but I begin going through it. One of our side dishes, the chicken tikka nachodoms, has been incredibly popular.

Old Woman: “How big is the chicken tikka nachodoms? I’m not sure I can manage a full meal.”

Me: “Oh, don’t worry, its mainly a side dish we do, but it’s incredibly popular! Here is a picture of it, too!”

I point to the menu board.

Old Woman: “Okay, that sounds nice. I’ll have that, please.”

I process the order, give her a table number, and show her to the condiments stand. The order is taken out by one of the waiters as I am busy manning the till. Not even five minutes later, one of the chefs and I notice we are getting dirty looks.

Me: “Is everything okay, ma’am?”

Old Woman: “Not really. I’m quite upset by this.”

Me: “Oh, dear, what can I do to help?”

Old Woman: “I’m a vegetarian and this dish has meat in it!”

Me: “I do apologise, but the chicken tikka nachodoms does contain meat.”

A few other customers start giggling at this point.

Old Woman: “I need a fresh one without meat as I’m vegetarian!”

Me: “Sure, no problem! I proceed to let the kitchen know I need the vegetarian version of the chicken tikka nachodoms!”

I hope she got the hint by the end!

Not So Tender About The Chicken

Why Apply For A Job If You’re Not Going To, You Know, Do It?

, , , , , | Working | August 11, 2020

My coworker is one of those employees who makes a great show of working really hard but always finds reasons to get out of doing what she’s told to do. If a manager tells her to help out doing task A, she apologizes profusely but says she’s scrambling to do task B and wants to know if she could just ignore task A entirely. Usually, the answer is no. Then, she loiters over Task B, only to “forget” where she was supposed to go next.

I put a bug in the manager’s ear about the things she has done and he agrees to keep an eye on her. Today, she is setting the tables in a side room as it opens for customers. When he finds out that she is too busy setting the tables to help her coworker out of the weeds, he tells me and [Coworker] both that one table is solely [Coworker]’s tonight. It seats five people. She is to do nothing else but make this one table happy. Nothing else. No other duties. Period.

Anyone else would cotton on that this is a trap waiting to be sprung and clue in that their job is close to a deadly, invisible line. Not my coworker.

I send the tabletop of five people in and mark them into her section. Fifteen minutes in, I am gobsmacked to see one of the five, a gentleman, come ambling out of the room to ask if a waitress could be sent in, as they haven’t even ordered their drinks yet and have already decided on their meal.

My coworker is back in the side room, across the restaurant from her table, her back to the room in general, setting the rest of the empty tables. She hasn’t even introduced herself to her one table.

I tell her in a sickly sweet voice that, as she was told, she only needed to set her own table and not an entire side wing, and that she needs to get her butt over there and take their order.

[Coworker] huffs and takes their drink order and dinner order and then leaves. I return to the hostess stand and wave over the manager for a quick conference.

The customer makes his appearance again half an hour later. They got their drinks but are wondering when the food should be out. He is remarkably calm and merely a little annoyed but not furious.

I grab the radio and ask about the wait time for food. I get the response, “About five to ten minutes.”

Okay, our chefs are on their game, so why are we at the thirty-minute mark? I go hunting again. 

My coworker is rolling silverware! She says she “forgot” that she had a table — ONE! TABLE! —  and couldn’t one of the other waitresses take care of it, since she was busy?

I send the manager over to put the fear of God into her and she goes sprinting to the window.

I grab the extra plates and walk with them to the room to begin delivering food when something strange comes to my attention: the plates are cool. The food is not steaming. [Coworker] is handing out the plates stiffly, miffed at having been forced to abandon her luxurious busboy duties to serve her one table.

The man who has sought us out a couple of times takes a bite, looks [Coworker] dead in the eyes, and says, “This food is cold.”

“That’s not possible, sir,” my coworker responds. “This food came straight from the window.”

The man says, annoyed, “Do you want to touch it and find out? I’m telling you this food is cold!”

I can already tell by the temperature of the plate, but since I’m going to throw the food away anyway, I subtly stick my thumb into the spaghetti near the edge. The spaghetti is rubbery where it’s still wet, it’s getting stiff and dry where there is no sauce, and it’s room temperature.

“And I’m telling you—” [Coworker] starts, but I interrupt.

“I’m so sorry, sir! We’ll get you some fresh plates right away.”

I hustle my coworker away and wave the manager over. I explain what’s going on and he tests the plates himself while glaring at [Coworker], who is suddenly finding her shoelaces very fascinating.

Long story short, [Coworker] was sent home and told not to bother coming back to work, ever. The meal was comped — a wise decision to limit the damage to only one table and thus only one tab gets comped due to her incompetence — and I personally smoothed ruffled feathers at the table by taking over the duties of the delinquent [Coworker] until someone could be called in.

On the plus side, they tipped me well for my stellar performance. On a more humble note, I’m fairly sure that while I did a good job, the bar was set pretty darn low for comparison.

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Enough To Put You Off Dating Entirely

, , , , | Romantic | August 11, 2020

I’m a woman. After feeling sorry for myself, seeing all of my friends getting married and having kids, I decide to try online dating. I start talking to a seemingly nice man, and we decide to get dinner one night. Things start off pretty well. We’re having a good conversation, and we seem to have a lot in common.

Then, my date starts looking over my shoulder a lot. I turn around and see a group of young women, probably in their early twenties, seated at a table behind me. One woman, in particular, is dressed in a somewhat skimpy tank top and miniskirt, with a few visible tattoos, and she has a baby with her.

Date: “Must be some sort of bachelorette party or something.”

Me: “Well, they don’t seem to be causing any problems. We can ignore them and finish eating.”

Date: “That chick with the kid must be the bride. Probably got knocked up at a drunk party, looking like that. I wonder if she even knows who Daddy is. Pity the poor guy she tricked into marrying her and raising the kid.”

Me: “[Date], shut up! That’s really rude.”

Date: “Hey, I’m just saying, wear a condom, you know? Especially with her — she’s cute and all, but she looks the kind of girl who spreads diseases.”

I walked out of the restaurant, and when I got home, I reported the guy on the dating site for his behavior. Then, I closed all of my online dating profiles. I would rather be alone and single than have to deal with guys like that again.

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In Line And Out Of Line, Part 14

, , , | Right | August 10, 2020

My favourite takeout restaurant has a limit of five customers inside at a time due to social distancing measures. I look through the glass door and count four customers, so I touch the door. 

Woman: “Hey, lady, what do you think you are doing?!”

I look to a woman, sitting in a chair on the side, with three children. She is quite far away from the door.

Woman: “It’s my turn! You have to wait in line!”

Me: “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were waiting. Well, there are only four customers inside, so feel free to go inside.”

Woman: “No, they will let you know when the next one can go inside. Don’t you know anything?”

I look around if there might be a changed rule, but the woman keeps on going. 

Woman: “These people are waiting, as well! Wait your turn!”

Man: “Eh, no, I’m not. I already ordered and I’m just waiting for it to be done.”

Woman #2: “And I’m just waiting for my husband, who is inside. They don’t call for the next customer; you can go in when someone else left.”

Me: “Well, then that really means you are next! Feel free to go!”

The woman goes inside with her three children — two are at least twelve so they could easily wait outside — and they order ice cream. They are done quite quickly, but while the kids leave the restaurant through the entrance — there’s a separate entrance and exit — the woman keeps on walking back and forth through the restaurant, forcing the people inside to avoid her over and over again. Eventually, she leaves the restaurant… through the entrance, as well. 

Woman: “Now, was waiting that hard?! To follow these simple instructions… There’s a crisis going on, you know!”

I tried to smile at the nasty woman and finally went inside.

In Line And Out Of Line, Part 13
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 12
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 11
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 10
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 9

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Soup With A Side Of Confusion

, , , | Right | August 10, 2020

I am a waitress at a restaurant where soup or salad is included with the entrees. We have an option to upgrade the soup or salad for one of our premium options for $2.25.

Customer: “I would like the ribs with spaghetti.”

Me: “Great, and would you like that with a soup or salad?”

Customer: “I’ll take the French onion soup.”

Me: “Of course, and just to let you know, that is an upgrade.”

Customer: “That’s fine. But I’ll still take my salad with my meal.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, it’s soup or a salad. Did you want to change the French onion soup to a salad?”

Customer: “No. I want the French onion soup. I’m paying extra for the soup, so I should still get the salad that’s included in my meal.”

Me: “The French onion soup is actually $4.95; we deduct the amount a starter salad would be from that price, so that’s why you pay a bit extra for the upgrade. By paying for the upgrade, it doesn’t mean you’re paying full price for the soup.”

Customer: “You’re not understanding me! I’m paying extra to get soup! But I still get a salad with my meal!”

Her husband chimes and tells her what I just said. She isn’t paying full price for the soup; she is just paying a portion for an upgrade.

Customer: *Glaring at me* “Well! You could have just told me that. I still think I should get a salad with my meal because of all this fuss.”

I didn’t want to continue explaining our policies to her, so I just agreed and brought her a salad with her meal… which she didn’t touch.

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