That Had Better Be Tomato Sauce On The Pizza

, , , , , , , , | Working | November 12, 2019

I am the assistant manager at an Irish theme pub. It’s a busy Friday night and everything is going well. I decide to order pizza for myself and the rest of the staff, as we’ve all been on shift for quite a while and it’s starting to quieten down enough for us to relax slightly before we close.

Just after I get off the phone, there is a tremendous sound of smashing glass from the lower bar. I stick my head around the corner to see a huge hole now in one of our massive plate glass windows that face the street. The customers who are in the bar are all looking shocked, and some are covered in glass, so I quickly work out that somebody broke it from the outside in, so a coworker and I run out into the street to try and find the culprit.

I follow a trail of blood across the street and find a middle-aged couple, both pretty drunk. The woman has huge gashes in her arm from where it went through the window, and she is bleeding pretty heavily. I quickly send my coworker back to the bar to grab a roll of paper towels to hold the poor woman’s arm together while I ring an ambulance.

The whole time, the woman is saying she’s fine and that she just wants to go back to her hotel, despite the fact she has an arterial bleed pulsing out of her forearm. The man says nothing at all, apart from offering me a cigarette.

After a long wait, a mobile paramedic turns up and starts asking questions, not actually helping that much, while his colleague watches. All this time, I am still trying to keep this drunk woman’s arm from falling apart.

Eventually, he rings for an actual ambulance, and I suddenly feel a very insistent tap on my shoulder.

I turn, keeping my grip on the woman’s arm, to see a pizza delivery guy trying to hand me a stack of pizzas. It turns out he’d gone into the bar to drop them off, and apparently insisted on giving them to the name on the order. When the other staff had told him where I was, he’d come out to find me.

When I tell him to go back to the bar and that they will pay him from the till, he just keeps repeating the total price at me and trying to balance the pizzas on my already rather occupied arms. Finally, the other paramedic takes over holding the woman’s arm together, and I have my hands free. The pizza guy dumps the stack of pizzas into my blood-covered arms, takes some money off my coworker who has come out to help, and leaves without a word. That leaves me covered in blood, tired, not a little annoyed, and holding five large pizzas in the middle of the road at midnight on a Friday night.

We later discovered that the woman had got into an argument with her husband while walking past our pub, tried to punch him in the face, and missed, putting her fist through the window.

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I’ll Bet That It Won’t End Well For Him

, , , , | Right | November 11, 2019

(I’m female and work in a betting office or bookies. Customers can get aggressive but I’m well used to it and they don’t intimidate me. I’m on my own as my coworker is out on lunch and there are two customers in line. A regular walks past the customers and slams a betting docket on the counter.)

Regular: “That’s going off.” *meaning the race is about to start*

Me: “There’s a queue.”

Regular: “I don’t care; that’s about to go off.”

Me: “And there’s still a queue.”

Regular: “B****, take the f****** bet before the race starts.”

Me: “No. The race times and odds have been posted since 9:00 am this morning. It’s now 5:00 pm. You had plenty of time to put your bet on. Get in the queue.”

Regular: “You don’t want to f****** mess with me. Take the f****** bet.”

Me: “No.”

Regular: “I will mess you up. Take the f****** bet or you will regret it.”

Me: *picking up the betting slip* “Are you really threatening me over a £2 bet at 2/1 odds? The most you could have won is £6. F*** off, and next time, get your bet in earlier. Also, the race is finished and your horse didn’t win, so you saved £2.”

Regular: “You’re going to regret this, you dumb b****.”

(He storms out and I continue on with my shift. It’s not the first time I’ve been threatened and I have a giggle about it with the remaining customers. At closing my time, just as I’m about to leave, my coworker comes in from the back room where the security cameras are.)

Coworker: “Uh [My Name], did you have a run-in with [Regular] earlier?”

Me: “Yeah! He tried to skip the queue with a tiny bet right before a race started. I told him to get in the queue and he threatened me. How did you know?”

Coworker: “Because he’s in the alley beside the building with a baseball bat.”

(My coworker ended up locking us in the shop while we called the police. The regular was arrested and barred from the shop for life. All that over a £2 bet that he wouldn’t have won anyway!)

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Got This Parenting Thing Licked

, , , , , | Right | November 11, 2019

(My coworker tells me this story almost immediately after it happened to her. A young boy comes up to her, silently sticking out his hand for her to shake. Bemused, she lets him take her hand and shake it. He stares wordlessly at her for several seconds while doing so, and then runs his tongue up her arm. His mother comes running up, mortified and apologizing.)

Mother: “I’m so sorry; he just saw The Boxtrolls in the theater.”

(My coworker hadn’t seen the movie, so after I got over my bout of shocked laughter, I confirmed that yes, the boy had been imitating the main character a little TOO closely.)

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Shattering The Glass And The Illusion

, , , , , | Learning | November 9, 2019

(I attend a career event with a specialty lab program for high school students and as a second-year, we do individual labs. Our sterile hoods are in a separate area and are quite loud. One of my classmates and I are prepping our hoods while another is in the main lab with our teacher. Glass shatters loud enough for us to hear in the hood room. [Male Classmate] and I look over at each other but continue on with our lab. [Female Classmate] comes in, obviously shaken.)

Female Classmate: “[Teacher] just cussed.”

([Male Classmate] and I are confused, as our teacher is a woman who doesn’t even say “darn” most of the time.)

Me: “What’d you do?”

Female Classmate: “I dropped a beaker.”

Teacher: *entering room* “She dropped it next to my head.”

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, , , , , | Learning | November 6, 2019

(I’m going to high school in the late 90s. We have a couple of teachers who have enough tenure that they know they can’t get fired, and are slightly crazy. This makes for some very interesting classes; my chemistry teacher is one of these. A brief bit of background, which will be relevant later: my father is a chemical engineer and taught me quite a bit about chemical reactions. This particular class start out different from normal, with the teacher having all of us get up and stand out in the hallway. He has us gather around the door, looking into the room. On the counter, he has a large beaker of water.)

Teacher: “We’re going to do the sodium reaction today.”

Me: *thinking* “Cool, this is a pretty fun experiment.”

(I then watch as he goes to the supply closet, brings out the sealed container, puts on gloves, and proceeds to remove a block of sodium about an inch thick and the size of his palm. I’m waiting for him to remove a small piece of it to begin the experiment, but instead, he grips the whole thing between two fingers, stretches his arm out as far from his body as he can, and drops the whole thing in. The instant he lets go, he starts sprinting towards the supply room.)

Me: “Oh, sh–” 

(I barely have time to say the words, as I, too, dive to get out of the doorway.)

Sodium: “KABOOOM!”

(The sodium reacted predictably, with a massive explosion. Water and glass went everywhere, ceiling tiles got singed, and everyone who didn’t know what to expect started freaking out. I am still amazed that the fire alarm didn’t go off, or that no one called the police.)

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