Not So Tender About The Chicken

, , , , | Right | January 21, 2019

(I work in the deli of a grocery store. An older man with a nasty scowl on his face quickly trudges up to me and abruptly stops. He doesn’t even look at what’s in my hot case before speaking.)

Customer: “So, what, you guys don’t make chicken tenders anymore?!”

Me: “Oh, no, we do have them. We moved them over to the wing bar.”

Customer: “What? I have to get ’em myself?!”

Me: “Yes, they’re self-serve, sir.”

(He picks up the tongs and looks utterly bewildered.)

Customer: “What? I can’t get just one anymore?! I have to get a pound?!”

Me: “Uh, no. You can get however much you want.”

(He roughly slaps one down into a plastic tray and then slams it down on top of the hot case without a top.)

Customer: “How much are they?”

Me: “Six dollars a pound.”

Customer: “What? You raised the price to six dollars a pound?!”

Me: “Actually, we lowered the price to six dollars a pound, sir.”

Customer: “Keep it. This is bulls***.”

(He smacked the tray with the chicken tender in it onto the floor and stomped away just as he’d stomped up.)

Might Need To Sit Down For This One

, , , | Right | January 21, 2019

(I work in a pretty well-known concert venue. I get all sorts of calls that make very little sense to me, but this one really sticks with me.)

Me: “[Venue]. This is [My Name]; how can I help you?”

Caller: “I purchased tickets for [Show]; they’re standing-up tickets. Does that mean I’ll be standing up?”

(For most show we sell mezzanine seats or general admission – “Standing Room Only.”)

Me: “You purchased SRO tickets?”

Caller: “Yes, I’ve got standing-up tickets. Does that mean I’ll be standing up for the show?”

Me: “Yes, SRO tickets mean standing.”

Caller: “So, there aren’t seats for standing-up tickets?”

Me: “No, they are standing room.”

Chocolate And Liters Go Well Together

, , , , , | Related | January 21, 2019

(My mom, my brother, and I are all avid bakers, so when we’re all home and we’re cooking for the holidays, we go all out. Not everyone in our extended family celebrates Christmas, but everyone is coming to my aunt’s holiday party, so we decide to make a yule log cake, among other things. We’ve finished baking the cake and rolling it with almond cream.)

Mom: “Okay, the cake is rolled up, so we’re going to let it set in the fridge for a couple of hours. After that, the only thing left to do is to cover the whole thing in about a liter of chocolate ganache.”

Brother: “That. That is an excellent sentence. Please use that sentence more often.”

This Customer Is Not All Peaches And Cream

, , | Right | January 21, 2019

(I work in a bistro that is open from 7:00 am to 10:00 pm, and we have lots of coffee products. This one guy comes in once a week and gets progressively worse each time. Here’s the most recent story.)

Me: “Hi, welcome to [Bistro]. What can I get you?”

Customer: *very angry voice* “Do you guys have lattes?!”

(He’s been here before.)

Me: “Yes, would you like one?”

Customer: “No! I’ll have a coffee with cream.”

(I have literally JUST finished brewing the coffee. It is fresh and very, very hot, and I know this because I almost burn my hand pouring it. I serve the customer. Then he dumps enough cold creamer in his coffee that the entire coffee turns a very pale tan color, almost white, and that it his cup starts to overflow and run all over our counter.)

Customer: “THIS COFFEE IS COLD!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. I can heat it up for you—“

Customer: “HOW ABOUT YOU DON’T SERVE ME COLD F****** COFFEE, INSTEAD?! AND THIS COUNTER IS FILTHY! YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED!”

(Maybe if your coffee wasn’t 75% creamer, we wouldn’t have this problem.)

Losing An Identity Means Creating A New One

, , , | Working | January 21, 2019

(We have an old coworker who took another job, but left on good terms. We receive word that he has been seriously injured in an accident and has lost memory of several years of his life. After awhile, his doctors suggest that he visit some of the places attached to the missing memories. He knows that he worked at our company, but has no memory of those years, so he comes to visit us. Our managers arrange for lunch to be brought in so that everyone who knew him can meet up and see if they can jog some memories. We have one older employee who is sort of a sour person.)

Employee #1: *starting off* “Do you remember any of us, or our names?”

Old Employee: “Some of you look familiar, but I don’t remember any of you.”

Sour Employee: “How can you not remember me?! I’m the village b****!”

Employee #2: “You couldn’t have given yourself a whole new identity! Don’t tell him that!”

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