I work on a construction site as an admin — not one of the physical laborers but in the office. I’m also about as white as one can get before they start to glow in the dark, so most people assume I only know English. I actually speak four languages, and I’m working on a fifth.

I am sitting at my desk while our safety officer is doing a welcome orientation for some of our new employees. They are currently taking a break for the safety officer to address something else. I have just introduced myself, and they are standing near my desk conversing in Spanish, gesturing at a map on the wall as if that’s what they’re talking about.

Employee #1: “I bet she likes her hair pulled. I’d give it a good yank.”

Employee #2: “No, she’s probably boring — on her back, doing nothing.”

Employee #1: “No, girls like her are too wound up. They gotta let it out.”

I stand up, timesheets in hand.

Me: *In English* “Okay, guys, I need you to fill these out and turn them in on Friday before you leave. Any questions?”

Employee #1: “Uh… No English?”

Me: “Your entire safety orientation was in English.”

Employee #2: “Okay, okay, thank you.” *In Spanish* “Don’t be dumb.”

Me: “Any questions?”

They take the paperwork and begin gesturing at different things on the paper, but they are actually trying to guess how big my nipples are by relating them to coins.

Me: *In Spanish* “There are women on site who speak Spanish, too.”

Both employees stopped dead and turned a deep red. When the safety officer returned, I told him what had happened. He stopped the orientation and sent the two employees out immediately, informing their supervisors that they would not be working on our project.

My boyfriend and I are out for dinner. It’s a special occasion for us because it’s not some place we can normally afford. We give each other “Happy First Anniversary” cards and make the most of the evening as we know it’ll be a while before we can afford a place like this again!

Boyfriend: “Can we get the check, please?” 

Waitstaff: “Actually, your bill has been paid for this evening. You’re all set!” 

Boyfriend: “Wait, what? Seriously? By whom?”

Waitstaff: “That woman over there.”

They point to an elderly woman sitting close by.

Boyfriend: *Waving her over* “Thank you so much! Would you like to join us for coffee?”

She politely declines. On our way out, we stop to talk to her for a minute and ask her why. 

Old Woman: “Oh, I was married for forty-six years. My husband passed, but today would have been our anniversary, and here you are celebrating your first on the same day we would have celebrated our fiftieth! And in the same restaurant! It was a sign. Go, be happy, and never… ever… take a moment with each other for granted!”

We’ve taken her words to heart ever since.

One of our new hires is pouring a shot of tequila into a glass of milk, and I have to stop and ask about it.

Me: “What is that?!“

New Starter: “The customer asked for a tequila and milk.”

Me: “Seriously?”

New Starter: “Is that weird?”

Me: “It’s not… normal.”

Intrigued, I follow the new starter and the odd drink over to the customer.

New Starter: “Your tequila and milk, sir.”

The customer starts cracking up.

Customer: “I said, ‘Tia Maria and milk’.”

Tia Maria is a coffee liqueur. I start laughing, too, and the new starter looks confused.

New Starter: “I thought he said ‘tequila’.”

Customer: *Takes a sip* “This isn’t terrible, though, so I’ll have this, too!”

I got him the correct drink and just charged him for a glass of milk for being a good sport.

This happened in 2014. I was driving a lot for work. My current car was getting extremely old, and repairs were very costly, so I decided to purchase a new vehicle. I ended up deciding on a brand-new car.

I worked with the salesman and picked out the exact one I wanted, but the color I wanted was thirty minutes south at another branch. They wanted to put everything through and have me pick up the car the next day, so we went through all the financing, and I signed the paperwork.

The next day, I went to pick up the car. The color was right, but this was not the car I’d been told I was getting. I had purchased the more deluxe option. The car that showed up was a basic model. I was not happy.

Normally, when dealing with salesmen, I want to get it over with fast, so I often settle. Not this time. I flat-out told them this was a bait-and-switch, and they could either figure out how they were going to fix it, or I was canceling everything.

The dealership manager had to get involved. He was clearly angry that I wouldn’t just accept the car they tried to pawn off on me. He had the nerve to say:

Manager: “Now I have to sell this one as a used car since it was temporarily sold!”

I was pretty proud of myself for asking:

Me: “How is that my problem?”

Manager: “Why do you even want all those features?”

He dropped it when he saw my facial expression.

I wasn’t able to get the color I wanted, but I got the model and features I wanted, and they were able to get me insanely low-percentage financing. But seriously, how did they think that would fly?

I have an uncle who used to work as a server in a kosher restaurant in the Jewish Ghetto, and he has told me this tale many times.

It’s important to know that, among kosher rules, there’s the prohibition of cooking dairy together with meat. And, while most places in the ghetto usually simply do not offer grated cheese and have separate cheese boards to save themselves the hassle, this restaurant my relative worked at, by virtue of being owned by a hardcore Italki couple, outright does not allow anything dairy on the menu, not even desserts.

Not that this stops people.

A party of three tourists gets a table and orders pasta. When it’s served, one of them pipes up:

Tourist #1: *In English* “This pasta looks a little… bare. Can I please have cheese?”

Uncle: “Sorry, sir, but as we are a meat-oriented kosher restaurant, we don’t have cheese. However, if you would like some more sauce, I can add some for you no problem.”

Tourist #1: “Meat-oriented kosher restaurant? Doesn’t that just mean you can’t eat pigs and have to slaughter other animals ritually? Why no cheese?”

Tourist #2: *To [Tourist #1], in German* “I mean, maybe they’re catering to the dairy-free crowd?”

Uncle: “Actually, no, it’s not kosher to have meat and cheese, or milk, served together, so we don’t have cheese. Sorry about that.”

Tourist #1: “I mean, my pasta doesn’t have meat. It’s just zucchini and egg.”

Uncle: “Sorry, sir, but we still don’t have cheese.”

Tourist #2: *In German* “If you’re going to do this because the owner doesn’t like dairy, you can just tell us. There’s no need to make stuff up.”

Uncle: *Ignoring the comment and speaking to [Tourist #1]* “Would you like some more sauce on your pasta?”

Tourist #1: *Dejected* “If you really don’t want to give me cheese… sure.”

My uncle takes the dish to the back, asks for the cook to add a little more sauce, and then serves it back to [Tourist #1], who apparently seems unimpressed by this but still eats it all.

Then, it’s dessert time… and [Tourist #3], who has not spoken a single word up to that point, tries to ask, in a heavily accented and uneasy Italian:

Tourist #3: “Can I… get… panna cotta?”

My uncle pauses, unsure whether to burst out laughing or not.

Uncle: *In English* “It means ‘cooked cream’ in Italian. As in… Sanhenkochen. You tell me. What we do have…”

And he listed the desserts they actually had. The group asked for the check and then left. My uncle found the receipt scribbled with a drawing of a middle finger and, “No cheese? No tip!” in German under it. He preserved it, for he has found it too ridiculous to throw away.

Related:
Not Quite The Cream Of The Crop, Part 6
Not Quite The Cream Of The Crop, Part 5
Not Quite The Cream Of The Crop, Part 4
Not Quite The Cream Of The Crop, Part 3
Not Quite The Cream Of The Crop, Part 2