A Throwaway Conversation

, , , , | Right | March 15, 2019

(I’ve recently started working at a fast food chain located mainly in Texas. I’ve been working for about a month and a half and I have managed to learn most of what my job entails and how to run the register. But, like everyone, I mess up orders on occasion. This story occurs after I mess up an order for a drunk girl.)

Drunk Girl: “You messed up my order.”

Me: “I’m so sorry about that.” *she gestures for me to take it* “Again, sorry, but we aren’t allowed to take them back. You can either keep it or throw it away.”

(The girl is about a foot away from a trash can. She would have to turn 90 degrees and she’d be able to throw it away.)

Drunk Girl’s Friend: *reaches for the messed up order*

Drunk Girl: “No! Can you throw this away?”

Me: *thinking the friend might want it* “You can keep it if you want.”

Drunk Girl: *angrily throws the burger on her wrapper and storms up to my manager* “Hi. He messed up my order, and I asked if he could throw it away, and he said no. If you knew anything about customer service, you’d know that was rude!”

(I have major social anxiety and this is my first rude customer; I freeze up.)

Manager: “So sorry about that.”

(She walked ten feet to go talk to my manager when she could have turned 90 degrees to throw her burger away.)

A Nice Wrong Turn

, , , , | Right | March 14, 2019

(I’m the customer that is in the wrong here. I’m heading home from work and am heading towards a burger place to get something to eat. However, without realizing it, I turn into the wrong spot and pull into the drive-thru of a well-known chicken-only place, instead, and, despite them giving me their usual greeting, it doesn’t click.)

Me: “Yes, I’d like a [Hamburger] with extra che—“

Order Taker: “I’m sorry, we don’t have hamburgers here.”

Me: “Huh? Isn’t this [Burger Place]?”

Order Taker: “No, I’m sorry this is [Chicken Place].”

(I glance at the menu and the clearly-indicated speaker box that has the name of the chicken place on it.)

Me: “Oh, s***. I’m so sorry. I guess I turned the wrong way without realizing it.”

Order Taker: “It’s okay. Would you still like to place something to order?”

Me: “Yeah, but give me a few moments, I don’t eat here that often…”

(I place my order and pull up to the window.)

Cashier: *repeating my order* “That’ll be [price].”

(I pay up and wait for the order to be made.)

Me: “Yeah, I’m so sorry about that; I didn’t even realize that I had made the wrong turn and…”

Cashier: “Don’t worry; you were actually one of the nicest wrong turn people we’ve had in a while.”

Me: “I am?”

Cashier: “Yeah, you didn’t try to curse our ears out, for starters. Instead, it sounded like you were cursing at yourself there.”

Me: *chuckling* “Yeah, and sorry, again.”

Cashier: “Don’t worry. Your food should be out in a moment or two.”

(She closes the window and I see her grabbing something from just out of my view before taking another order. Once it’s ready, I notice there’s a pair of cookies in the bag.)

Me: “Oh, I didn’t order—“

Cashier: “It’s okay; have a blessed day.”

(She closed the window and I drove off. Every so often, I still go there, and for the first two or three visits after that, that cashier gave me a cookie or a drink. Makes me wonder how many times they’ve been cursed at by wrong turn people.)

He’s Talking A Totally Different Ball Game

, , , , | Right | March 14, 2019

(I’m in a store I don’t technically work for, but I am counting their inventory. I’m near the candy aisle. Customers love to think that I actually work for the store, and since I know certain aspects well, I will generally help them out.)

Customer: “You guys don’t have malted milk balls here?”

Me: “If you look, there’s either Maltesers or Whoppers in this aisle.” *thinking: they are essentially malted milk balls, just with brand names*

Customer: *is not having what I just suggested* “Nope, nope. You guys don’t have malted milk balls, and they are so good.”

(Well, you can’t help everyone.)

DJ Hobo In The House!

, , , , , , | Friendly | March 13, 2019

(My friend and I are eating lunch outside. I am sitting leaning against a concrete pillar while he sits opposite me against a wall. I am just about done when I hear snippets of a strange, rambling voice behind me.)

Voice: “Yeah, I’m… money… fo dis… real man… yeah…”

(I look at my friend who is watching whatever is going on with a look that is equal parts bafflement and horror. I piece together the incoherent blather and his face and come to the conclusion that a confused, homeless person has somehow snuck onto our campus and is currently harassing students for money. Not wanting to deal with that hassle, I quickly finish my food and stand up so that we can head indoors, pointedly not turning around, to avoid making eye contact.)

Friend: *immediately once we were indoors* “Did you see that?!”

Me: “I heard it. I figured it was some crazed, homeless guy bothering students.”

Friend: “What? No! It was that blond chick trying to rap!”

(I turn around and see a blond girl that neither of us knows, but she is hard to ignore, as she loudly speaks like a “gangsta.” She is in the middle of a small group of people bobbing back and forth with her hand to her mouth as if holding a microphone.)

Me: “Good God, her free-styling was so awful I assumed it was a half-drunk hobo seeking pocket change from teenagers.”

These Jokes Are Old Enough To Drink

, , , , | Working | March 11, 2019

(I am at a restaurant with my parents and sister. I have been 21 for a few months, but I look younger than I am. My family enjoys teasing one another about all sorts of ridiculous things.)

Server: *to me* “What can I get you to drink?”

Me: “Can I get a margarita, please?”

Server: *perfectly friendly* “Sure thing; I just need to see your ID real quick.”

(As soon as the server asks for my ID, my parents and sister begin teasing her and giving me a hard time: “She’s not old enough to drink!” “Her ID’s fake!” “You can’t sell alcohol to her!” My dad does it the most loudly and gleefully. The server takes it in stride and laughs politely. I get out my ID and show it to the server, and she writes down my drink order. She then turns to my dad:)

Server: “And for you, sir?”

Father: “A margarita, please.”

Server: *looking at him skeptically and not missing a beat* “I’m going to need to see some ID, sir.”

(She spent twice the time checking my dad’s ID as she had mine, while my entire family cracked up laughing. I think my mom left her a 50% tip for being such a good sport.)

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