They Fit The Bill

| Detroit, MI, USA | Right | September 14, 2015

(I’m a new waitress at a sports bar. Today is my first day with a full section, and it got taken over by a party of about 45 people, who pulled tables from other sections into mine, so I’m handling 20 more people than I’d planned on. They are all loud, rude, and demanding. I bring them their checks, which I split individually, per their request.)

Customer #1: “Actually could you put her fries on my check? I told her I’d pay for hers!”

(The woman he’s pointing to ordered a combo, so it’s odd that he’d offer to pay for just fries.)

Me: “Sir, she ordered a combo. Did you mean someone else?”

Customer #1: “Nope! Put her fries from the combo on my bill, and the pretzel bites I ordered on HIS bill!” *he points to a random man across the table*

Me: “Er… sir, I can’t really split the cost of fries from a combo to be the same amount of a single order of fries, they’re different prices and our computers can’t do th—”

Customer #2: “Oh, enough! You’ve been so slow! You can handle this task! Now my lemonade, my wife is picking up. That table over there, I’m picking up all of their food EXCEPT two of the drinks.”

(By this time, I have 45 people requesting ridiculous and borderline impossible split checks. My manager gets called over, and she doesn’t quite understand the problem, and orders me to split the checks “correctly” for the customers. I get so overwhelmed at the computer that I start welling up tears. Suddenly, a stranger comes up with a few $100 bills.)

Stranger: “They’re a**-holes. I’ve been there. You’ll be fine. Don’t worry. I’m paying for their tab. I’ll tell your manager. Keep the change.”

(The 45 customers leave and loudly remark about what a bad waitress I am, but I ignore them and count out my 50% tip on such a huge bill!)

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A Cinnamon Twist In The Tale

| Bellevue, NE, USA | Related | September 11, 2015

(My son and I meet at a popular national taco chain for lunch. I order a limited-time chicken enchilada special with a side of their cinnamon twists for dessert. He orders a taco/burrito combo. As we are finishing eating, I get ready to share the dessert with my son, but I notice they’re already gone.)

Me: “Where are my cinnamon twists?!”

Son: “Oh, sorry, I thought they were part of my combo.”

Me: “No, they weren’t, and I had planned on sharing them with you.”

Son: “Sorry, it was an accident.”

(He then reaches out for one of my leftover tortilla chips, and I stab his hand with my plastic “spork.”)

Son: “OUCH!” *with a look of pure incredulity*

Me: “That wasn’t an accident…”

Cracking Down On Bad First Dates

| UT, USA | Romantic | September 11, 2015

(I recently reconnect with an old high school friend. He asks me out on a date so we can catch up. I agree, and everything is going great. We live in a really religious community, so we are laughing about something our neighbors said.)

Me: “Haha, yeah, they think you’re quite the rebel for having a beer.”

Him: “They think that’s rebellious? They don’t even know about my crack habit!”

(I laugh because I think he’s joking, but then I realize…)

Me: “Seriously?”

Him: “Yeah, I got offered some back when I was in college, and it was really great.”

Me: “Haha… okay.”

(Who tells someone about a crack habit on the first date?)

All That Effort Comes To Nothing

| Cleveland, OH, USA | Related | September 11, 2015

(The first week of summer, my little sister has been at home alone while my parents work and I’m at driving school. We go out for dinner one night and my dad tries to make conversation.)

Dad: “So what have you been doing today, [Sister]?”

Sister: “Nothing.”

Dad: “Oh, really? What kind of nothing?”

Sister: “Just nothing.”

Mom: “Come on, [Sister]. Spell it out.”

Sister: “N-O-T-H-I-N-G.”

(Pause.)

Dad: “S-M-A-R-T-Y-P-A-N-T-S.”

When Thirty Gets Hurty

| St. Louis, MO, USA | Related | September 10, 2015

(On the occasion of my 30th birthday, I am out with my family for dinner.)

Dad: “So, 30 years old! Wow. How does it feel to be 30… YEARS… OLD?”

Me: “Good. I feel good.”

Dad: “Yes, but 30 years…”

Me: “Well Dad, how does it feel to have a 30 year old daughter?”

(The look on his face was priceless.)

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