Unfiltered Story #179123

, , , | Unfiltered | December 9, 2019

I am a barista at a well-known coffee chain. On a slow day, a woman walks into the store and proceeds to stare intently at the pastry case for about thirty seconds whilst wiping quite intently at her nose with a tissue.

Me: *feeling a little awkward but smiling politely anyway* Hello! See anything you like today?

The lady continued to stare at the case for another few seconds, ignoring my inquiry, before finally walking over to my register. She begins to speak, but her voice is so quiet that I can only make out the words “caramel.”

Me: So you would like a caramel macchiato, then?

Woman: *continues speaking in a very hushed voice*

Thinking that she was speech-impaired, I took a piece of paper, smiled, and offered it to her, making a gesture to request that she write her order. Upon my doing this, she looks at me like I just spit in her coffee and walks over to my manager. I hesitant before serving the next guest that just walked up, and in-between I can hear her talking to him, her voice suddenly loud enough to hear now. She is complaining, but still not clear on what she wants. After my guest leaves, this lady returns, and my manager believes that she indeed wants a caramel macchiato. While trying to complete the transaction, she stands away from us, at the other side of the wall from the register, and once again neither of us can make out her words.

Manager: *politely* Can you come closer, please?

Woman: *speaking is unreadable again, this time because she’s too far away*

Manager: *still polite, almost too sweet* Ma’am, can you come closer?

After a few more attempts, all the while the woman standing there with an unreadable, almost smug look on her face, my manager has had enough.

Manager: *with a tone still sweet as sugar* If you can’t come closer to pay then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.

Woman: *now loud enough that the whole store can hear* F***ER! *storms off, knocking over some newspapers from the rack on her way out*

Maybe we should start making pastry cases for drinks as well?

Great-Grandmother Is On A Great Trip

, , , , , , | Related | December 3, 2019

While our house was being built, my parents had the option to customize some areas. One thing they decided on was a sunken living room: to move from the dining room to the living room, you take a step down. My great-grandmother was vocally opposed to this, insisting it was just begging to trip someone. She passed away before the house was completed. 

The first family gathering that we hosted, my great-grandfather — her husband — tripped on that step and cut his head badly. My mother was beside herself, rueing the sunken living room she’d been warned against while she helped my great-grandfather. We all tried to reassure her that it was just an accident and that he would be okay. Then, my grandfather — their son — spoke up. “No accident. Mom was probably haunting the house, just waiting for a chance to push Dad so she’d be proven right.”

My great-father was indeed fine and lived several more years, and my grandfather’s comment made my mom laugh and forgive herself.

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An Improvement On Homer Simpson’s Makeup Gun

, , , , , , | Working | November 29, 2019

When I had to bring collision-damaged cars into my shop, many times the steering wheel airbag had been deployed. The bag would get caught up in your arms or the car’s equipment when you tried to drive the car, so it was easier to just cut the bag off the wheel with a knife.

My hands and clothing were usually covered with paint and colored dust, and I had to be careful not to get it on the inside of people’s cars. So, when I noticed some strange colors on one of the airbags, I became concerned, and as I lay the airbag out flat to inspect it, I saw the complete impression of a woman’s face on the airbag.

All of her makeup had transferred onto the bag when it deployed.

So, I cut out the section with her face on it, framed it, and hung it on the wall in my office.

Over time, I collected about five or six on my wall. When I asked my customers what they thought the pictures really were, everybody thought it was some kind of new concept art, but boy, did they laugh when I told them what they were looking at.

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Will Need An “I’m Sorry” Card

, , , , , | Working | November 28, 2019

(I work at a small store where it’s just me, the store manager, and one other employee most of the time. I open on most days, and the manager closes on most days. After I get home, at the time the manager would be closing the store, I get a text:)

Manager: “Before you ask tomorrow… it just happened.”

Me: “What did?”

Manager: “Not saying. Tried fixing it a little. The rest tomorrow.”

Me: “Should I be worried?”

Manager: “We’ll find out tomorrow.”

(The next day as I am opening the store, I am looking everywhere for something amiss. And then, I spot the two free-standing racks of greeting cards. I send my manager another text.)

Me: “1. You’re a jerk; I was fearing the worst. 2. How did you destroy the cards that badly? 3. You’re fixing it.”

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That Tattoo Should Say, “Look, Don’t Touch”

, , , , , | Friendly | November 26, 2019

(My friend and I are killing time wandering through a local “farmer’s market”-style setup that also has some booths selling art, jewelry, and things of that sort. We stop to admire the crafts and trinkets being offered by one booth and the seller comes over to greet us. It’s worth noting here that I have several tattoos, including song lyrics on my upper left arm. I’m quite used to people asking to read what the tattoo says and will happily turn my arm so they can get a better view. This lady, however, takes a more… direct approach.) 

Seller: *seeing my tattoo* “Oh, let me see!”

(She then GRABBED my arm and twisted it toward her, holding onto it hard enough that I’m not entirely confident I could’ve yanked it out of her grip if I’d tried. As it was, though, I was shocked enough that I just froze until she’d finished reading the text and let me go. My friend and I made a hasty retreat to another booth after that. The most surprising thing is that the seller had tattoos and piercings herself, so you’d think she’d be familiar with the tattoo etiquette of ASKING before touching someone else’s tattoos. Or, you know, the general nicety of asking before touching someone at all, ever.)

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