London Calling

, , , , | Hopeless | March 23, 2018

I’m from the USA and got sent to England for my annual tour for the Air Force. We all got four days to do whatever we wanted. Being the ever-adventurous type, I hopped a bus to London for four days of spending way too much money.

Eventually, I ended up buying a pass for the London tube. I had never been on a train, much less an underground one, so I ended up hopelessly lost.

While I was trying to figure out where I was and how to get to the Churchill Bunkers, I decided to go up to the street to see if someone would be willing to give me some directions, or even just a map beyond the tubes.

The stairs were crowded, and a bunch of people were walking up the steps on both sides of the rail. I happened to be looking down when I saw a full wallet fall onto the steps.

I looked up in time to see said wallet’s owner keep walking up the steps and onto the busy sidewalk.

I ducked under the rail, full backpack and all, to snag the wallet before someone else grabbed it. Then, I proceeded to sprint up the steps and onto the sidewalk. I caught sight of the owner a few feet ahead of me and managed to grab her shoulder before we were separated by the crowd.

I slapped the wallet into her hand and I ran off into the crowd to catch my travel companion.

All I heard from the woman that I probably scared half to death was, “Oh, my God! That girl saved me!”

I didn’t stick around for the whole gushy thank-yous and long conversations. I was just glad that they didn’t have to panic over a lost wallet in crowded London.

I doubt they even knew what I looked like, just that some random person slapped their wallet into their hand and took off.

I did find my way to the bunkers, and it turns out I hopped off the train right in front of Big Ben.

Don’t Dish Out What You Can’t Take

, , , , | Working | March 23, 2018

(There is a nice restaurant my husband and I pass on our way to work, and we really want to try it. Finally, on our anniversary, we make a booking and give it a go. We are given seats and menus. [Dish #1] sounds nice, but it comes with mushrooms. It’s not especially busy, so I decide I will ask if it is possible to have it without mushrooms. I find a second choice just in case. The waitress comes by.)

Waitress: “Hi! Welcome to [Restaurant]. Are you two ready to order?

Me: “Yes. Can I first just ask: can [Dish #1] be made without mushrooms?

Waitress: *making an exhausted expression as if to say, “Here we go…”* “Are you allergic?”

Me: “Oh, no. I just don’t like them, is all. I just thought I’d ask, since it sounded nice except for the mushrooms.”

Waitress: “Sorry, no substitutions.”

Me: “Oh. Well, it’s not a substitution. I’m not asking for something else, instead.”

Waitress: “We’re not going to make you something off-menu just because you don’t like mushrooms. If you don’t like what a dish comes with, maybe you should pick something else.”

Me: *a little surprised by her snippy attitude* “Oh, well, I’ll just have [Dish #2].”

(The waitress takes my husband’s order and then stomps off. My husband looks at me.)

Husband: “Wow, she was really rude. Do you want to say something?”

Me: “It’s fine. [Dish #2] looked nice.”

Husband: “Well, she’s not getting a tip. Not after that sour attitude.”

(The waitress passes by to take the order of another table just as he says that and she looks our way, so I think she may have heard him, but she says nothing and calmly takes the order of the next table, perfectly politely. When our food arrives, I am shocked to find that my order is covered in mushrooms, even though [Dish #2] doesn’t come with mushrooms on the menu. The waitress slams both dishes down, and then storms off before I can say anything.)

Husband: “That’s it.”

(He gets up and walks towards the waitress, calling to her just as she tries to vanish into the kitchen.)

Waitress: *scowling* “Yes?”

Husband: “I’d like to speak to your manager, please.”

Waitress: “Oh, he’s not in right now. I’ll have to get him to call you back.”

Husband: “Somebody must be in charge. A supervisor or something.”

Waitress: “No, it’s just me. I’m in charge.”

(Just then, another member of staff comes out of the kitchen carrying an order.)

Waiter: “Is there a problem here?”

Husband: “Yes, I’d like to talk to your manager.”

Waiter: “Oh. He’s in his office in the back. I can get him if you like.”

Husband: “Yes, thank you. I’d appreciate that.”

(I stand and join my husband to try and calm him down; I can see he is seconds away from shouting, which isn’t going to help. I don’t really want to make a fuss, but something has to be done; I’ve been served something I didn’t order, and cannot eat. It’s covered almost completely in mushrooms, so it’s not even like I can pick them out. The waiter comes back out, followed by the manager.)

Manager: “What seems to be the problem?”

Me: “There was a mix-up with my order.”

Husband: “No, the waitress here was rude, and she got my wife’s order wrong on purpose.”

Me: “I’m sure it was just a mistake.”

Manager: *turns to the waitress, who is glaring at me* “Was it a mistake?”

Waitress: “Of course it was.”

Manager: “I’m just going to check with the kitchen to see what happened. Can you tell me what you should have gotten? I’ll straighten this out.”

(Once I tell the manager what my order was and that it came with mushrooms, he assures me that, no, the dish doesn’t normally come with mushrooms unless somebody asks for them. He goes into the kitchen. He then comes back out, looking furious, eyes locked on the waitress.)

Manager: “In my office. Now. I’ll deal with you in a minute.”

(The waitress glared at my husband and me, and then stormed into the kitchen. The manager got us back into our seats and asked for details on exactly what happened. Once we told him, he looked even angrier and explained that the order ticket the waitress gave to the kitchen said, “Extra, extra mushrooms,” on my order. He was deeply apologetic and explained that the waitress was new; this was her first shift and her first job ever. He offered to remake both our meals since they were now stone cold, giving me [Dish #1] without mushrooms like I originally wanted, and he offered to give us both our main meals for free to compensate us for what happened. I told him it wasn’t necessary — as long as we got our food as we ordered it, it was fine — but the manager insisted on giving us a free dessert and coffee. The waiter served us instead, and he was perfectly pleasant. We chatted a little, and we told him about how it was our anniversary and how we always passed this place and wanted to come in. As we left, the manager came rushing out and gave us a bottle of wine to take home. When I tried to decline, as I felt he had done more than enough, he said it was an anniversary gift. We have since been back there many times, and we always go on our anniversary. The best part, though, was that some weeks later I saw the rude waitress as I was on my way home from work. She was with a friend. She nudged them and very loudly announced, “That’s the b**** that got me fired.”)

Know When To Hold ‘Em And When To Fold ‘Em

, , , , , | Right | March 22, 2018

(I work on the tills at a well-known cheap clothing shop in the UK. I am packing the clothes that a customer has just bought into her bags.)

Customer: “No, no, stop that at once!”

Me: “What is the problem?”

Customer: “You’re packing that bag too haphazardly! My clothes will be wrinkled and ruined when I get them home!”

(At this shop, we are literally trained in how to pack bags to ensure that the clothes are folded neatly and the heavy items are on the bottom and the light ones are on the top. I have been following this training to the letter. I start to pack the bag exactly the same way as I was before, just slower.)

Customer: “There. That’s better! You’re actually folding the clothes now!”

Definitely Has The Balls To Do It

, , , , , , , , | Romantic | March 21, 2018

I work at a fast-food place with my friend. It’s mid-summer and my friend has just had a messy breakup with his girlfriend of three years, after he caught her having sex with another friend. Four days post-breakup, we are working the grill area when in walks his ex and the guy she cheated with, clearly showing him off as her new boyfriend.

She makes eyes with my friend and then orders her food. It’s all grill items, and my friend knows it’s her order because she ordered the same unusual alterations to her food when they were together.

It becomes apparent very quickly that both she and the guy intend to humiliate my friend by making him make them their food. He looks around and notes several things.

1) It’s the middle of summer and it’s over 35 degrees Celsius [95 degrees Fahrenheit] in the kitchen.

2) His crotch and rear have been within three feet of a 180+ degrees Celsius [356+ degrees Fahrenheit] grill for several hours.

3) The managers on duty are all either doing office work or customer facing, and can’t see him.

4) His ex can only see him from the neck up, due to how the kitchen is built.

My friend then decides that his ex’s order needs some extra sauce. He proceeds to work his hands down his pants and, after a bit of wiggling, brings from the depths of his crotch enough sweat to drip it onto first the ex’s and then the new boyfriend’s burgers before sending them and wandering off to wash his hands. Throughout all of this, I have neither intervened (because she did kind of deserve it) or assisted (because I didn’t want “sweat sandwich” as my dismissal reason), but I have kept a straight face and so has he. His ex doesn’t realise something is up, and once she gets her food, she looks at him again and smirks before wandering off to sit down.

At this point, I fulfil my obligations as a normal human and tell him he’s a maniac, he laughs it off, and we carry on about our business, stopping briefly to watch his ex and her new boyfriend leave the store.

Other mutual friends and coworkers of ours inform me that this event repeated on no less than five other occasions over the next four weeks, so the two of them got quite the dosage over time.

So far as I know, she never discovered that she ate a diet very high in ball sweat for several weeks, but it’s remained an amusing story within our friend group for the better part of a decade now.

The lesson to be drawn from this is: don’t go rubbing things in the face of someone who’s making your food. Who knows what “extra ingredients” you might end up with?

The guy is a prison warden now; God help the inmates.

They Give Zero Hours, You Give Zero F***s

, , , | Working | March 21, 2018

(I work at a company that sells medical equipment. The moment my boss goes on maternity leave, the department is restructured and her job eliminated — a common work-around employers use in the UK to circumvent maternity rights. That restructuring has been catastrophic for the office, and people are leaving left, right, and centre, not that management have noticed any change but the savings. Many suspect they’re just trying to constructively dismiss the old guard on full-time contracts and replace us with zero-hours workers, a process which has already begun. I’m at the reception desk one day; this is not my job, but my team has gone from five to two people in a few weeks, and someone has to do it. A few colleagues come through.)

HR Worker: “Hi, [My Name].”

Me: “Hey, you all right?”

HR Worker: “Yeah. Still here. Are you?”

Me: “Yes?”

HR Worker: “Well, look at that. I honestly didn’t know you were still here.”

Me: *speechless*

HR Worker: “Ah, well. Determined to be the last man standing, are you?”

Me: *resolving to use company time to review my job applications the moment his back is turned* “Not exactly, no.”

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