I’m taking an order from a table of four: two parents and two teenage kids.
Me: “And how would you like your steak, ma’am?”
Mom: “Well done. I don’t want it barking at me.”
I do my darndest to not say anything but the rest of the table is staring at her. Finally…
Son: “Mom… it’s a cow.”
Related:
Turkey From The Mutant Farm
Out with my partner at an Italian restaurant, I order a pasta dish and specify that I am allergic to raw onions and garlic; my body overreacts to the compound that makes most people cry.
This is a snooty and expensive restaurant. Over $300 — along with a comfortable tip — is dropped on this meal for the two of us and the waiter is well-to-do and rather snobbish.
When my plate arrives, a long stock of green onion is stabbed into the middle of it as a garnish.
Me: “Hold on. I told you I’m allergic to raw onions.”
Waiter: “There’s— There’s no raw onion here.”
Me: “But… what’s this?”
Waiter: “That’s a green onion stalk.”
Me: “What is it?”
Waiter: “A green onion.”
Me: “Without the colour.”
Waiter: *Pause* “Green onion.”
Me: “Okay. Without the first word.”
Waiter: “Green—”
Me: “No! Wait! Not that word, the second word.”
Waiter: “Onion.”
Me: “Yeah.”
The waiter stares, motionless, at me and I say:
Me: “I know I wasn’t clear about the severity of the allergy, but it is anaphylactic. I need new sauce that hasn’t touched any raw onions.”
I got my new dish and all was good, but to this day, I now always order, “No raw onions, green onions, spring onions, or garlic, please. It’s an allergy.” My friends all know my spiel as well as I do and will sometimes do it for me if it pleases them.
I work as a host at a restaurant located in a high-end clothing store. Because of our location, we cannot stay open later than the store. However, this never stops guests from wanting to sit and order dinner right when we are set to close.
A mom and her two young daughters come up and ask to look at the menu.
Mom: “What time are you open until?”
Me: “Our last seating is at 8:30 pm.”
Daughter #1: “That’s when our bedtime is!”
Mom: “Well, we still have some shopping to do, so why don’t we do that and come back?”
Daughter #2: “We should get here right when they close!”
Cue my internal screaming!
Related:
Not Very Closed Minded, Part 37
Not Very Closed Minded, Part 36
Not Very Closed Minded, Part 35
Not Very Closed Minded, Part 34
Not Very Closed Minded, Part 33
I work at a pizza place that has an all-you-can-eat pizza buffet and salad bar at a pretty cheap price. Due to the global health crisis, we have added several safety precautions such as no more than six people per table, no moving tables together, and applying hand sanitizer and gloves before using the buffet/salad bar.
One morning, a group of about twenty senior citizens comes into the restaurant right when it opens and they move a bunch of tables and chairs together. It ends up being about fourteen people at one table and five at another. Of course, the only reason they didn’t have all of them at the same table was that there was no room to add another table.
I tell them the policy about no more than six. This guy in a red shirt says, “What are you, the cops?” so I get the manager, but he says to let it slide. It’s not a decision I agree with, but he is the boss. So, I do.
A little bit later, guess who goes to the buffet? Red Shirt Guy. Of course, he doesn’t apply hand sanitizer or gloves, so we tell him to not use the buffet until he does, and he ignores us. When we ask him, he says again, “What are you, the cops?” before, thankfully, doing as requested.
Then, Red Shirt Guy goes to get a salad. I’m sure you can see where this is going.
We ask him, in the interest of the health and safety of the other customers, that he apply gloves and hand sanitizer before using the salad bar.
“What are you, the cops?” Then, he asks if we are going kick him out.
I tell him that I would be happy to ask the manager to do so. I go to get the manager and then the guy tries it again! So, I tell him, louder and firmer, for the interest of the health and safety of the other customers, to please use gloves and hand sanitizer before using the salad bar.
The manager tells him to follow the rules or he will be kicked out. The guy doesn’t cause anymore commotions, and I probably would chalk it up to just another entitled jerk if it wasn’t for the last thing.
A little bit before the Red Shirt Guy leaves, he calls me over and “apologizes.” He says that he just wanted to “push the envelope.” So, basically, he just wanted to see how much of an a**hole he could be before he got kicked out. He never “apologized” to the coworker in charge of the salad bar and buffet who he harassed more than me. What an a**hole.
While out to eat, I ordered a big meal I couldn’t finish. When the waitress came to see if we were all done, I said I’d like to take the rest of my meal. She said okay, then took my friend’s empty plate and set it directly on top of my unfinished plate, and then piled some other things on top of the empty plate.
I thought, oh, I guess she didn’t hear me, and I was a little sad. It wasn’t a great meal, but it was good, and it would have meant not having to cook the next evening.
Our check came, we paid, and then… the waitress came back with a box and set it down in front of me! I looked, and it was my leftovers, despite having had a plate stacked on top. I was mildly disgusted, so when we left, I left the box on the table.
We left the building and walked down the street, and after a minute I heard, “Miss! Miss!” I turned around, and the waitress was running after us with a takeout box in hand. “You forgot your leftovers!” she said.
I had no idea how to respond. How could she think I’d want something that had gotten a dirty plate pressed on top of it?!
She had to rush back to the restaurant so I was saved from having to say anything. I dumped the takeout box in the nearest trash can.
