I’m on a solo all-inclusive holiday, mostly to avoid the hassle of finding restaurants while travelling alone. The hotel has “club-style” seating, tables of eight where guests are sat together to “encourage community.”

Last night, I was seated first and already enjoying a glass of wine when a family of five, two parents and three children, joined my table. 

The mother turns to me immediately:

Mother: “We do not wish to expose our children to alcohol.”

Me: *Smiling politely.* “Then perhaps you should ask to move tables. I’ll be finishing my wine.”

They sat down, clearly unhappy, and made a few passive-aggressive remarks about how “sad” it must be to travel alone.

I went up to get food. When I came back, my wine was gone. Shortly after, a waiter came over, looking concerned.

Waiter: “Can I see your wristband, please?”

I show it.

Waiter: “I’m so sorry. That family told us you were underage and had sneaked away from your parents.”

I blink.

Me: “…I’m thirty-three.”

The waiter’s eyes widen, and he quickly apologizes again, then goes off and returns, not just with a fresh glass of wine, but with a wink and impeccable timing.

Waiter: “Should I just bring the bottle?”

Me: “Actually, yes. And maybe a couple of shots of vodka too.”

The waiter returns with both, just as the family arrives back at the table with their food.

I clink the vodka glasses together, smile, and knock them back. 

The mother gasps. The father’s jaw clenches. The parents are about to complain to a waiter again, right in front of me. I’ve had enough and lean in close and whisper to the parents.

Me: “Lady, I am this close to telling your kids this is extra-yummy special juice their parents won’t order for them and letting them do my damage for me. Do not get between a woman and her wine on her holiday.”

They did the sensible thing, basically what I suggested at the beginning. They changed tables.

I ended up having some other tourists sit with me at my table, and we all had a great time, making loud toasts, and drawing the delicious glares of that family, now sitting at a table way in the back.

I work in a popular bar in a fancy hotel/casino on the Las Vegas strip. We’re known for crazy and elaborate cocktails, so the price tag matches.

Customer: *Slapping the bill on the bar.* “Twenty-five dollars? For a cocktail? Are you kidding me?”

Me: “No, sir, that’s the menu price.”

Customer: “That’s ridiculous! Back home, I can get a drink for five bucks!”

Me: “And back home, you don’t have the Bellagio fountains behind you.”

Customer: “It’s robbery!”

Me: “Well, sir, it’s Vegas. You’re not paying for the drink, you’re paying for something much more priceless; plausible deniability for the rest of the night.”

The customer grumbles but still tips a few bucks, because, well… the drink IS very strong.

We have a group of fourteen Americans in for a pre-booked menu fixe: a set menu. Same dishes for everyone, price agreed in advance. It includes the wine pairing, water, and service. All confirmed by email weeks ago.

They seem nice enough… until…

Customer: “Uh, yeah, so, I’m not paying for the wine.”

Me: “The wine is included in the menu price, monsieur. It is the same cost whether you drink it or not.”

Customer: “But I’m not drinking it. I’ll have a Diet Coke. So, obviously, I’m not paying the wine surcharge.”

Me: “It is not a surcharge, monsieur. The price is for the menu as a whole; all courses, drinks, and service. It is the same for everyone.”

Customer: “That’s ridiculous. I’m not subsidizing their drinking. Just charge me for the food.”

Me: “I’m afraid that is not possible, monsieur. It is a set menu for the entire group.”

We serve dinner. He eats every course. He drinks his Coke. He sulks. When the bill comes, he starts again.

Customer: “And I’m not paying the service charge either. That’s just a forced tip!”

Me: “It is not a tip, monsieur. It is the service. It is how we pay the staff. In France, it is included in the price.”

Customer: “Then take it out of the price!”

Me: “This is not possible.”

Customer: “In America, we tip for good service.”

Me: “In France, we include it for surviving you.”

Customer: “For what?!”

Me: “Sorry, my English, maybe I mistranslated.”

Customer: “I’m not paying it!”

Me: “Then you will not be paying at all, monsieur, because it is part of the total. It is all or nothing, not divisible.”

There’s a tense pause. His friends, who have clearly endured this before, start digging in their wallets.

Friend #1: “Jerry, just pay. We agreed to this. Weeks ago.”

Friend #2: “Yeah, man. You’re embarrassing us.”

He finally hands over his share, service, and all. As they leave, one of his friends lingers behind.

Friend #2: “Sorry about him. He thinks ‘service compris’ is French for ‘optional.'”

It’s a sunny afternoon, and I’m manning the rental hut, handing out paddles and life vests to tourists. A couple strolls up, looking a bit too polished for river mud.

Woman: “Hi, we’d like to rent one of the… boats. The quiet ones.”

Me: “…you mean canoes?”

Woman: “Sure, but no paddles. We just want to float and relax.”

Me: “Okay, but without paddles you won’t be able to steer.”

Man: “That’s fine. It’s a round trip, right? Like the current brings us back?”

Me: “…That’s not how rivers work.”

Woman: “But the guy at the resort said this was a loop.”

Me: “He meant the hiking trail. The river has, uh, a strong preference for downstream.”

They stare at me like I’m trying to upsell basic physics.

Woman: “So if we go, we have to… paddle back?”

Me: “Yes, otherwise, your vacation ends in Manitoba.”

A customer is checking out a piece of carry-on-sized luggage.

Customer: “This says it’s airline approved, but will it fit Ryanair?”

Me: “Yep, this one’s within their cabin bag size limits.”

Customer: “Even if I pack it full? I mean really full.”

Me: “Well, if it doesn’t bulge past the limits, it should be fine.”

Customer: “Oh, I always sit on it to zip it closed.”

Me: “As long as it still fits in the overhead bin after your sit-down routine, you’re good.”

Customer: “And if they say it doesn’t fit, can I send them to you?”

Me: “I’d prefer they not yell at me from 35,000 feet.”

I suggested that her best bet would be to ensure the luggage is not rounder than it is rectangular, or Ryanair is going to notice. She seemed satisfied and made the purchase.

Related:
Getting Carry On Carried Away