Two male customers are enjoying their brunch, occasionally giving each other pecks on the lips. Another customer at a nearby table approaches them.

Other Customer: “Excuse me, but could you stop doing that? This is a family place, and you’re making me uncomfortable.”

Gay Customer #1: “You’d like us to stop doing what? Enjoying our eggs?”

Other Customer: “You know… the gay stuff.”

Gay Customer #2: *To his partner* “Honey, he’s obviously talking about your order of the fruit salad.” *To the other custome.* “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll make sure he orders the hetero-hash from now on.”

Other Customer: “Look, I know how you types like to be sassy, but I’m just nicely asking.”

Gay Customer #1: “You still haven’t told us what you’re ‘nicely’ asking of us.”

Other Customer: “Look, we just don’t believe in gay people, so—”

Gay Customer #1: “Oh, my God! You don’t believe we exist?!”

Gay Customer #2: “Honey! Nooo! Stop just ordering the salad! You’ve lost so much weight that you’ve stopped existing!”

Other Customer: “You know what I mean! Please stop with the indecent displays, or I’ll have to call over the manager!”

Luckily, I’ve been witnessing the entire conversation, and I’ve called the manager over preemptively. The manager has been present for the last few exchanges.

Manager: *To the other customer* “Sir, I am the manager here. Can you please sit at your table and enjoy your meal silently?”

Other Customer: “You need to ask those two gentlemen to leave! They’re being indecent!”

The manager looks at the two gay men and then back at the other customer.

Manager: “I can’t kick them out, sir. They don’t exist.”

Other Customer: *Shouting now* “That is not what I meant, and you know it!”

Manager: “Okay, sir, I’m done. Please pay for your food and leave.”

Other Customer: “I will not be paying for food at a place that tolerates [homophobic slur]s!”

Manager: “And we don’t tolerate people who do not pay for their food… and neither do the police. Will I be calling 911?”

The other customer stares down at my manager but eventually tosses a couple of bills on the table and gathers up his wife and child.

Other Customer: *As he’s storming out* “This place is disgusting!”

My manager waves him goodbye and then turns to the gay couple.

Manager: “Sorry about that, gentlemen. Can I offer you a free dessert for the trouble?”

Gay Customer #1: “I guess we could exist again for a bowl of ice cream…”

They became two of our favorite new regulars!

A mother is checking out with her teen daughter.

Mother: *To her daughter* “I still can’t believe you wanted to work here with all these… people. If I’d let you send that application, you’d be forced to be here on a Saturday instead of coming to have brunch with me and the ladies. Isn’t that better than being with… well… them?“

They place a few clothing items on the counter.

Me: “Ma’am, you’re in good luck! Anyone over fifty-five gets 10% off today!”

It actually was a “seniors’ day” that day, and we didn’t have to check IDs or anything. It was satisfying seeing this woman who was obviously under fifty-five cringing.

I have a fourteen-year-old car that still runs well, but it developed a slow oil leak. Eventually, the leak got worse. I recently moved to a new town, so I needed to find a good mechanic. I found a place nearby, but they wanted me to leave it in the morning. This worked for me, and I had a coworker take me to work and back.

The mechanic said that I needed the valve cover gasket and the oil pan gasket replaced, and since they were difficult to get to, it would cost me $1,600. I was a little shocked, but since I didn’t know much about cars, I figured this would be okay.

I told him I’d bring my car back out in a few days (so I could arrange for the funds).

I mentioned this to a friend of mine. He also didn’t know much about cars, but he felt suspicious. I decided to get a second opinion from another nearby mechanic, who happened to have the same last name as the first mechanic. He inspected my car and quoted me $525.

Me: “Wow, the last guy who checked it told me it would be $1,600.”

Mechanic #2: “Who was it?”

Me: “[Mechanic #1], out there on [Road].”

Mechanic #2: “Oh, that’s my cousin. I don’t have any business with him. Now you know why.”

I was grateful for my friend’s instincts. I might have paid three times as much as I should!

I was in the paints aisle at a major hobby crafts store (where employees wear a uniform apron over plain clothes) buying acrylic paints for my color theory course. I needed exact matches and was using the color guide the professor had given us. I needed about a dozen paints. I ended up kneeling down on the floor, laying out a variety of paints next to the printout before making my final cut and putting them in a handbasket next to me. I had something like thirty paints of differing brands laid out in rows. This took some time.

Some time went by, and a teenager came up to me and asked where the watercolor pencils were. I’m familiar with the store, so I helped.

Me: “They’re just on the other side of this shelf that I’m facing, toward the bottom.”

I almost wanted to say, “I don’t work here,” but she had a list and I’m guessing she was a high school student. Besides, I knew where the pencils were, and it didn’t hurt me to tell her.

A few minutes passed, and she returned with three sketchbooks and presented them to me, still on the floor.

Teenager: “Which one of these is best for watercolors?”

Me: “None of those will work; they’re for sketching.”

I got up and walked around the end of the aisle, grabbed a pad of watercolor paper similar in size, and brought it back. She thanked me and handed me the three rejected sketchbooks. I set them on the floor next to me, figuring I would just put them away when I was done putting the paints back. No big deal.

Finally, I was in line waiting to pay at the register. The young lady I had helped ended up being just ahead of me in line. She was putting her things on the counter when she glanced around, recognized me, and smiled.

Teenager: “Thanks for the help!”

Me: *Nodding and smiling* “It’s no problem.”

At that point, I thought, “Okay, maybe she knows I don’t work here and just saw a friendly face to ask for a little help.”

When it was my turn at the counter, the girl was passing me with her bag of supplies, and she stopped and went wide-eyed.

Teenager: “Oh, my God! You don’t work here?! Why did you help me?”

Me: *Laughing* “You’re fine! I didn’t mind.”

She ran up and hugged me.

Teenager: “I’m so embarrassed!”

And then, she ran out of the store. This was before the global health crisis so, yeah, I accepted a hug from a sweet stranger who thought I worked there.

It was a cute experience. I used to work a lot of retail when I was about her age and through college, and I guess it’s my vibe or something. People are so ugly all the time out there in the world. It was just nice being nice to nice people! That doesn’t happen often, unfortunately.

Related:
It’s Nice To Be Nice To The Nice

I have the misfortune of having a disgusting pervert for a coworker; he’s the kind who grabbed onto the phrase “locker room talk” and ran an Olympic marathon with it. As a fellow man, I have been an unwilling audience to his BS.

One day, I was in the break room with earbuds in, happily enjoying the latest video of the Puppy Bowl, when [Coworker] flumped down at the table and complained.

Coworker: “Look at this! Isn’t this just sick?!”

I was then treated to his phone, opened to a chat window, and shoved in my face. My puppy-endorphined brain got whiplashed by not one, but two d**k pics.

Me: “Dude. Bruh. Why are you…?”

Coworker: “Some chick sent them to me!”

Now I paused, a little intrigued and a lot amused. As stated above, [Coworker] is known for his shenanigans, and the idea of any woman turning the tables is enough to catch my attention. I paused my video, popped out my earbuds, and engaged in this conversation.

Me: “A woman sent you d**k pics?”

Coworker: “Just read it!”

I took his phone and scrolled. This was the text conversation, roughly, expanded from the typical chat abbreviations.

Coworker: “Hey, beautiful!”

Woman: “Hey.”

Coworker: “What are you doing?”

Woman: “Nothing at the moment. I have class at 11:00, but that’s it. How about you?”

Coworker: “Lying in bed, but I should be doing you. You’re so f****** hot!”

[Coworker] sent a d**k pic.

Woman: “Thanks.”

The woman replied with what I would guess was a Googled d**k pic from another man. Hilariously, it appeared to be larger than [Coworker]’s.

I struggled not to burst out laughing as [Coworker] promptly went off the rails in text.

Coworker: “WHAT THE F***?! WHY WOULD YOU SEND ME THAT?!”

Woman: “Because you sent me one. I mean, it’s only polite to send one back, right?”

Coworker: “I don’t want to see another man’s junk!”

Woman: “Well, why would you send me one, then?”

Coworker: “I thought you would like it!”

Woman: “Why? I never asked for one.”

Coworker: “Because women are [insult for promiscuous women] for my d**k on the Internet.”

Woman: “As demonstrated, I can find better.”

Then, there was a notification that the woman had blocked [Coworker].

I’m pretty sure my own eyebrows had been scorched by that sassy lady’s burn. I sat back and struggled not to laugh myself into a stitch in my side while handing the phone back to [Coworker]. 

Coworker: “What’s so d*** funny?”

Me: “She got you good, man. If you don’t want to get d**k pics, don’t send them out in the first place. And if you don’t want to be insulted that hard, definitely don’t give her an opportunity by bragging about your own.”

My break was now over, but somehow, I didn’t feel like it had been wasted. Despite the eyeball bleach that I may need later, it was worth it to read that exchange.

[Coworker] sulked for two whole days before returning to normal. I doubt anything was learned.