I’m not a big fan of gravy, less so when it’s served as a watery puddle as it is in many restaurants. I tend to just order something else, but with several dishes not available, I have little choice.

Me: “Could I have the pie and chips but gravy on the side?”

Waitress: “Sorry?”

Girlfriend: “He means, can he have it in a gravy boat? Separate from the meal.”

Waitress: “Sorry, we don’t have any of those.”

Me: “No problem. I’ll have the pie and chips but no gravy.”

Waitress: “I can do that.”

We wait a while. Finally, the waitress appears.

Waitress: “Here you are: your curry and your pie.”

I look down. The plate is swimming in gravy; everything is covered. It’s actually dripping off the plate. It couldn’t have been easy to carry.

Me: “Oh, I did ask for no gravy.”

Waitress: “Oh, I’m sorry. I think that was the last piece.”

Me: “Hmm, actually, no. Can you get me, like, a bowl or something? Sorry, but this doesn’t look appetising to me.”

Waitress: *Scoffs* “It’s just gravy.”

Me: “That I specifically asked not to have. A bowl, please? Or take it back?”

She opts to leave and doesn’t bother coming back. My food is waterlogged; everything is soggy. She comes back to check on us.

Waitress: “How is everything?”

Me: “Still full of gravy. Can you take this back, please?”

Waitress: *With attitude* “I did say we didn’t have any left!”

Me: “And I did ask for no gravy. Take it back, please.”

Girlfriend: “Actually, this, too, please. This curry is just so hot. It’s supposed to be a korma.”

The waitress made a fuss but went away. My girlfriend ordered something else, but I didn’t risk it. Eventually, we got the bill, and I had to fight to have the pie taken off the bill. I saw that they automatically added gratuity to the bill, too, and I had them remove that, too.

I’m the idiot customer. A few months into the global shutdown, at the end of a very long day of dodging anti-maskers while in the grocery store and running errands, I order pickup from my favorite cheap seafood chain. This particular seafood joint is located right next to a steak chain. Cue me logging onto the app, confirming I’m here, and giving a description of the car. I sit there waiting and playing on my cell, not paying attention to how long I’ve been sitting there.

An employee knocks on the window, scaring the bejeebus out of me.

Employee: “I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”

I am laughing hysterically.

Me: “Oh, holy crap, that was funny! It’s all good and I’m more awake now. Is that my order?”

The employee is obviously relieved to find out I’m not a problem customer.

Employee: “Um, no, ma’am. I just wanted to know the name on your order?”

Me: “Oh! It’s [My Name].”

The employee goes to check but comes back empty-handed and looking terrified.

Employee: “Um… I can’t find that name. Is it under another?”

Me: *Opening the app* “Weird, I just sent it from my cell right before I got here through the app. Let me see what the confirmation number is.”

Employee: *Now with a deer-in-headlights look* “We don’t use an app for to-go orders. We only do call-in orders.”

Me: *Confused* “But why would [Seafood Chain] have an app if you don’t use it?”

Employee: *Suddenly trying to remain professional and not crack up* “Uh… ma’am, this… uh… this is [Steak Place].”

Me: *With dawning horror on my face* “I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHERE I AM ANYMORE! I AM SO SORRY! Oh, gods, I just turned into my mother.”

I then cracked myself up so bad I had to sit there for a minute before I could drive across the parking lot to the correct pickup area and get my food and explain to the food runner why I said I was there when I wasn’t. He laughed, too. A year later, I still get the giggles when I think of it.

I’m a bartender at a pretty nice restaurant. A guy walks in, sits down, and immediately starts acting weird.

Guy: “Hey, are you guys hiring?”

Me: “Sure, do you know what position you’re looking for?”

Guy: “Never mind. I don’t wanna waste your time.”

Me: “Okay.”

Guy: “What’s you guys’ Wi-Fi password?”

Me: “It’s [password].”

Guy: “I didn’t get that. Can you write it down for me?”

Me: “Sure.”

Guy: “I’m gonna get some wine. Lemme see a list.”

Me: “Okay, did you want the list by the glass or by the bottle?”

Guy: “Well, obviously, I’m gonna try something before I buy a bottle of it!”

Me: “Okay, sir.”

I hand him our list of wines by the glass.

Guy: “Lemme get the Chardonnay.”

Me: “Okay, do you know which one you want?”

Guy: “Yeah, the Chardonnay.”

Me: “Yes, we have two different Chardonnays by the glass. Do you know which one you want?”

Guy: “Yeah, lemme get the Sonoma one. But I wanna try it out before I get a glass.”

Me: “Okay, sir.”

I put a wine glass down in front of him.

Me: “Can I see your ID?”

He’s staring at his phone while I ask him, and he doesn’t look up or acknowledge hearing me. He just keeps messing with his phone. I repeat myself.

Me: “Sir, can I please see some ID?”

Guy: “I heard you the first time!”

Me: “Okay, sir.”

He shows me a picture of his ID on his phone.

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry. I can’t accept a picture of an ID. I need an actual, physical copy.”

He didn’t say another word. He got up and started walking out of the restaurant. He spat on the floor on the way out, flipped off a random lady who was at the host stand waiting to be sat, and left.

I’m from a rural area in Catalunya, Spain. My native languages are Catalan and Spanish, but until I was around eighteen years old, I barely used Spanish outside of school, so my Spanish accent is… let’s say weird. Now, knowing that, imagine my English accent. It’s not that I don’t want to do it better; it’s just that I can’t. But still, I can talk to people, and they pretty much understand me.

I used to work as a waiter in a “fancy” but pretty much always empty restaurant in my town. We used to have clients from all over, and I was the only one who could speak enough English, so I’d be the one taking their orders. I was quite happy to do that because I got to practice and most of the people were great.

One day, an American woman showed up with her son; I guess he was around sixteen or so. From the moment she first heard me talk, the woman put on a weird face, but I tried my best. After a while, she said:

Woman: “Excuse me, could you speak better English? Your English is weirding my son out.”

Son: “Mom, please!” *Looks at me* “I’m sorry, it’s not.” *Looks at her* “Let him do his job.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, that’s my English. I would need to practice a lot so I could change my accent.”

Woman: “But you have to know better so you can talk to us.”

Me: “Excuse me? I’m sorry I don’t have a better accent, but I’m trying my best.”

And then, the moment everyone was waiting for:

Woman: “Let me speak to your manager!”

I went to get him, knowing the poor dude wouldn’t understand half of what she said.

Boss: “Can I help you?”

Woman: “Your employee won’t speak better English to us!”

My boss looked at me, confused, and I translated it for him.

Woman: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHAT ARE YOU TELLING HIM?”

Boss: “I can’t help you, sorry. He has the best English. I leave you with him. Sorry.” *To me, quietly* “If she continues like this, let her write a complaint and let her leave.”

Then, he went back to the kitchen.

Woman: “WHERE IS HE GOING? WHY IS HE LEAVING? WHAT DID YOU TELL HIM? YOU JUST NEEDED TO SPEAK BETTER ENGLISH AND THIS WOULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED!”

Me: “Lady, I told you. I can’t speak better English.”

Woman: “I…” *claps* “…demand…” *claps* “…you…” *claps* “…speak…” *claps* “…better…” *claps* “…English!” *claps*

Me: *Pissed off* “LADY! I told you! I…” *claps* “…can’t…” *claps* “…speak…” *claps* “…better *claps* “…English!” *claps* “And now I need you to leave.”

Her son laughed a little bit, and then the woman grabbed her things and her son and left, yelling not very nice things, insisting that she wasn’t paying and that she would sue us, and blah, blah, blah. Nothing ever happened.

That was it. Our boss never cared about what happened; we got to eat what we didn’t serve them and we had an anecdote to tell the other waiters.

I’m a waitress in a slightly upscale Indian restaurant in a town famous for both its university and golf course. We get a lot of tourists.

A couple comes in one evening and asks (after some confusion) for water. They’re obviously tourists and aren’t British, and I understand from traveling myself that it’s sometimes it’s confusing in a foreign country figuring out the best place to buy even simple things. I direct them back toward town where, a minute’s walk away, there is a grocery store where they can buy a cheap bottle of water. It’s later in the evening, so most shops are closed but this one will stay open and is literally on the same street as our restaurant, so it is easy to find. They thank me and leave, and I feel pleased with myself for being able to help them navigate somewhere new.

A little while later, they show up again. I’m confused, wondering if I misunderstood that they wanted a bottle of water before heading to the bus. Maybe they now want to eat?

No, they are just very lost. Somehow, they missed the store one minute away.

Couple: “We can’t find anywhere open to buy water, so can we please buy some? Everywhere is closed. You are the only open place they can find!”

I did ask a manager. We obviously do not sell plastic bottles of water at our nice restaurant. We offer tap water to customers, or they can buy a fancy bottle of still or sparkling water. They’re expensive and come in large glass bottles.

After some conferring and back and forth with the couple, who were adamant that they couldn’t find any open stores — despite me walking them to the door and pointing down the street where we could LITERALLY see the lights for the grocery store — we eventually sold them an almost £10 large glass bottle of water for them to carry to the bus station.

They could have found something for under £1 if they’d just walked straight down the street as I showed them many times.

Related:
H2-Slow, Part 22
H2-Slow, Part 21
H2-Slow, Part 20
H2-Slow, Part 19
H2-Slow, Part 18