Magic: The Murdering

, , , , , , | Friendly | November 3, 2017

(My husband and I play [Trading Card Game]. Like most players, we have our valuable cards in binders that we carry with us to our local shop when we go to play, in case someone wants to do trades. A friend asks my husband to trade, so he hands the friend one of our three binders and sits looking at our friend’s binder. Our other two binders are on the table in front of me, and I’m sitting next to my husband, but his back is to me. A random guy that I’ve never seen before sits down at the table across from my husband. Note: some [Trading Card Game] cards are highly sought after and quite valuable, so a person’s binder could be worth anywhere from several hundred to several thousand dollars.)

Guy: “Oh, y’all are trading? Anything good?” *points to our binders* “Whose are these?”

(My husband and [Friend] ignore him as they discuss the cards they’re looking to trade and the value of those cards.)

Me: *pointing to my husband* “They’re our cards. He’s busy with [Friend] right now, so you might as well be talking to a brick wall.”

Guy: “Oh, okay.” *tries to grab the binders, but I snatch them out of his reach* “I just want to look.”

Me: *glaring at him* “Well, [Husband] is busy, and I’m not looking for anything right now. And I don’t know you, so don’t think you can just grab our cards like that!”

Guy: *to my husband* “Hey, man, she won’t let me look at your cards.”

(He snaps his fingers at my husband and I grit my teeth at his impertinence.)

Husband: *obviously annoyed but not looking up* “That’s my wife, and she plays, too, so those cards are half hers. Just wait a minute and we can try to deal, if you have stuff I want.”

Guy: *tries snatching the binders from me again* “I just want to see what he has!”

Me: *slamming the binders on the table as I jump out of my chair, fed up with his arrogance* “Listen here, you a**! I said you couldn’t just grab our cards like that, because I don’t know you! Try touching them again, and I will rip your f****** head off your shoulders, you got it?!”

Guy: *jumps up then glares at me* “You’re crazy!”

Friend: *finally looking up* “Hey, hey! Whooooa!” *to the guy* “[Guy], she told you not to touch their stuff and you didn’t listen and kept trying to grab their money cards, so of course she’s going to get crazy!” *to me* “[My Name], no committing murder. I don’t feel like helping [Shop Owner] and [Employee] mop up his blood, okay?”

Guy: “Whatever, man! I’m out. This chick is crazy.”

(My husband watches the guy leave, then shrugs and kisses my cheek.)

Husband: “And that, baby, is why I love you.”

The Day A Hurricane Came Through The Drive-Thru

, , , , , , , | Right | November 2, 2017

(Hurricane Harvey is in the area. While my section of Texas is clear of the core of the storm, the rain bands cause quite a bit of flooding along with, understandably, a decline of people. We have already been allowed by corporate to shut down the restaurant early if we aren’t turning a profit for six 15-minute periods straight. We are not making profits and, thankfully, the weather isn’t getting worse in our area. Therefore, the manager has decided to close the restaurant and has already posted signs on all the doors and drive-through window, and has slipped a sign behind the plastic of the menu board. I am still wearing the headset while helping my coworkers and manager, who is also wearing a headset, take care of cleaning, storage, and the like, when I hear a ping. I ignore this for a while until I hear the customer.)

Customer: “Hello, I’d like to—” *starts rattling off a 20+ item order*

Me: *interrupting the ordering* “I am sorry, sir, but we are closed due to the hurricane.”

Customer: “Yes, and I’d like ten large sodas—” *starts to rattle them off*

Me: “I am sorry, sir, but we are closed, due to the weather. We will be open again at 10:00 am tomorrow, and we do apologize for the incon—”

Customer: “I thought this was a 24/7 restaurant and, besides, it’s only 10:15!”

Me: “First, we are not 24/7. Second, even if we were, we are closing due to the storm, as indicated by the sign on the menu board.”

Customer: “Are you going to take my f****** order or not?!”

Me: “Sir, we are not able to make you anything as we have closed early. Please look at th—”

(I hear the car screech away and think this is the last of it until we hear a constant stream of honking from the window. As I’m the closest to the window, cleaning some of the equipment nearby, I decide to try again by pointing to the sign.)

Sign: “Due to inclement weather, the lobby will be closing at 8:00 pm and the drive-through will close at 10:00 pm. The store will re-open at 10:00 am without breakfast menu items. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

(They just honk their horn before trying to force open the window, at which point I get my manager.)

Me: “[Manager]! GET OVER HERE, NOW! HE’S TRYING TO BREAK OPEN OUR WINDOW!”

Manager: *grabbing the store phone and her own cell phone* “Get your cell phone ready to call the police.” *yelling through the closed window* “SIR, WE ARE CLOSED DUE TO THE HURRICANE! WE ARE TRYING TO CLEAN AND GET EVERYTHING READY FOR TOMORROW! IF YOU DO NOT LEAVE, WE ARE GOING TO CALL THE POLICE!”

(The customer starts using strings of curses and insults, and almost causes a wreck getting off of our property onto the street. After a few minutes of trying to process what happened, we all start to get back to work and think this really is end of it. Sadly, a few moments later, the phone rings and my manager answers it.)

Manager: “Thank you for calling [Restaurant]. Just to let you know, we are closed right now du—” *pause* “Sir, we have several signs up on the doors, windows, and the menu board. Furthermore, we could have called the cops on you when you attempted to break and enter. Lastly, through the window we saw you speed into the street in front of another car. If you have any issues with us closing early due to this storm, then you are free to call [Corporate Phone Number], but they were the ones to inform us that we are okay to close early as needed.”

(About two days later, we heard that the customer did indeed try to make a complaint, claiming we served other customers after he left, that we were discriminating against him, and various other bulls***. However, they were all dismissed, and his phone number, along with details from the outside cameras, were given to police for them to handle.)

Cause And Defect

, , , , , , , | Right | October 26, 2017

(I work as a hostess and cashier in a 24-hour diner while in high school. One of the waitresses is basically the epitome of all diner waitresses; she’s in her 40s but looks older, she has a gravelly, whiskey-and-cigarettes voice, she takes no crap from anybody, she’s very popular with all our regulars, and she’s absolutely unflappable. It’s a weekday in the summer, late evening, after the dinner rush but before the bars close and all the drunks come to us, so it is quiet. My manager and I are standing behind the main counter near the cash register talking, and [Waitress] has just refilled coffees for three guys in a booth and is standing there chatting, holding the half-full coffee pot in her right hand. She is mostly talking to the two guys on the left side of the booth, and apparently the guy on the right side thinks he isn’t getting enough attention, because all of a sudden he reaches out and grabs her butt cheek.)

Me: “Oh, my God, [Manager]! Did you see? That guy just groped [Waitress]!”

(The manager heads for the gap in the counter to go intervene — I don’t think he knows what is coming, just that it won’t be pretty — but without even missing a beat in her conversation, [Waitress] just turns her hand over and pours the entire remaining contents of the coffee pot into the groper’s lap.)

Groper: “F***! S***! You b****!”

(At this point, one of his buddies “helpfully” tips his glass of water into the groper’s lap, and my manager is laughing so hard that he has literally fallen on the floor. The ice water bath does cool the guy’s scalded scrotum enough that he is able to get up and come yell at someone less likely to conk him with the coffee pot than [Waitress], and as [Manager] is still on the floor and thus out of sight, that’s apparently going to be me.)

Groper: “Did you see her pour coffee on me? I want her fired!”

(I am a particularly baby-faced 16-year-old at this time, so how he thinks I have the authority to fire anybody, much less this waitress literally old enough to be my mom, is beyond me. I look to my manager for help, but he’s still down, laughing so hard he’s wheezing. Nonetheless, I’m pretty sure he’ll have my back if I need it; he’s like that.)

Me: “Yeah, I saw it, right after I saw you grab her butt. We don’t have to put up with that.”

Groper: “You… I… She can’t! I’ll call the cops! Yeah, that was assault. I’ll call the cops!”

Me: “Well, I guess you could. Or you could just hang around; there’s usually a couple of them dropping in around now for some coffee before they go round up drunks. They like to sit in [Waitress]’s section, so that’ll be convenient. You can tell them your version, and we can tell them how she was so startled her hand slipped after some pervert grabbed her butt, and we’ll see which one they think is assault.”

(At this point the guy just shrieks and stomps out. One of the busboys who’s come out of the back to see what the commotion is about starts to run after him, since he’s walking out on the bill, but our manager, who has managed to regain his feet, waves him off — it’s just coffee, not worth chasing an angry customer into the dark. Meanwhile, the other two guys who were with him come up to the register, and even though they’ve gotten separate checks, they pay his, too, so that works out.)

Groper’s Buddy: “Sorry about him. His girlfriend dumped him, and he’s totally been acting like an a**hole.”

Me: “I think you might have your cause and effect switched around there, but yeah, okay.”

The Bachelor Party Should Have Been The Warning

, , , , | Right | October 19, 2017

(We have a group of rooms booked for a bachelor party. We get a noise complaint about them at 3:00 am. I call down to get them to quiet down and give them their official warning.)

Me: “You guys need to quiet down; I’m getting noise complaints about your room, and if I get another one, I will kick you guys out.”

Guest: “What? You’re kicking us out? But we have 12 rooms!”

Me: “Right now I’m warning you, not kicking you out. If I get another complaint I will kick you out, though. We have another 40 rooms besides you guys. Being with a group of 12 doesn’t mean you get to disturb everyone else.”

Guest: “But where will we go?”

Me: “Not my problem.”

Guest: “But you didn’t even give us a warning; you’re just going to kick us out with no warning?”

Me: “This is your warning; I’m not kicking you out right now, but I will if I get another complaint about you.”

Guest: “I can’t believe you’re just going to kick us out with no warning!” *click*

The Gloves Are Off

, , , , , , | Learning | October 19, 2017

(I’m the teacher’s assistant for a freshman biology lab class. I’ve worked with this professor for several years, and he’s as much my friend as he is my professor. Today’s lab is about running DNA on electrophoresis gels, which involves a lot of fairly hazardous chemicals. After the professor gets done explaining the concepts, he picks up one of the gels with his bare hands.)

Me: “Dude! Put some gloves on! Do you want to get cancer?!”

Professor: “Eh, whatever. I’ve already had all the kids I’m planning on having, and I figure I’m bound to get cancer, anyway, given how often I work with this stuff.”

(I face-palmed. I will say though, I’ve never seen so many freshmen scramble to get their lab gloves on that quickly!)

Page 3/1612345...Last
« Previous
Next »