I am eighteen, working a new job at a bridal shop. In this shop, you can wear shoes and buy off the rack, or order. We do alterations, and nothing we sell is over $1,800. We are appointment-based, but we take walk-ins. We also sell bridesmaid, prom, quinceañera, and other fancy event dresses.

A woman walks in with eight bridesmaids and her mother.

Me: “Hello! Do you have an appointment?”

Mother Of The Bride: “No, do we need one?”

Me: “We are appointment-based, but—”

Mother Of The Bride: “Now listen here, you stupid b****! This is my baby’s special day, and we will be trying on dresses!”

Me: “I understand. We do take walk-ins, but we are appointment-based.”

Mother Of The Bride: “Shut up and help us now!”

Bride: “Mom, calm down!” *To me* “Can you pencil us in today?”

Me: “Not a problem; we are pretty slow today, and I have an available stylist right now.”

Bride: “Thank you so much!”

Momzilla just rolls her eyes and starts looking at dresses. I think that’s the end, but I am very wrong. About twenty minutes later, Momzilla comes storming toward me.

Me: “Can I help you?”

Mother Of The Bride: “Yes, you can bring it out now!”

Me: *Starting to lose my cool* “I am sorry, bring what out?”

Mother Of The Bride: “The couches and champagne! I am not paying for this appointment without it!”

Me: “Ma’am, you need to lower your voice. You do not have to pay because this is a free appointment. We do not have couches; you will have to sit in a chair instead. Lastly, we do not have or serve champagne as we would need a license and we would need to have all employees be twenty-one, so we cannot do that.”

Momzilla breaks down into tears, right when the general manager walks in.

General Manager: “What’s going on here?”

Mother Of The Bride: “YOUR. STUPID. EMPLOYEES. WON’T. GIVE. ME. CHAAAAAAMPAGNE!”

My general manager ended up kicking her out of the store. The nice bride finished her appointment and found the perfect dress!

Related:
Momzilla Of The Bride

When I was about twenty-five and an officer in the Navy, I was in the wedding of a friend in the Marine Corps. I was the only naval officer there, and I wore my formal tuxedo-like “Dinner Dress” uniform for the ceremony. It is a very dark blue (really, black) uniform. The Marines were all in their dress uniforms, as well.

At the reception, I decided to chat up the sister of the bride. I walked over to her and said hello.

Bride’s Sister: “Could you get me a white wine?”

Me: “Sure.”

I went to the open bar and got her drink. I came back and handed it to her, and she said thank you, turned around, promptly resumed talking to her friends, and completely ignored me.

I was a little miffed, as you can imagine, but I went away and found some of my other friends.

A couple of weeks after the wedding, I was talking to the bride, and she was surprised that her sister had done that. It turns out that, based on my uniform, she thought I was a waiter, and when I brought her a drink, she figured our interaction was complete.

My Marine Corps buddies have never let me live that down, I can assure you.

I am working at the bar at a VIP event and go to the fridge to get more stock. I am gone maybe forty-five seconds. In that time, some self-important a**hat comes behind the bar, cracks a bottle of the most expensive white wine, and pours himself two huge glasses. The guests all know they’re not supposed to go behind or access the bar.

Me: “Sir, you can’t be back here.”

Customer: “You were all being lazy and slacking off, and I hate waiting!”

He sneers at me and wanders off. About twenty minutes later, he’s back, and I am present at the bar.

Customer: “Ah, you’re actually doing your jobs this time. I’ll take two of the white wines.”

Me: “Absolutely, sir.”

I make sure that every time he comes back to the bar for the rest of the wedding, I serve him the cheapest wine on offer. I can tell he has a sour expression on his face when he takes a sip.

Customer: “What happened to the good stuff?”

Me: *Staring pointedly* “Oh, someone came behind the bar and stole them.”

He stared back at me but didn’t say anything else. I made sure everyone else got the good stuff that night, except him.

I’m engaged to my long-time partner, and we are currently looking at wedding venues. I’m a man in a wheelchair, and he’s also a man. We’ve already encountered one homophobic venue, but as they made it clear from the beginning that they would not rent to us, we brushed it off as a nutcase and looked at other places.

We’re at a new location that we both love. The woman giving us a tour is happily answering all of our questions, including accessibility concerns. We’re pretty much sold, and we tell them woman this.

Woman: “Lovely! Now, I’m assuming you’ll want to bring the bride-to-be with you to get the final okay. Or groom!”

Fiancé: “Oh, he’s right here.”

The woman frowns and looks at me.

Woman: “Are… you sure? You could lose your disability. And do you have the money for a place like this?”

Me: “I’m not on disability, and we have a savings account made just for the wedding.”

Woman: “Well, it’s just… most people who marry someone that’s… you know… are straight. Maybe you should think about this. I’d hate to see you two divorce so soon after a wedding.”

Fiancé: “What the h*** are you talking about? What do you mean, ‘Someone that’s… you know…’?”

Woman: “Well… someone in a wheelchair. Or special needs. You know, not normal.”

Me: “Considering it’s my income — from my ‘normal people’ job — that’s paying for most of the wedding, I think we’re done here.”

Fiancé: “Thank you, ma’am, but we’ll find someplace else.”

We left.

We ended up going for another venue that was just as nice but without the judgment.

I’m in a string quartet playing at a wedding. Two things worth noting: most of the staff are shorter women, whereas the violinists and the cellist are both tall men, and the groom is a Marine.

Staffer: “Sorry to bother you… We’ve got a stuck door, and it’s royally f****** up our plans. We’ve tried wiggling it and hitting it and everything else, and we can not wait for a locksmith. Any of you able to give it a kick?”

Me: “We’re musicians, sorry, but this is a military wedding, so you can probably just go to the groom’s side and ask, ‘Can anyone kick down a door?’, and—”

Passing Man: “You say you need a door kicked down?”

Other Man: “Yeah, I can help out!”

The staffer and the FIVE muscular volunteers that appeared out of nowhere disappear down the hall. A moment later, there’s a crash and a cheer. When I see the staffer next…

Me: “How’d the door go?”

Staffer: “Oorah.”