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I have been squirreling away these little nuggets just for all of you, my friends. Please make the hurting stop.
You're Dumb.
Me: And what would you like, ma’am?
Lady: A dish of those potatoes…
Me: You mean the Yukon gold potato wedges?
Lady: No…they’re potatoes.
Me: You mean the cross-cut fries?
Lady: NO! They’re potatoes.
Me: Um…fries are potatoes. They’re shaped like little waffles, fried, and then tossed in seasoning salt?
Lady: They’re on the kid’s menu. I want the potatoes on there.
Me: You mean the seasoned fries then.
Lady: No, I want the potatoes on the children’s menu. They’re on there.
Me: The only potatoes on there are the seasoned fries.
Needless to say, this continued on for a while in a horribly circular fashion. Eventually, she realized that I had been right the entire time and just ordered the stupid fries. Thank God.
Simply Put: WTF?
Me: *puts down a plate full of food* Looks like we have a bacon and cheese omlette.
Guy: Really?
Me: *checks again* Yes, it’s a bac –
Guy: And it’s only Friday.
Me: Huh?
I think he had another conversation going on in his head. Something along the lines of “Hello, brain? You there?” This line of questioning was left with a very disheartening silence.
I Hate You, Telephone Customer
Me: Thank you for calling the Pit of Despair, this is Cloudiko, how may I help you?
Phone idiot: Just calling to see if you're open. Thank you.
*click*
Five minutes later...
Me: Thank you for calling the Pit, this is Cloudiko, how may I help you?
Phone idiot: Just calling to see if you're open. Thanks.
*click*
Ten minutes later...
Me: Thank you for calling the Pit, this is Cloudiko, how may I h -
Phone idiot: You're still there? So that means you're still open, right?
Me:...Yes. We're open ALL day. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.
Phone idiot: Oh. Well, thanks.
Me: Please don't call again. We will still be open, I promise.
Phone idiot: I know, I just wanted to be sure. You know how that goes.
No, no, I don't. I would have interpreted the inital response to my inqury as the answer. I would have also noted that there have been ads in the paper in addition to window advertisements that blatently read: OPEN FOR ALL HOLIDAYS! in garrishly festive colors. However, that would require you to open your eyes and actually pay attention to the world around you. Please. I won't hold my breath.
A Romantic Breakfast for Two
Me: Thank you for calling the Pit of Despair, this is Cloudiko, how may I help you?
Rough man voice: I want two of your breakfast sandwiches.
Me: This isn't McDonalds.
Rough man voice: Wait...don't you have breakfast sandwiches?
Me: No. We never have and never will.
Rough man voice: Oh s**t. Larry is going to be mad.
Me: ...
Rough man voice: Could you make breakfast sandwiches?
Me: Again, this isn't a fast food place. You could just drive to your nearest fast food place and pick some up.
Rough man voice: Who is this again?
Me:...Why?
Rough man voice: You sure you don't have breakfast sandwiches?
Me: I'm positive. There are absolutely no breakfast sandwiches or the means by which to create such a sandwich in this restaurant.
Background man (who is probably "Larry" - sounds like he's about 110 and has the IQ of a plastic action figure): What do you mean no breakfast sandwiches?!
Me: ...
Rough man voice: *to "Larry* I know, I tried to convince her.
Me: Can I hang up now?
*click*
*Shudder* I don't want to think about what happens when Larry gets mad. It probably involves bending over a chair and several rounds of "Find the Practice Hole". Or maybe just a simple game of "Find the Hole That Makes a Man Cry". Ugh. Ugh. This was painful just to recall. Ugh.
Fashion Advice?
Lady: Hey, I need your advice. Well, actually your fashion advice.
Me: Okay? *looks around for some avenue of escape, but there is none*
Lady: *Holds up cell phone, which has a photo of a pair of boots on the screen* What do you think of these?
Me: Well...
Lady: Are those hooker boots? Do you think they would make me look whorish?
Me: ...No?
Let's take a time out here: If I say yes, she doesn't tip me. Plus, there's the added bonus of her drunken buddies mocking me profusely and leaving a huge ass mess. However, what is the correct answer in this situation? I mean, what am I supposed to say? Something along the lines of: "why yes, those boots make you fit perfectly into the stereotype of a 'lady of the night'"?
Somehow, I found a middle ground: I took their order and said that I had horrible fashion sense. Instead, she should ask her buddies. (Who, for the record, all already look like seasoned 'ladies of the night'. ) Win-Win-Win.
My brain hurts.
You're Dumb.
Me: And what would you like, ma’am?
Lady: A dish of those potatoes…
Me: You mean the Yukon gold potato wedges?
Lady: No…they’re potatoes.
Me: You mean the cross-cut fries?
Lady: NO! They’re potatoes.
Me: Um…fries are potatoes. They’re shaped like little waffles, fried, and then tossed in seasoning salt?
Lady: They’re on the kid’s menu. I want the potatoes on there.
Me: You mean the seasoned fries then.
Lady: No, I want the potatoes on the children’s menu. They’re on there.
Me: The only potatoes on there are the seasoned fries.
Needless to say, this continued on for a while in a horribly circular fashion. Eventually, she realized that I had been right the entire time and just ordered the stupid fries. Thank God.
Simply Put: WTF?
Me: *puts down a plate full of food* Looks like we have a bacon and cheese omlette.
Guy: Really?
Me: *checks again* Yes, it’s a bac –
Guy: And it’s only Friday.
Me: Huh?
I think he had another conversation going on in his head. Something along the lines of “Hello, brain? You there?” This line of questioning was left with a very disheartening silence.
I Hate You, Telephone Customer
Me: Thank you for calling the Pit of Despair, this is Cloudiko, how may I help you?
Phone idiot: Just calling to see if you're open. Thank you.
*click*
Five minutes later...
Me: Thank you for calling the Pit, this is Cloudiko, how may I help you?
Phone idiot: Just calling to see if you're open. Thanks.
*click*
Ten minutes later...
Me: Thank you for calling the Pit, this is Cloudiko, how may I h -
Phone idiot: You're still there? So that means you're still open, right?
Me:...Yes. We're open ALL day. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.
Phone idiot: Oh. Well, thanks.
Me: Please don't call again. We will still be open, I promise.
Phone idiot: I know, I just wanted to be sure. You know how that goes.
No, no, I don't. I would have interpreted the inital response to my inqury as the answer. I would have also noted that there have been ads in the paper in addition to window advertisements that blatently read: OPEN FOR ALL HOLIDAYS! in garrishly festive colors. However, that would require you to open your eyes and actually pay attention to the world around you. Please. I won't hold my breath.
A Romantic Breakfast for Two
Me: Thank you for calling the Pit of Despair, this is Cloudiko, how may I help you?
Rough man voice: I want two of your breakfast sandwiches.
Me: This isn't McDonalds.
Rough man voice: Wait...don't you have breakfast sandwiches?
Me: No. We never have and never will.
Rough man voice: Oh s**t. Larry is going to be mad.
Me: ...
Rough man voice: Could you make breakfast sandwiches?
Me: Again, this isn't a fast food place. You could just drive to your nearest fast food place and pick some up.
Rough man voice: Who is this again?
Me:...Why?
Rough man voice: You sure you don't have breakfast sandwiches?
Me: I'm positive. There are absolutely no breakfast sandwiches or the means by which to create such a sandwich in this restaurant.
Background man (who is probably "Larry" - sounds like he's about 110 and has the IQ of a plastic action figure): What do you mean no breakfast sandwiches?!
Me: ...
Rough man voice: *to "Larry* I know, I tried to convince her.
Me: Can I hang up now?
*click*
*Shudder* I don't want to think about what happens when Larry gets mad. It probably involves bending over a chair and several rounds of "Find the Practice Hole". Or maybe just a simple game of "Find the Hole That Makes a Man Cry". Ugh. Ugh. This was painful just to recall. Ugh.
Fashion Advice?
Lady: Hey, I need your advice. Well, actually your fashion advice.
Me: Okay? *looks around for some avenue of escape, but there is none*
Lady: *Holds up cell phone, which has a photo of a pair of boots on the screen* What do you think of these?
Me: Well...
Lady: Are those hooker boots? Do you think they would make me look whorish?
Me: ...No?
Let's take a time out here: If I say yes, she doesn't tip me. Plus, there's the added bonus of her drunken buddies mocking me profusely and leaving a huge ass mess. However, what is the correct answer in this situation? I mean, what am I supposed to say? Something along the lines of: "why yes, those boots make you fit perfectly into the stereotype of a 'lady of the night'"?
Somehow, I found a middle ground: I took their order and said that I had horrible fashion sense. Instead, she should ask her buddies. (Who, for the record, all already look like seasoned 'ladies of the night'. ) Win-Win-Win.
My brain hurts.
Although, they had square toes and the really chunky heels, so I called them my Bitch Boots. I miss them. 
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