Gluten Out Of Ten For Ignorance, Part 3

, , , , , , | Working | May 16, 2018

(My son loves going to a pancake restaurant. I, on the other hand have a gluten allergy and it is therefore a very difficult place for me, but I agree to try it. I ask for an allergy menu, which they do not have, but the manager comes over to talk to me.)

Me: “Hi, I have a gluten allergy and can’t have anything with wheat in it.”

Manager: “No problem. We took wheat off the menu. We no longer use wheat in the pancakes.”

Me: “Then what do you put in your pancakes?”

Manager: “Buttermilk.”

Me: “What holds the buttermilk together and makes the pancake?”

Manager: “Just regular white flour.”

Me: “Um, regular white flour is made from wheat.”

Son: “Mom, you win. Let’s go someplace else for breakfast.”

Related:
Gluten Out Of Ten For Ignorance, Part 2
Gluten Out Of Ten For Ignorance

Too Chicken To Order Anything Else

, , , , | Right | May 15, 2018

(A middle-aged man comes in when I am working the register.)

Me: “Welcome to [Restaurant]. How can I help you?”

Customer: “What’s the difference between the pork loin sandwich and the chicken sandwich?”

(I stand there trying to figure out how to tell him that one is pork and one is chicken without sounding like I think he’s an idiot, but before I can say anything, he changes his question.)

Customer: “Which one’s bigger?”

Me: “They’re about the same size.”

Customer: “I’ll have the chicken.”

(The rest of the transaction went smoothly, and he got his food and left. He came in about once a week for the rest of the summer. No matter which employee took his order, he always asked the same questions and always ended up ordering the chicken.)

The “Daddy” Of All Hysterics

, , , | Right | May 15, 2018

(I am out to lunch with my father while I am about 15. We are seated at a two-top in a dark corner, so our server lights the candle on the table to give us a bit more light. It is important to note that I am still calling my father “Daddy” at this point in my life. My father and I start talking, and we hear someone clear their throat. I look over at the noise and see an older woman glaring at us.)

Me: “Is something wrong?”

Lady: “Yes! How dare you both?! Dating a minor like this, and out in the open! You should both be ashamed of yourselves.”

Me: “This is my father.”

Lady: “Don’t you lie to me to cover up your disgusting ways! I heard you call him, ‘Daddy.’ That’s what all you little girls call your older boyfriends!”

Father: “It’s also what little girls call their fathers. I can understand your concern at a young girl possibly dating an older man, so I would be willing to show you my ID and my daughter’s school ID to prove we have the same last name.”

(The woman agrees, and we both show ID. We happen to have a very common last name.)

Lady: “These IDs prove nothing at all! You can both easily have that same last name without being related! I demand you be thrown out for subjecting us to your immoral relations! Better yet, I’ll call the police!”

(Our server finally comes back with our drinks, and notices the commotion. After getting the story from us as the woman rants, our server goes to get the manager.)

Manager: “Ma’am, you are causing a disturbance. I need you to calm down or leave.”

Lady: “How dare you?! These two are breaking the law and shoving it in everyone’s faces! She’s even dirty-talking him at the table! Disgusting!”

Manager: “Okay, that’s enough. You need to pay your bill and leave. Now.”

Lady: “This is outrageous! I am trying to do my civic duty and point out the atrocities being committed right before your eyes. Why am I being punished?”

Manager: “Because you are wrong. You were proven to be wrong, and continue to proclaim otherwise while disturbing other guests. Leave.”

(Eventually, through a lot of hysterical screaming, the manager convinced the woman to pay and leave. He offered us free dessert for the trouble, but we declined since it wasn’t his fault. He ended up comping our meal, instead. Nothing beats free dinner and a show!)

Quit While You’re A-Dead

, , , , | Learning | May 13, 2018

(I go to a dinner for honors students at my college. I end up sitting at a table with two of my professors from last semester. One of them, [Professor #1], is known for wild stories about his experiences.)

Professor #1: “Yeah, but we were young and reckless, and ended up losing two scientists.”

Professor #2: “Losing? You don’t mean…?”

Professor #1: “Well, one was trying to find more types of edible mushrooms, and he made a mistake.”

Professor #2: “A mistake?!”

Professor #1: “And another was looking at rocks in a cave when he fell onto a stalactite, or a stalagmite, I guess?”

(I honestly thought he meant they quit, not died!)

Giving Them Your Two Cents, Literally

, , , , , | Working | May 10, 2018

(My husband has been going to a certain restaurant with his coworkers several times a week. He says the food and service are great, so we decide to try it one night with our two teens. There is a long wait, but nothing to complain about. When we get to our table, it is a good 15 minutes before I am able to flag down a waitress and let them know that no one has taken our drink orders. I don’t think too much of it, because they are so busy. The waiter finally arrives and is pretty curt. We give him our drink orders, and he takes off. Another 15 minutes later, he finally comes with our drinks, puts them down, and starts to take off.)

Me: “Excuse me. Are you going to take our orders? We have already been seated here 30 minutes.”

Waiter: “Oh, well, if you are ready, I guess.”

(I order, and then my husband does, too. I think it is nothing complicated. My 16-year-old starts to order, when the waiter turns to me and asks what to bring the teens.)

Me: “They can order for themselves.”

(With a sigh, he takes down their order. He doesn’t bring our salads or bread until the actual meal comes out. And then, he takes off before I can get a refill on our drinks.)

Husband: “Didn’t I ask for no onions on my salad?”

Me: “Yes, and I asked for no tomatoes.”

(On top of that, some of the order is wrong; two of the meals are actually cold — there’s nothing worse than biting into cold mashed potatoes — and just all around not very good. But we do eat what we can, because we are starving. I see the waiter several times at a table a few tables away. It is full of young college girls that are all flirting with him, and he is flirting back. I notice he is there plenty of times during the meal refilling their drinks. I try to get his attention, but he takes off after talking to them. He never returns with our ticket or anything. Fed up, we get up and go to the front to pay. I put in two cents for a tip. The person signing us out asks if I meant to do that. I tell them I most certainly did. I don’t want the waiter to think I forgot him, but I want to let him know what I think of his service. A man standing by tells me he is the manager and asks what happened. I tell him everything, and point out the waiter, who is still laughing with the college girls.)

Me: “I have a feeling that if I had perkier boobs, I would have gotten some decent service. Too bad for him, because I am willing to bet we are better tippers.”

(The manager offered us a gift card. I told him no, thank you. I had no desire to ever return, because frankly, the food just wasn’t that good. My husband did take it, because he goes there for lunch. Apparently, the food at the lunch hour is much better. He tells me they’ve never seen the waiter there again.)

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