Caught In The Heat Of The Moment

| UK | Right | October 20, 2015

(I am a waitress, serving food to a table. The plates are hot, and I’m holding them in cloths to serve them. I go to put down a plate in front of a boy about ten years old, who reaches out to grab the plate.)

Me: “Oh, no, be careful. It’s hot!”

(The kid snatches the plate out of my hands and almost drops it.)

Boy: “It’s hot!”

Me: “Are you okay? Are your hands all right?”

Boy: “Yeah, I think.”

Mother: “Are you okay?! Are you hurt?”

Me: *seeing she’s acting very panicked* “Do you want me to fetch a damp cloth or something for him?”

Mother: “Yes, please.”

(I go and fetch a cold towel for him and come back to the table.)

Mother: “I can’t believe you just did that. That was very bad of you. How could you give a plate that hot to a child? He’s had to go to the bathroom with his dad!”

Me: *a bit shocked, as she had clearly seen him snatch it out my hands* “I’m very sorry. I did warn him that it was hot. It is quite loud so he might not have heard me.”

Mother: “But how could you let him hold it? These plates are really hot. That was an awful thing for you to do. He’s only young and you’ve really injured him. I can’t believe you.”

Me: “Again, I’m sorry. I was trying to put it on the table and he grabbed it out of my hands.”

(At this point my boss turns up to serve the rest of the food.)

Boss: “Is everything all right here?”

Mother: “No, actually. She’s just handed my son a red hot plate knowing it would hurt him. He’s in a lot of pain now and it’s all her fault!”

(My boss gives me a look and takes me to one side, out of earshot of the table.)

Me: “I’m really sorry; he just grabbed it. I don’t think he heard me say how hot it was.”

Boss: “Don’t worry, I don’t think you’d hurt a kid on purpose! I’m guessing his dad’s taken him to run his hands under cold water. The plates aren’t that hot but I’ll deal with it if they’re upset.”

(She came into the kitchen later saying that apparently they had not put cold water on his hands, but his mother was demanding we bring burn cream out for him (the boy himself insisted it didn’t hurt anymore). The worst part? He ordered a hot pudding and snatched that plate off me, too! Luckily the plate itself was cold!)

They’re More Likely To Fly

| Ireland | Right | October 18, 2015

(I work in a busy cafeteria style restaurant in a popular tourist attraction. A customer walks up to our hot food counter.)

Me: “Hi, how are you?”

Customer: “Yeah, what’s vegetarian?”

Me: “We have two soups which are vegetarian, we have a salad bar, and today we have a goat’s cheese quiche which is also vegetarian.”

Customer: *points to the quiches displayed* “What about that one?”

Me: “That is a quiche with leek and baked ham.”

Customer: “Yeah, I want that.”

Me: “Okay, but that’s not vegetarian. It has ham in it.”

Customer: “Are you telling me I can’t have it?”

Me: “Not at all, sir. I’m just letting you know it’s not vegetarian because it contains ham.”

Customer: “Well, that’s what I want. Give a slice of that.”

(I proceed to plate up his quiche and the sides he ordered. He walks away to pay and sits down. About 15 minutes later I’m now at the cash register serving another customer when I spot him standing close by holding his plate.)

Me: “Can I help you, sir?”

Customer: “I want a refund.”

Me: “Was there something wrong with your meal?”

Customer: “I asked for a vegetarian meal and I was served a quiche with meat in it.”

Me: “Sir, I served you that quiche. I explained to you there was ham in it, therefore making it not vegetarian. You went ahead and ordered it anyway.”

Customer: “But it has meat in it. I want a refund.”

Me: “Sir, first of all, I told you it wasn’t vegetarian. Second of all, you have eaten all of it. I cannot give you a refund.”

Customer: “I want to speak to a supervisor.”

Me: “I am a supervisor. I cannot give you a refund because you were told that the meal you ordered was not vegetarian and I believe I pointed out more than once that there was ham in it.”

Customer: *slams down his empty plate* “How was I supposed to know ham was meat?!”

Me: “Sir, pigs don’t grow on trees.”

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Something About The Service You Can’t Put A Finger On

| Irmo, SC, USA | Working | October 17, 2015

(I am a waitress in a very busy restaurant. I drop off some appetizers to a very hungry table of five, who’d been waiting longer than usual to get their food. The customers all leap at the food, like a pack of starving wolves, before I’ve even finished placing the plate on the table.)

Me: “Whoa, there! Haha… I’m going to get out of your way before I lose a finger!”

(Silence. One woman gives me a death glare, another looks positively horrified. Just then, a member of their party holds up his hand, revealing three missing fingers.)

Customer: “Hey, I represent that remark!”

Me: “Oooooh, my goodness. I am so, so sorry! I didn’t mean to— I didn’t realize that— I meant—” *I am so embarrassed that I am bright red and just want to hide under a table!*

Customer: *laughing* “No, no, that was great! I lost these fingers on the job twenty years ago, more than enough time to develop a sense of humor about it.”

(My manager runs over, having heard what had just happened.)

Manager: “Sir, I am so sorry! We do NOT tolerate discrimination from our staff. Please, allow me to buy this meal for you.” *suddenly whips around and looks at me* “I will deal with you later.”

Customer: “Oh, that is not necessary! She didn’t mean to offend, and to be honest, seeing my sister-in-law so shocked made my night!” *turns to me* “I’m just glad someone finally brought the food! I thought I was going to have to start eating my OTHER hand!”

(My manager calmed down, and not only did the table leave me a nice note, they began requesting to sit in my section!)

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What Would Jesus Order?

| KY, USA | Right | October 17, 2015

(I own a small diner in the middle of town. Despite how small it is, we get a fair amount of customers during the week. However, weekends tend to be extremely slow, usually to the point that I can run everything by myself on Saturdays and Sundays. It’s reached the point where I don’t even bother to stay open past one pm, as it’s extremely rare that anyone comes in after that on those days. On Sunday in particular, I have a group of three middle-age women who come in every week after church to grab some lunch. They tend to lecture and chastise me for working on a Sunday, but I tend to let it go since they’re otherwise fairly pleasant. However, one particular morning, they caught me in a somewhat bad mood…)

Woman #1: “Hello, . I’d have my usual, but no onions this time.”

Woman #2 and #3: *practically in unison* “Same here.”

(I go to prepare their orders, which doesn’t take long since they’re all rather easy to make. As expected, no one else has come in, so I decide to close up once they’re done. After I bring them their food, one of them looks at me with a concerned face.)

Woman #2: “You okay, sweetie? You look a little stressed out.”

Me: “Oh… it’s nothing serious. I just got caught in the middle of some drama between some friends, so I didn’t get much sleep.”

Woman #1: *scoffs* “Well maybe this is because you insist on working on Sundays. Clearly, the lord is punishing you!”

(The other two chime in, agreeing with the rather harsh comment, and I stare at them in disbelief. At that point, I finally snap, but I managed to keep my cool and take a different approach.)

Me: “Okay… you know what? You’re right. I really shouldn’t be working on Sundays.”

(I pause just long enough to watch them pat each other on the back for finally “convincing” me of how “wrong” I’ve been, then continue.)

Me: “So, from now on, I won’t open this place on Sundays anymore.”

Woman #3: *suddenly turning pale after it seemingly takes a moment for my words to register* “…Wait …what?”

Woman #2: *also catching on* “But… where will we go to eat then? You’re the only place around here that’s affordable!”

Woman #1: “Yeah! You can’t do this! We’ve been loyal customers ever since you opened this place up!”

Me: *shrugging and feigning conflicted feelings* “Well, I really am sorry. But you’ve been saying it yourselves. I shouldn’t work on Sundays, so that means I can’t open up on Sundays anymore.”

Woman #1: “W- well… I’m sure the lord will make an exception… just this once! After all, you’re serving his followers, so… yeah! I’m sure He’ll forgive you!”

(The other two hastily nodded in agreement, and I had an admittedly cocky grin plastered on my face for the rest of the day. Naturally, they haven’t given me any grief about working on Sundays ever since.)

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Cherry Picking Your Dessert

, | WA, USA | Related | October 16, 2015

(My boyfriend’s teenage brother is staying with us for a short while to do some work for his dad, which has left him pretty worn and overwhelmed. We’re out grabbing dinner before picking my boyfriend up from work.)

Me: “Okay, I know you’re pretty stressed, so why don’t I buy you some ice cream?”

Brother: “Okay, I’ll have a [ice cream treat].”

Cashier: “Would you like chocolate, butterscotch, or cherry?”

Brother: “Cherry, please.”

(By the time we get the rest of our food, he’s almost done.)

Brother: “You know what? I’m so stressed, I completely forgot I don’t even like cherry! This whole time I didn’t even notice that’s what I got!”

Me: “You’re not getting another!”

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