(I recently dyed my hair a bright copper red. It’s pretty eye-catching, and I regularly get comments about how I work for the wrong chain because I look like the Wendy’s logo. Usually I just laugh, but this guy is something else. Note: I wear a nametag.)

Customer: “Hey, is your name Wendy?”

Me: *laughs a little* “Nope, afraid not.”

Customer: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yup. I’m 100% positive my name is [My Name]. Did you want your sandwich toasted?”

Customer: “Oh. Well, then, you should go work at Wendy’s!”

Me: *courtesy laughing* “I’m pretty happy here, actually. Sorry, was your sandwich toasted?”

(During this exchange, the line behind him is growing longer and longer, and the guy behind him has started tapping his feet.)

Customer: “But you can’t work here. You need to work at Wendy’s!”

Me: “Well, maybe one day. But right now, I work here. I’m sorry, sir, but I need to know if your sandwich is toasted or not.”

Customer: “But your hair is so red!”

(At this point I give up and assume he doesn’t want it toasted.)

Me: “What kind of veggies would you like?”

Customer: “Oh.” *gives list of veggies he wants* “You just look like Wendy. Oh, I wanted that toasted, though.”

(I had, by this point, put on all the vegetables. The worst part was that he came in and did more or less the same thing two more times! The fourth time he came in, I hid in the back and made my coworker deal with him. He still asked where the “Wendy’s girl” was.)

(At my gas station, we have a small sub shop. This happens one busy night when I hop over to help the deli worker.)

Me: “Can I get you folks anything?”

Customer: “What’s the CBR?”

Me: “That’s our Chicken Bacon Ranch.”

Customer: “So, what’s in it?”

Me: “Um… chicken strips, bacon, and ranch dressing.”

Customer: *thinks for a moment* “So, it has, like, hot sauce on it?”

Me: “…”

Related:
The Sauce Of Their Confusion

(I go to a popular sandwich shop for my lunch. I’m a vegetarian, not because I dislike the idea of animals dying to feed me, but because the fats in meat cause me to be sick. It’s quite bad and even cross-contamination can cause me to feel ill. Whenever I go, I always ask the staff to change gloves, and have so far never had issues… until today. I watch each stage to make sure contamination is avoided. There are no issues, and the staff members are all accommodating, until we get to the final stage where they cut my sandwich. First, the staff member refuses to change gloves until I insist, then she looks at my sandwich, then back to me, and then she picks up the knife clearly covered in fish and mayo from the fish sandwiches and cuts mine in half, the whole time looking right at me with a clear smirk of victory.)

Me: “Well, I hope you had fun there. You can make me a new one now.”

Staff: “But you… You can’t.”

Me: “I can, since I specifically said to each person here that I can’t have anything that has had meat or fish on it or I become sick. Would you have shoved peanuts in my food if I said I had a nut allergy?”

Staff: “Well, no. That might kill them!”

Me: “And while it may not kill me, that sandwich will have me throwing up for the next hour.”

Staff: “But I just thought you were one of those losers that refuses to eat meat.”

(I just gave her a blank stare until she relented and had my sandwich remade. I complained to the manager, and it turned out she was a new hire and this was not the first time she had caused problems. But seriously, anyone out there working in the service industry who thinks it’s funny to not listen when people ask for something not to be included in their food: listen. It might not be a fad; it might actually be a health issue.)

(I have just gotten into work.)

Coworker: “I dropped a glass before, and I keep seeing glass everywhere.”

Me: “Did you vacuum it up?”

Coworker: “Yes, but there’s still some about.”

Me: “Here: this is a trick my mum taught me.”

(I take a few slices of bread and press them against the floor.)

Me: “See, it picks it up.”

Coworker: “That’s amazing, and so economical. I’ll use them for the sandwiches later.”

Me: “Well, no. I have to throw them out after.”

Coworker: “Why?”

Me: “Because there’s glass on them, and they’ve been on the floor.”

Coworker: *huffs* “Well, that’s not very vegan!”

This story is part of our Vegan Roundup!

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(My mom and I are at a sandwich shop where multiple workers at different stations make your sandwich. My mom orders, and then I step up to the first station. Neither of us have been to this particular store in a while, but we used to come here fairly regularly and we both end up ordering the same thing we used to get.)

Me: “Can I get a six-inch teriyaki chicken on a flatbread?”

Worker #1: “Sure. Do you want that toasted?”

Me: “No, thanks.”

(She heats up the chicken, then passes the sandwich down to the next worker, who is supposed to put the cooked chicken on it and add vegetables.)

Worker #2: “Toasted?”

Me: “No, it’s not.”

Worker #2: “Toasted?”

Me: *thinking I misheard her in the noisy shop* “Are you asking me if it’s toasted?”

Worker #2: “Yeah.”

Me: “No, it’s not.”

Worker #2: “Do you want it toasted?”

Me: “No, thank you.”

Worker #2: “Are you sure? The flatbreads are better toasted.”

Me: “I’m good, thanks.”

(I order the vegetables, and my mom and I go to the register, where a manager rings us up.)

Manager: “Just so you know, next time, you should toast the flatbread. It helps cook them more; they’re better that way.”

(I don’t respond, but by this point I’m wondering why I’m apparently not allowed to have sandwich preferences. My mom and I pay, sit down, and start to eat our meal.)

Me: “I forgot how good this sandwich is.”

Mom: *jokingly* “How can it be good if it’s not toasted?”