Even The Pizza Left You

, , , , , , | Right | April 17, 2019

(My husband and I order pizza, then go to pick it up. They don’t have a dine-in area, but there are four chairs lined up along the window. An elderly man is using one of the chairs, so I make my husband take one of the other chairs, and my children refuse to share the chairs. After about twenty minutes of waiting while the children are entertained with their own electronics, and my husband is zoned out on his phone, this happens:)

Elderly Man: *to my husband* “You’re so rude!”

Husband: “What?”

Me: “What? How so?”

Elderly Man: “Making her stand like that! That’s totally rude of you!”

Me: “I told him he should sit down, since my legs need to stretch, and the pressure changes have been aggravating his arthritis. I’ve been glued to a computer in a small office all day.”

Elderly Man: “Well, okay, then, that’s… Sorry. I just assumed there.”

Me: “That’s okay, yeah. I hope we don’t meet anyone who is actually rude tonight! It’s been about fifteen minutes since we got here, but I understand the wait, since we ordered several specific pizzas, and it’s a busy football night.”

Cashier: *listening in, says quietly* “Oh, thank God.”

(I was exaggerating downward; it has been at least twenty minutes. The cashier goes to confer with her manager, and the manager comes over to apologize for the wait. The kids and my husband don’t mind — they’ve got their games — but I’m thirsty, so I accept her offer of free drinks for the family. She offers the elderly gentleman a discount on his pizza, and a drink for his lengthier wait. And then, about five minutes later, another customer comes in.)

Rude Dude: *walks to counter* “I’ve been waiting 45 minutes now! I need my pizza immediately!”

Cashier: “Yes, sir, what is the name on your order?”

Rude Dude: “Forty-five minutes! I’ve been waiting!”

Cashier: “And the name on your order?”


(This repeats at least another half dozen times, with him saying the same thing in different combinations, and the cashier offering the same question in a super sweet saccharine voice. I’m getting hangry at this point, and he’s the nearest annoyance, soooo…)

Me: “Forty-five minutes, huh? Everybody here has clearly gotten that information. But, the one thing she needs is your f****** name. So, either tell the nice lady your name, or go f*** off, and wait at least another hour elsewhere.”

Rude Dude: *gives his name and glares at the cashier*

Cashier: “Oh! Your order went out through the drive-thru five minutes ago! Have a nice night!” *turns back to the kitchen to retrieve the elderly man’s order*

Rude Dude: *screams incoherently, throws a plastic organizer full of salt, peppers, and parmesan packets into the kitchen area, and slams himself into a chair to sulk*

Elderly Man: *on his way to picking up his order, stops to address the rude dude* “Your order isn’t here, so you probably shouldn’t be, either. Now, go see if your pizza’s at home, and if it is not, do as the lady has requested. Go f*** off and wait at least an hour elsewhere.”

Rude Dude: *literally growls, then leaves*

Cashier: “Sir, that is awesome. Your order is on us tonight, and we’re so sorry for such a long wait.”

(She calls my husband’s name about five or so minutes later, and we find that they have given us an extra deep-dish pizza, a dessert, and a couple of other items that we used to order on a weekly basis, but no longer do due to household size and budget changes.)

Cashier: “Your tot—“

Manager: “Nope! No. Noooo. F*** that. This is all on us. Y’all are longtime customers, and this is the longest you guys have ever waited, and we really appreciate your patience. And you telling that guy to f*** off.”

Cashier: “Yeah! Sweet! And yeah, thanks for telling the guy to f*** off.”

Husband: *is confused*

Me: “You’re welcome. I can’t stand people that obtuse.” *laughs* “The fact that the elderly man repeated it, though… That made my week.”

Husband: “So… wait… what? We’re good here?”

Me: “Yes, I’m coming back later this week with the kids, too.”

Cashier: “[Husband], you were playing on your phone. [My Name] will explain it when y’all get home, okay?”

(When we got home, my in-laws came over unexpectedly, but thanks to the generosity of the pizzeria staff, we had enough pizza for everyone. I told everyone how we got all the pizza for free, the kids reiterated how super rude the dude was, and my husband joked that I could hire myself out as an expert snarker while I continued job hunting.)

There’s A Lot In A Number

, , , , , | Right | March 14, 2019

(I work in reservations for hotels and properties, and we are supposed to ask for customers’ names and contact numbers. This lady calls in all nice.)

Customer: “Can I please see what you have available? I’m flying in from [Location].”

Me: “Sure, may I have a good number to contact you in case we get disconnected?”

Customer: *silence*

Me: *silence*

Customer: “Did you seriously just ask me, a customer, that? Did you honestly think that was a good question? In fact, are you new? I don’t know how long you were trained for, but you obviously need to go back because your trainer has done a poor job.”

Me: “I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”

Customer: “And that is exactly the problem. In fact, I really want to speak to your manager; you really do not need to be on the phones. I can’t believe you would actually say, ‘I’m sorry?’ to a customer. My five-year-old can express himself better.”

(I just asked this lady for her phone number.)

Unfiltered Story #122393

, , , | Unfiltered | October 6, 2018

(I’m a bartender, so getting low or no tips comes with the territory. Other customers always make up for the cheap ones, so you move on. However, I always remember faces. A week prior to this, a guest paid his tab with a gift card which had a remaining balance of $2.78 on it. He wrote $6.00 in the tip portion, so he meant well, but obviously I could only claim the $2.78. He returned, and when it came time to pay, he pulled out the same gift card.)

Guest: “I’m not sure what is left on this.”

Me: *swipes card* “There’s nothing on this card, sir.”

Guest: *angrily hands me credit card* “There should be, I know I didn’t use it all last time.”

Me: “Sir, last time I’m fairly positive you paid with this card, there was a remaining balance of $2.78, which you left as the tip.”

Guest: “That is not possible, I always tip very well.”

Me: “Yes, sir, you did write $6.00 as the tip last week.”

Guest: *nods and sighs exasperatedly*

Me: “But the system does not allow me to claim an amount greater than what is left on the card. I do apologize, but there is nothing left on this gift card. There is nothing I can do. If you feel this is incorrect, the number for our corporate office is on your receipt. Again, I do apologize for the misunderstanding, and hope you enjoy the rest of your day.”

(At this point, I hand him his card and slips back, and go outside to smoke because I’m a little frustrated. The man is always impeccably dressed and drives a wonderful vehicle, so I’m a perturbed that he complained about money. I return inside, look at the credit slip. He originally had wrote $0 for the tip, but I’m assuming he couldn’t go through with that, and crossed it out to write in $8.00 instead. I appreciated it of course, but the whole situation was just odd.)

Shaking Things Up With Your Order

, , , , , , | Working | March 7, 2018

(I only live a few minutes away from my work, so I stop there frequently for a bite to eat. The previous night, when I was working, the machine that handles all of the mochas, lattes, etc., was broken, so I keep that in mind when I find a coupon with a deal giving you a free coffee drink when you buy a big sandwich. After I pull up to the speaker and get the greeting…)

Me: “Is your coffee machine working?”

Coworker: “Yes.”

Me: “Okay, I’d like to get [sandwich] and a mint mocha.”

(I get the total, pay at the first window, and go to the second window to get my food. I get my sandwich, but when my second coworker hands me my drink…)

Me: “Uh, I asked for a mint mocha, not a mint shake.”

(My second coworker looks a little confused, and the shift manager comes over to see what the deal is.)

Me: “I asked for a mocha, not a shake.” *holds up the wrong drink*

Manager: “Oh, the machine is broken.”

Me: “I even asked if it was working before I ordered.”

Manager: “I don’t have the smartest people on my shift today.” *walks away*

(I drove home with my correct sandwich and incorrect drink, still a little confused. I went to the survey website and gave my two cents about my experience, but I really couldn’t get too annoyed, as it was a free drink.)

Unfiltered Story #101123

, , , | Unfiltered | December 5, 2017

(We have an EXTREMELY large locust tree that has begun to show irreparable dieback following some unavoidable root damage. I’m pretty sure it needs to be removed, but am hopeful for any slight chances that a local arborist can save it. I start calling several tree-removal and trimming services for their assessment and quotes. The first business I call has no answering machine, but the owner returns my missed call sometime later.)

Me: “I’ve got a large honey locust, and I need someone to give me an estimate on removal, or on saving it if possible.”

Owner: “When are you free for an estimate?”

Me: “I’ve got all day today, and tomorrow afternoon.”

Owner: “I’ve got [Employee] in the area. I can send him over pretty soon for an estimate. Just give me your email address, since that’s how we’re sending out our estimates these days.”

Me: “Great! My email is [address]. Just so you know, though, I’ll be around for only another hour and 15 minutes, and then I’ll have to run out quickly for about 30 minutes. But after that I’ll be home. Is that a problem?”

Owner: “No problem; he’s close. Just text me your info and I’ll send him over.”

Me: “Great!”

(Twenty minutes later:)

Owner: *texting* “On his way now.”

(Forty-five minutes later:)

Me: *text* “I have to leave and get my daughter from preschool. If [Employee] is still on his way, he is welcome to head to the backyard (tree is obvious) and fill me in when I get back around [twenty-five minutes later].”

(Ten minutes later:)

Owner: *text* “He is there now; I’m sorry.”

(Fifteen minutes later:)

Me: *text* “I have returned home and no one is here.”

(I figured he’d come and gone and I’d get my emailed estimate. But 30 minutes after THAT, [Employee] and an assistant show up. The assistant is wearing only flip-flops, which didn’t do her feet any favors when she tripped over my rosebush on the way to the tree. In contrast, the next set of arborists to show up for an evaluation were both dressed in really sturdy workboots.)

Employee: “That tree is pretty far gone. Removal would be about $[range], but we could probably save it with a crown reduction for [$500 less], if you found someone to take the firewood and didn’t pay us to haul it.”

Me: “Well, I sure would like to save it if you think it’s got a decent chance.”

Employee: “Yeah, I think it’ll do pretty well. I bet we could get it scheduled this Friday.”

Me: “I don’t want to schedule it yet. I’ve got a couple other companies coming to give estimates through the end of the week. Can you please email me an estimate, and I’ll get back to you Friday if I want to go ahead?”

Employee: “Sure, no problem. Here, write down your email address for me.”

(I do, but I get no estimate in my inbox. Friday, I get a phone call.)

Owner: “Hey, this is [Owner] of [Tree Service.] The rain delayed one of yesterday’s jobs, so I was wondering if we could reschedule coming out for your tree until this afternoon?”

Me: “I’m sorry; what?”

Owner: “We can’t make it at ten, is it okay if I come out at two?”

Me: “I’m confused; what are we rescheduling?”

Owner: “The removal of your locust tree. We had it scheduled for right now.”

Me: “I didn’t have that scheduled.”

Owner: “Do I have the right number? Do you have the honey locust at [street address].”

Me: “I do, but I told [Employee] I was still getting estimates. I never scheduled. He never even emailed an estimate.”

Owner: “[Employee] had you scheduled for today.”

Me: “I am not prepared to have this tree removed today, and I need an emailed estimate first in any case.”

Owner: “I’m sorry about that; can I get your email.”

Me: “It’s [address].”

(I ended the call with as little frost as possible (“cordially” was beyond my capacity at the time). I still haven’t received the formal estimate. It was the highest of the three I got by far AND the only one that didn’t include deadwood removal, so I’m not too sad about letting them go.)

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