What A Hot-Head

, , | Right | September 1, 2017

(A customer has ordered an Americano with hot milk, which we serve in small jugs on the side. It’s quiet, so it doesn’t take me long to make the coffee, and take it over. It’s also a warm summer’s day.)

Customer: “This milk isn’t hot enough.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll make you another now.”

(I make a new lot of milk, heat it up past boiling point with the steamer, pour immediately, and take it over.)

Customer: “My coffee’s cold now.”

Me: “I can make you another of those, too, quickly. Sorry!”

(I make another coffee, and immediately take it over.)

Customer: “Neither of these are hot enough! What is wrong with your machine? I want it VERY HOT!”

Me: *a bit irritated now* “I’m sorry, but that’s literally the hottest I can make it. The coffee machine makes the espresso with hot water to around 95 degrees Celsius, because otherwise the coffee burns, and that milk was actually boiled, which I’m not really supposed to do… I’m sorry, but I can’t make it any hotter.”

Customer: “That’s ridiculous! I want to see your supervisor.”

Me: “I am the supervisor on this shift. And I’m sorry, but 95 degrees is considered optimal for coffee, and with boiling point milk, I really can’t do much more.”

Customer: “Urgh, forget it. I suppose I’ll just have to drink it. But you really should consider PEOPLE, not just the MACHINE.”

(She then continued reading her paper in a very huffy way, while her way-too-hot-to-drink coffee sat there for a good five minutes more, cooling.)

You’re Going To Want To Sit Down For This One

, | Right | September 1, 2017

(Our restaurant is quite small, with normal seating as well as bar seating. During one Saturday lunchtime, it’s busy and there’s not a single seat free. We are also at the back of a deli, which sells most items to take away. A group of six arrives at the door to the restaurant section.)

Me: “Good afternoon!”

Customer: “Hi, do you have room for six?”

Me: *looking around even though I know there definitely isn’t* “I’m really sorry, but we’re full at the moment! It’s the lunch rush, but if you want to come back later, or wait to see if someone leaves…”

Customer: *interrupting* “Oh, we don’t want lunch, only coffees.”

Me: “Oh, sorry, I thought you meant to sit. We can do takeaway coffees from the deli section.”

Customer: “No, we want coffee, sitting down. You’re a restaurant aren’t you?!”

Me: “Well, yes, of course, but there’s currently no free seating at all. You’re welcome to wait, and have coffee if space becomes free but-“

Customer: “What kind of place is this? It’s lunchtime! Are you so up yourself that you only serve people who are eating? What’s wrong with just having coffee? We’re all customers no matter how much you spend! Stop being so greedy, you’ll lose customers!”

Me: *I am now being called over to many tables as this conversation continues* “I… I… We have no seating, no matter whether you were spending hundreds we could not sit you, when other customers who are just as important, are already sitting and eating.. Like I said, you’re welcome to get takeaway coffees from the deli behind you, or wait for seating. I’m needed, please excuse me.”

(I walked off. They stood around for about five minutes, staring at everyone. Other people who overheard started giggling at them. Then they just left. Odd.)

Pardon My French

, , , , , | Friendly | August 31, 2017

(I grew up a Cajun in Louisiana, so I’m fluent in Cajun French. My family knows a lot about our history, including how our ancestors lived in Nova Scotia, and were victims of the Expulsion of the Acadians. I’m visiting a friend in Wolfville while she’s in college, when she suddenly has an idea.)

Friend: “Hey, [My Name], I actually have another friend who can speak French, wanna meet them?”

Me: “Um… I don’t know, the French I speak is very different, from what I’ve heard.”

Friend: “Nah, don’t worry, she’ll understand you.”

(She takes me to said friend’s house, who, when she opens to door, gives a very confused look to me and an annoyed look to my friend.)

Friend: “Well, go on, talk to her.”

Me: *in Cajun French* “Hi there, nice to meet you. [Friend] says that you speak French.”

(The girl looks at me in confusion, and when she talks back to me in French, I can only pick out a few words. We can only stare at each other in confusion.)

Friend: *now getting annoyed* “Well, why aren’t you guys talking?

Me: “I can’t understand her French…”

Friend: “What do you mean you can’t understand her French? It’s French! You said you spoke it!”

Girl: *sighing, then speaks in English* “[Friend], I told you, you aren’t invited to my sorority party, and bringing someone who speaks French isn’t going to change it. And by the way, there’s different types of French.”

Friend: “Well, fine! I didn’t want to go anyway. I should’ve known better than to ask some dumb American to help me! Come on, [My Name].”

Girl: “Oh, by the way.” *points to me* “You can come to my party. I’ve never heard that kind of French before.”

(My friend stomped off and refused to talk to me the rest of the day. Because it would be rude not to, I did show up to the party, where I got swarmed by people who wanted to hear how Cajun French sounded. Turns out, there were some people there [including the girl who invited me] whose ancestors were also victims from the Expulsion, where their families either hid from the British, or came back to Nova Scotia pledging allegiance. I later returned to Louisiana and cut ties with my “friend” for good, but I did gain a few new friends.)

Unfiltered Story #92585

, | Unfiltered | August 31, 2017

(In this story I’m not using my real name nor the incorrect one used when this happened, but know that my real name and the incorrect name are as dissimilar as the two used here)

ME: “Hi welcome to [restaurant], I’m Adam.”

(I get their drink order and go to get them and come back)

CUSTOMER #1: “Why does your nametag say ‘Adam?'”

ME: “Because . . . that’s my name?”

CUSTOMER #1: “You said your name was ‘Matt.'”

ME: “I . . . no, I said my name was Adam.”

CUSTOMER #2: “Then how could we both hear you say your name was ‘Matt?'”

ME: “I don’t really know, but I assure you I didn’t say that was my name.”

(I try laughing a little to ease the odd tension since this is both unusual and also entirely inconsequential, but neither guy seemed to be finding it funny. The remainder of their dinner was tense and they left me a notably small tip.)

Your Order Is Falling Flat

, , | Right | August 30, 2017

(I am talking to a friend, who is telling a story about a flatbread sandwich they had recently that wasn’t so great. I go up to the counter at the fast food restaurant we’re in to order an egg and bagel sandwich.)

Cashier: “Good morning, what can I get for you?”

Me: “Good morning. Can I get a flatbread egg sandwich with a side of hash browns?”

Cashier: *thinks for a minute* “You want the egg white flatbread sandwich with hash browns?”

(I haven’t picked up on my error.)

Me: *confused* “That’s not what I said. I would like the flatbread egg sandwich. Why are you saying egg white flatbread sandwich?”

Cashier: *confused* “That’s the only flatbread egg sandwich we have on the menu.”

Me: *extremely confused* “Well, I know that’s your only flatbread sandwich, but I don’t want a flatbread sandwich.”

(At this point, my friend has been laughing the whole time and steps in.)

Friend: “Sorry, she wants a BAGEL and egg sandwich with hash browns.”

Me: “That’s what I said, right?”

Friend: “No. You kept saying ‘flatbread’.”

Me: “Really? Oh, wow, that explains why that exchange was so confusing. I’m sorry about that!”

Cashier: “All right, one BAGEL and egg sandwich with hash browns. Your total is $3.65.”

Me: *hands her $5* “Just keep the change. I think you deserve a small tip for that.”

(My friend poked fun at me a little bit more and when the cashier handed me my order, she emphasized that it was on a BAGEL.)

 

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