My boyfriend works as a waiter at a local restaurant and bar. At ten o’clock pm on weekends, the kitchen closes and the bar stays open for another four hours. At this time, they post the two guys at the front and back entrance to check ID, as you have to be twenty-one to get in for the night.

I am at home when my boyfriend gets off work around 9:30, and he calls to ask if I want to meet up with him at the bar since he ran into an old friend of ours. Ecstatic, I agree. 

I get there and sit down with them a little after ten, when the door guys were just posted. Beyond [Boyfriend] and [Friend], there are three other girls I don’t recognize, although [Boyfriend] mentions he knows everyone but one from various places. Let’s call her [Customer]. She ends up sitting at the end of the table, not drinking anything, and just texting on her phone, which doesn’t matter to me at the time.

About ten minutes into us catching up, joking around, and having a good time while talking about trying out a new bar a few blocks down, [Door Guy #2] comes up to our table and goes to the girl on her phone.

Door Guy #2: “Hey, are you [Customer]?”

Customer: “Yeah?”

[Door Guy #2] pulls out his phone.

Door Guy #2: “Okay, well, I just got these messages you just sent to my sister about being underage and sneaking in here, so, is this you?”

Customer: “Well, yeah, that’s me, but no, I didn’t send them.”

We’re all watching, confused at this, because he’s showing the messages to us, things like, “lol tell your husband [Door Guy #1] that I’m twenty-one,” and, “got in before the kitchen closed and now I’m in here underage!” She’d sent these to the wife of [Door Guy #1], who happened to be the sister of [Door Guy #2], knowing she was the wife of one of the guys checking ID at the door. We had no idea she was underage, and on top of it, she begins to now argue with him, raising her voice into a shriek. [Door Guy #2] is patient but firm.

Door Guy #2: “Okay, well it’s after kitchen close, and you have to be twenty-one to be in here.”

Customer: “But [Door Guy #1] let me in!”

Door Guy #2: “And I’m asking you to leave. You can’t be in here now if you’re under twenty-one.”

Customer: “But I turn twenty-one in eight days!”

Door Guy #2: “Okay, then come see me in eight days. You need to leave. I don’t care if the rest of you stay.”

All her friends chime in at this point about how they are going to another bar anyway and they can walk her to her car. She wants to argue some more, but they finally convince her to go. I decide I don’t want to deal with any of that, so I stay and hang out with another friend I met and cool down since I’m pretty embarrassed.

My boyfriend offers to walk them to the other bar, so he’s there with them when they go outside. She immediately turns on him since he works there.

Customer: “This is so stupid! They can’t kick me out like this!”

Boyfriend: “Yes, they can. You have to be twenty-one to be there after the restaurant closes, and you aren’t.”

Customer: “Yeah, but I got let in!”

Boyfriend: “Before it closed, when you still could have ordered food. But it’s 10:30 now; he had every right to kick you out.”

Customer: “I wasn’t even drinking!”

Boyfriend: “Yes, but you decided to stupidly text and brag about being in there underage. We could lose our liquor license for that if you had gotten a drink! If you hadn’t said anything, I’m sure they would have let you sit there with your friends for a while, but having text evidence like that is dumb.”

Customer: “I just don’t think it’s right that they kicked me out! I turn twenty-one in eight days! You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m calling the manager.”

She pulls out her phone right there and calls the bar manager to complain about being kicked out of a bar for being underage not once, but three times that night. Every time, the bar manager basically tells her to bugger off. Later in the night, we catch up with the Door Guys, who roll their eyes about the whole thing.

Door Guy #1: “If you actually sneak into a bar underage, why would you be stupid enough to text someone both the doormen are related to and brag about it?”

Door Guy #2: “I dunno, but she did do us a huge favor! [Bar Manager] is going to tell the owner that we had three separate calls tonight congratulating us on doing our jobs!”

Door Guy #1: “After this stunt, she might even get banned.”

Door Guy #2: “What a dumba**.”

I haven’t the slightest idea on if she actually got banned, but she did ruin it for everyone else and now her friends won’t go out with her after the scene she made. She can find another bar. Good riddance.

I live in a state where recreational marijuana is legal. I’m ordering from a restaurant that’s popular with the stoner crowd and the people who work there are usually a little hazy themselves. For this reason, I’m usually pretty thorough about making sure everything I order is correct.

The delivery guy has just delivered my food and, to my surprise, everything is correct. I sit down to eat when I get a call.

Me: “Hello?”

Delivery Guy: “Hey, man, it’s your driver from [Restaurant]. I’m so sorry, man! I took your food to the wrong house!”

Me: “What? No, you didn’t.”

Delivery Guy: “You had [correct order], right?”

Me: *Pause* “Yeah?”

Delivery Guy: “I’m really sorry! I’m running back to the restaurant right now; I’ll be right there.”

Me: “No, dude, I’m telling you, I have everything I ordered right in front of me. I’m in the middle of eating it!”

Delivery Guy: “No, it’s totally my bad. Don’t worry.”

Me: “Listen to me. I just saw you! You handed the food to me! My name is on the receipt!” 

Delivery Guy: “Sorry. It’s going to be, I don’t know, like, ten more minutes.”

Me: “Please, I’m telling you: I paid, you gave me the food, and it’s all perfect. You don’t have to do anything. We’re all good.”

Delivery Guy: “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just been a long night. But I’m almost back at the restaurant now, so I won’t be too long.”

Me: “Really, it’s okay. I don’t need anything-”

Delivery Guy: “It’s no problem. Just… Oh, wait…”

He is silent for a good few seconds.

Delivery Guy: “My bad! Have a good night!” *Click*

I never figured out what he thought was going on. The food was great, though!

I’m at a restaurant known for their many different hamburgers. I’m having trouble deciding between [Burger #1] and [Burger #2]. I finally decide on [Burger #1]. The waiter comes to take our order. 

Me: “I’d like [Burger #1].”

Waiter: “Have you ever had it before?”

Me: “No.”

Waiter: “Well, don’t. It’s terrible.”

I kind of just blink in surprise for a moment.

Me: “Well, I guess I’ll get [Burger #2], then.”

I work in an Italian restaurant that serves pizza, calzones, and strombolis. I have this conversation at least a couple of times a day.

Me: “Are we ready to order?”

The customer has spent almost ten minutes reading our menu.

Customer: “Uh, yeah. I want the cheese and the bread and sauce and toppings, but not like… pizza. Do you guys have something else?”

I gently take another menu and open it up, pointing.

Me: “Yes, we do also have calzones and strombolis. Honestly, I prefer them over pizza; they’re good and they’re big portions. We have the calzones and strombolis as [specialty options], and we can also just start with cheese and you can pick any of these toppings—” *points* “—to put in them. It’s kind of like building your own pizza. We offer small and large versions.”

Customer: “So, what’s the difference between the two? The cala-zones and strombonis?”

I make sure I am enunciating the names clearly.

Me: “Calzones start with mozzarella and ricotta cheese. Strombolis start with just mozzarella. Both generally use the same amount of dough for the bread.”

Customer: “Huh. I’ll have one of your cala-zonies.”

I am internally cringing.

Me: “What would you like in it?”

Customer: “Can I get it with green peppers?”

Me: “Certainly! Anything else?”

Customer: *Hand waves* “Yeah, whatever else comes in it.”

Me: “So, to confirm, just mozzarella, ricotta, and green peppers?”

The customer is looking at me questioningly.

Customer: “No, I want the meat and veggies in it too. And no ricotta. I hate ricotta!”

Me: “We do offer [specialty calzone listed on menu] which has [ingredients] and green pepper already in it. We could make it as a Stromboli; it would be a bit cheaper since you are forgoing the ricotta.”

Customer: “[Specialty] sounds perfect! But I want the calzone; no ricotta!”

Me: “Small or large? The large is about the size of a large pizza folded in half; the small is about half that.”

A coworker passes by and gives their two cents:

Coworker: “Do you want some for now, or do you also want some for later?”

Customer: “Definitely a large!”

When their food comes out:

Customer: “Holy cow! Why didn’t you tell me this was so big?! I can’t possibly finish this!”

Me: “Would you like a box?”

Customer: “No! I don’t have room in my fridge!”

Due to the regulations in Norway surrounding the recent disease outbreak, most restaurants are closed except for takeout. I head over to surprise my husband with some of his favorite döner kebab to cheer him up. 

As I am waiting — patiently, one meter apart from all the other patrons — to order, I see advertisements everywhere in the restaurant asking people to pay with contactless payment methods to avoid unnecessary touching. They’re on the digital menu screens, on signs,  everywhere, asking people to pay with contactless methods.

I almost always try to use contactless anyway, so I’m pleased. There should be no reason to touch the PIN pad, as it is a transaction under the currency requirement that makes you enter your PIN code using your bank card. 

I eventually make my way to the front, place my order, and go to pay using contactless payment, only for the screen to prompt for me to enter a tip into the keypad and hit “OKAY” to acknowledge the total. The gentleman working there has no ability to enter it in himself, so I am forced to touch the PIN pad regardless.