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Trying To Grease His Own Palms

, , , , | Right | June 29, 2020

Customer: “I want my meal free for this!”

Me: “I’m… sorry, sir, what is the problem?”

Customer: “My burger is a little bit greasy.”

I work in the restaurant portion of, ostensibly, a truck stop. Burgers are greasy everywhere, but what do you expect? I examine the burger.

Me: “It doesn’t look any greasier than any of the other burgers we serve. It’s just the meat juices; it’s perfectly harmless.”

Customer: “It’s greasy, d*** you! I want my meal for free!”

Me: “Well, I could… get a napkin and soak up some of—”

Customer: “No, I want my meal free!”

Me: “Um, I’m not able to apply discounts to meals myself; I’ll have to get the manager for you. One moment.”

The guy started a scene and shouted quite a bit at the manager, who was adamant about not giving him a discount for acceptably-made food. The manager eventually kicked him out so he wouldn’t disturb the other customers and blacklisted his Trucker Rewards Card across our entire chain.

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The Emphasis Was On The “Can You Run” Part

, , , , | Right | June 29, 2020

For this particular group’s breakfast buffet, we put out a pitcher of orange juice on each table for the guests to help themselves.

Guest: “Hey, you! Waiter! C’mere!”

Me: “What can I do for you, sir?”

Guest: “Can you run and get me a glass of orange juice?”

Me: “Sure thing!”

I pick up his glass, pick up the pitcher of juice from his table, and pour it for him. The guest looks disappointed.

Guest: “ Oh. In that case, can you run and get me a glass of milk?”

Me: “Yes.” *eye-twitch*

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Getting It Right Is A Long Shot

, , , , | Right | April 6, 2020

(I work switchboard for the local teaching hospital. This means we deal with a lot of trainee doctors and medical students; they come from all over the country and province, often only for a few weeks at a time. Sometimes they make me question the future of our health system.)

Caller: “This is [Caller]. I’m a med student. I have forgotten my pager and need calls to go through to my cell phone.”

Me: “Okay, the number we have on file for you is [number].”

Caller: “That’s right.”

Me: “Is that long-distance?”

(Saskatchewan has two area codes, but they both cover the whole province, so either can be local or long-distance. If it’s a long-distance call, you need to add a 1 in front so that the phone system knows it’s long-distance. Generally speaking, if you need to dial a number anywhere in the province outside your local town/city, you need the 1.)

Caller: “Well, it’s a Saskatchewan number.”

Me: “But is it a Saskatoon number? Is this a long-distance number?”

Caller: *noncommittal noise*

Me: “I need to know if this is long-distance so we can dial it correctly to reach you.”

Caller: “My understanding of long-distance is that it is only outside the province.”

(This is a future doctor, people.)

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The Meat On Your Plate Makes Up For Having None In Your Head

, , , , , | Right | January 14, 2020

(I am working as a banquet server at a four-star hotel. A typical night involves serving the same dish to 50 to 200 people.)

Me: “Before I bring out your soups, does anyone at this table have dietary restrictions I need to know about?”

Diner: *in a haughty voice* “My husband and I are vegan. We want fish for our entree.”

Me: *internally* “Don’t say it. Don’t call her a dumba**. Don’t tell her she sounds airheaded enough to actually think fish isn’t meat.”

Me: “Okay.”

(Two minutes later, in the kitchen:)

Me: “Two of my guests say they’re vegan, so they want fish instead of the beef wellington.”

Chef: “Did you tell them they’re dumba***** and that fish are animals?”

Me: “No, but I thought it really loud.”


This story is part of our Vegan Roundup!

Read the next Vegan Roundup story!

Read the Vegan Roundup!

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Full-Baked Stupidity

, , , , , , | Working | May 31, 2019

(My wife works for a bakery and I help out sometimes. The recipe sheets are starting to look messy with all the changes written on them, and some of the steps aren’t in order. I decide to retype them with the changes and email them to the owner to print. The next day I walk into the bakery and the owner hands me the stack of recipes.)

Owner: “My husband made a few small changes.”

Me: *internally* “Oh, no… No, he can’t be that stupid.”

(He was that stupid. Her husband knew nothing about baking. One of his “changes” was replacing every instance of buttermilk with regular milk. He also reordered the list of ingredients, which I had put in the order they needed to be added to the batter.)

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