Sounds Like They’ve Had Too Many Already

, , , , , | Right | January 18, 2018

(I am sitting at bar in restaurant and lady walks up and orders a “Virgin Screwdriver,” which makes me snort.)

Customer: *turning to me* “What?”

Me: “You could have just ordered an orange juice.”

Customer: “I don’t want an orange juice. I want a Virgin Screwdriver.”

Bartender: “A Virgin Screwdriver is orange juice.”

Customer: “No, it’s not; it’s a Screwdriver without alcohol.”

Bartender: “A Screwdriver is just orange juice and tequila or vodka. If I take out the tequila—”

Customer: *interrupts* “I don’t want you to take out the tequila. You’re supposed to leave it in. Just take out the alcohol.”

(The debate continued for a bit longer before the lady decided on a normal Tequila Screwdriver and told the bartender:)

Customer: “But if I get in a wreck because I’m drunk, it’s your fault!”

Oh, Brother!

, , , , , , | Working | January 17, 2018

I am job hunting and end up waiting tables at a new, fancy, family-owned Italian restaurant run by two brothers. For the first week or so, everything is perfect; friendly coworkers, good food, fast service, nice pay, etc.

However, about a month into the job, the two owners start bickering with each other. At first it’s just snips and snipes, but over the next week it gets into full-blown screaming. Coming from an Italian family, I can safely say there isn’t a more volatile argument than two Italians from the same family going at it. They go all out, complete with swears and threats, right in earshot of our diners, several of whom have children. Predictably, we get swamped with complaints and demands for refunds, and unfortunately, I even catch a few people recording the outburst on phones. When a coworker goes to tell the brothers that their fighting is ruining the night, the argument gets even louder as they start accusing each other of sabotaging their business. By the time it’s passed, the dining room is basically empty, with a handful of bemused people sitting around, enjoying the “dinner and a show.”

This continues for another week, and unfortunately, the restaurant gets a reputation for the brothers fighting to the point that guests start showing up just hoping to watch. The wait staff and chefs run themselves ragged trying to keep the business afloat, as the owners are now more concerned with their feuding. Eventually, they do make up, but only by reaching the conclusion that the business is failing, not because of them, but because of the staff.

We have all dealt with their crap long enough when it wasn’t directed at us. The first night they try to pick fights with us, the majority of the wait staff walks out without a word, myself included. Before long, the rest of the staff quits as well, either out of defiance, or out of a desire to avoid being the only target left.

I drive by the next week on the way to get groceries and see the restaurant with a “Help Needed” sign on it, and the week after that, it is shut down. I feel bad for them, but if you’re going to start a family business, you should probably do it with a relative you don’t absolutely despise.

Driving Home The Kindness, Part 14

, , , | Hopeless | January 7, 2018

(I am a medical student starting my fieldwork. My site is a 45-minute drive away from my apartment, and I am nervous because my supervisor has already attacked my intelligence and insulted me in front of a patient. She’s also insisted I need a specific certification, costing me $600 on my very limited student budget. I have severe driving anxiety due to an abusive situation I escaped. I am driving through heavy rain to get to fieldwork, and when I go to turn onto the highway, my wheel jerks from my hands and I realize I am hydroplaning! I manage to not hit the light-post, but my car is stuck and mud-covered, and I am going nowhere. I’m scared, and I immediately start having a panic attack, both from the near miss and from contemplating what this could cost on my limited budget. Crying and shaking, I leave a message for my instructor, then try to remember how to call my insurance, who tell me they will take upwards of an hour to get to me since it’s not an emergency. Then, I notice a truck pulling off near me and the driver waving at me. I roll down my window.)

Man #1: “Are you okay?”

Me: “Yes, b-but I’m stuck. I can’t get out.”

Man #1: “I have a car shop nearby. I’ll go get my chain. You sure you’re okay?”

Me: *surprised, still crying* “A-Are you sure? You don’t have to. I’m o-okay, just scared and late for w-work.”

Man #1: “Yeah, I’m sure. It’s like five minutes away. You sit tight.”

(He drives off. Another truck stops about three minutes later and what looks like a man my age and his father hop out.)

Man #2: “Are you all right, miss?”

Me: “Yes, j-just stuck.”

Man #3: “Can we call you a tow?”

Me: “A man’s g-gone to get his chain to g-get me out.”

(They stayed with me, helping me get over to the side of the road safely. When the man arrived with his chain, they actually turned to block the on-ramp so no one would get hit while the first guy chained my car to his and pulled my car out of the rut it was stuck in. I walked around the car, and nothing was damaged! It was just very dirty, and some grass was stuck in the bumper. The whole time, the men kept checking on me, making sure I was okay, and offering to get me somewhere safe. By the time I got back in my car, I wasn’t crying anymore, and I felt a lot safer. Thankfully, I got to my fieldwork only about thirty minutes late, and I wasn’t forced to eat ramen that week. Thank you to the very kind gentlemen who stopped for a scared student, and were so gentle interacting with me.)

 

Related:

Driving Home The Kindness, Part 13

Driving Home The Kindness, Part 12

Driving Home The Kindness, Part 11

Unfiltered Story #102203

, , , | Unfiltered | December 28, 2017

(I work at a well-known national pizza delivery chain here in my hometown. I am a pizza delivery driver, but the following was repeated to me by my manager during the noon shift.)

Manager: “Thank you for calling [business and location], would you like to try our [current special]?”

Customer: “Uh…no. Actually, I have a question.”

Manager: “Sure, go ahead.”

Customer: “Do you guys get a lot of stoners as customers?”

Manager: *dumbfounded for a few seconds* I suppose that we do. May I ask why?

Customer: “Well, I ordered a pizza from you guys a day ago. One of your drivers delivered a messed up pizza, and I requested for a remake. Another driver delivered the pizza; however, I’m pretty certain that he reported me to the police.”

Manager: “One of our drivers? Are you certain?”

Customer: “Yeah. He managed to catch a glimpse of a lot of medicinal weed sitting on my table before he left. After that, the police came raiding in to search the place! Child protective services also came in; trying to take my kid away!”

Manager: “Uhh….”

(The call did not last much longer. After a little investigating on our end, the driver responsible did admit to calling the police as a show of “doing the right thing.” As for the customer, there was not much my manager could do to make up for the whole mess, except offer him a free pizza, which he gladly accepted!)

Racism Will No Longer Be Accepted For Delivery

, , , , , , , , | Working | December 14, 2017

(I work as a receptionist for a small video editing company. The boss is the epitome of evil, a real piece of s***. She seems to really have it out for our delivery man, who is African-American. We have a table in the lobby with a book where all packages going out are written down. The delivery man is supposed to come by, check the table, and pick up any packages that are there. The table is in front of a large window and it is pretty obvious if there are any packages going out. The boss storms in and angrily asks:)

Boss: “Is the delivery guy coming in and getting the packages?”

Me: “He is checking daily, yes.”

Boss: “That isn’t what I asked. Is he physically coming into the building?”

Me: “Well, no. If the table is empty he—”

(The boss storms off and gets on the phone and calls, screaming at the poor customer service person. My boss gets so obsessive that she even starts checking the surveillance cameras to make sure he comes into the lobby and doesn’t just open the door and peek in. She insists that he come all the way into the lobby, close the door behind him, stand at the table for a few seconds, and then leave. I am getting more than annoyed by this. She calls almost daily, screaming about the poor guy. One day he calls me because he is running behind and asks if there are any packages. I tell him he is in luck; not only are there none, but the boss is out that day. The next day he comes in and the boss is there to yell at him again. She has checked the surveillance tapes. When he leaves, she comes to my desk and says that he had better just do his job.)

Me: “You know that these delivery guys only have so much time to deliver, and any place they can shave off a few seconds really helps them.”

Boss: “I don’t care. The only thing that n***** should say, is, ‘Yeth, Masta.’”

(Then she storms off to call and complain again. I am in too much shock and, shamefully, I say nothing. I am gone by the next week. I get a great job as a receptionist at a company a few miles down the road, and who should walk in my first week there but the delivery guy, with a trainee in tow. We greet each other like old friends.)

Delivery Guy: “I am so glad to see you here away from that awful woman.”

Me: “I am, too. I am so glad I got to see you! And I am so sorry for the horrible way she treats you.”

Delivery Guy: “I just don’t know what her problem is.”

Me: “You don’t know?” *he shakes his head, and I quietly tell him, embarrassed* “It’s because you are black.”

(He and the trainee both look shocked.)

Me: “She would not have given you any trouble if you were white. She only called and made up ridiculous complaints because she hated you because of the color of your skin. She is a horrible racist. I can’t even begin to repeat the horrible racist comments she would make when you left the building or after she would get off the phone with customer service complaining about you. I just couldn’t stand being there anymore, which is why I left.”

(He shakes my hand and leaves. The next week, he comes in without the trainee.)

Me: “Hello, again! Is your trainee out on his own?”

Delivery Guy: “That wasn’t my trainee; that was my manager. You saved my job.”

Me: “What? How?”

Delivery Guy: “That blasted ex-boss of yours called and complained so much that when a normal and justified complaint came in, the company was going to fire me. The manager was going around with me to see what I was doing wrong and if I was even going to have the chance to keep my job. After we left here, he told me I was good, and there would be no more talk about it. As a matter of fact, the delivery company cancelled your ex-boss’s contract and told her they would no longer deliver for or to her. She will have to drive to the hub to get any packages that are mailed to her.”

(I was so thrilled. Several years later I got to congratulate him on a well-deserved promotion before I left on maternity leave.)

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