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Idiot Level: Beginner
A young girl (mid to late teens) has finished dining in our dining room, but decides she wants a virgin smoothie to go. So she comes up to the bar and orders it. I make it, and for her sub-$5.00 check, she hands me a credit card. Arighty then! I run her card, and give her the slip. And thus the fun begins.
HER: "Am I supposed to sign this?"
ME: "Um....yeah." Duh. How do you have a credit card and not know this?
HER: "Which one do I sign?"
ME: "The copy around your card is your copy, the other one is your copy."
HER: "So, which one do I sign?"
ME: [blink blink] "Our copy. You sign our copy."
So she signs and leaves....and naturally, she signed and left the customer copy. Naturally, no tip. Shaking my head, I mention this to my coworker, who had waited on said Young Einstein in the dining room. And said coworker told me it was worse than I thought. How, you ask? Which is exactly what I asked. And coworker told me about this exchange:
CUSTOMER: "What's peel and eat shrimp?"
COWORKER: "It's shrimp....that you peel...and eat."
CUSTOMER: "I'll have that."
COWORKER: "Would you like the half pound or the full pound?"
CUSTOMER: "What's the difference?"
Added bonus: one of these two people was a native English speaker. One was a native Russian, who now lives here, and speaks English well, though with an accent. If you guessed that the person who needed the difference between a half pound and a full pound explained to them was the native English speaker, congratulations--you've been reading CS.com way too long!
Idiot Level: International Spy
Customer comes up to the bar, and from his accent, it is clear that he is not American. Customer orders a beer. As he appears to be 30 or under, I ask for his ID. He hands me his cruise ship ID. This happens all the time. I politely explain to him that, by Florida law, I can only accept a driver's license or a passport for alcohol sales. He points out that both his picture and his date of birth are on the cruise ship ID. I point out that this does not change the fact that Florida law requires that I only take a driver's license or a passport for alcohol sales. He breaks out some kind of immigration visa paperwork. I refer back to my earlier statement about Florida law, driver's licenses, passports, and alcohol. He refers back yet again to his cruise ship ID. I remind him yet again that said cruise ship ID is in no way valid for alcohol sales in the state of Florida.
So far, this has been a standard exchange that I sadly have to go through all the freakin' time. But now, the plot twist!
He goes into his wallet, for what I believe will be yet another unacceptable ID or some paperwork, yada yada. Nope. He pulls something out and says, "Well all I have is my Romanian driver's license." Which I can see is the standard EU license that I see all the time. I look at him and say, "Now THAT I can accept." You know....it being a DRIVER'S LICENSE and all. I look at the ID, he is of valid drinking age, I get him his beer. He ends up having three, and tipping me exactly nothing for all three. But the thing is, I told him repeatedly I could take a driver's license. He repeatedly tried to get me to take something else, even though he had a driver's license with him the entire time.
Clearly I was dealing with some high-level spy who was testing my knowledge of Florida drinking laws, for an impending invasion of the Florida Keys from Transylvania. Hopefully my knowledge of the appropriate statutes impressed James Bondski enough so that when he goes back to his homeland, he will advise his superiors against their planned invasion, and they will set their sites on some other place with less stringency in their enforcement of drinking laws.
I apologize in advance, Savannah.
Idiot Level: Ninja
So I had just finished participating in a chili cookoff that was part of a larger fundraiser for a worthy cause. Feeling proud of myself for having helped said event raise over $1,100, I rewarded myself with a cold one at World of Beer. Sitting at the back bar, I found myself engaged in a conversation with a.....guy. A very interesting guy.
Somehow we got talking about the fundraiser. And he tells me that we should get together and do a fundraiser, and we'll raise $3,000. Wow! Great! How?
He continues in, telling me with his knowledge, we can raise $30,000! Fantastic, I say! But you still need to tell me how we're gonna do this. Details are kind of important, you know.
He is rolling now, and says that we'll put on the biggest fundraiser Key West has ever seen, and we'll raise over $3 million!
Dude....seriously....if you're not gonna give me any details or specifics, you're just throwing out a lot of hot air. And....he didn't. Not detail one.
He did, however, continue to go on and on about....stuff. Very random stuff. Stuff that made me realize that perhaps I had had a few too many, as he had, at least for a little while, seemed like he was making sense to me. But by this point, he was well off the deep end, and rambling about who knows what. Rambling so much, in fact, that the bartender had to do something he had not yet done at WoB....he had security remove the Rambling Man from the premises. Because what had started out as a spirited discussion among two guys somehow had devolved into random nonsensical ramblings. I'm not quite sure at what point his crazy train had gone off the tracks, but off the tracks it had most assuredly gone, crashing into a village, killing hundreds and inspiring a Denzel Washington movie.
You have to watch out for those sneaky nut jobs. They'll make you believe they're totally rational and draw you into a conversation, and before you know it, you're in Crazy Town shaking hands with Mayor McCheese. These people sneak under the radar, posing as sane individuals, when in fact they are actually Whackjob Ninjas.
You have to watch out for the ninjas.
A young girl (mid to late teens) has finished dining in our dining room, but decides she wants a virgin smoothie to go. So she comes up to the bar and orders it. I make it, and for her sub-$5.00 check, she hands me a credit card. Arighty then! I run her card, and give her the slip. And thus the fun begins.
HER: "Am I supposed to sign this?"
ME: "Um....yeah." Duh. How do you have a credit card and not know this?
HER: "Which one do I sign?"
ME: "The copy around your card is your copy, the other one is your copy."
HER: "So, which one do I sign?"
ME: [blink blink] "Our copy. You sign our copy."
So she signs and leaves....and naturally, she signed and left the customer copy. Naturally, no tip. Shaking my head, I mention this to my coworker, who had waited on said Young Einstein in the dining room. And said coworker told me it was worse than I thought. How, you ask? Which is exactly what I asked. And coworker told me about this exchange:
CUSTOMER: "What's peel and eat shrimp?"
COWORKER: "It's shrimp....that you peel...and eat."
CUSTOMER: "I'll have that."
COWORKER: "Would you like the half pound or the full pound?"
CUSTOMER: "What's the difference?"
Added bonus: one of these two people was a native English speaker. One was a native Russian, who now lives here, and speaks English well, though with an accent. If you guessed that the person who needed the difference between a half pound and a full pound explained to them was the native English speaker, congratulations--you've been reading CS.com way too long!
Idiot Level: International Spy
Customer comes up to the bar, and from his accent, it is clear that he is not American. Customer orders a beer. As he appears to be 30 or under, I ask for his ID. He hands me his cruise ship ID. This happens all the time. I politely explain to him that, by Florida law, I can only accept a driver's license or a passport for alcohol sales. He points out that both his picture and his date of birth are on the cruise ship ID. I point out that this does not change the fact that Florida law requires that I only take a driver's license or a passport for alcohol sales. He breaks out some kind of immigration visa paperwork. I refer back to my earlier statement about Florida law, driver's licenses, passports, and alcohol. He refers back yet again to his cruise ship ID. I remind him yet again that said cruise ship ID is in no way valid for alcohol sales in the state of Florida.
So far, this has been a standard exchange that I sadly have to go through all the freakin' time. But now, the plot twist!
He goes into his wallet, for what I believe will be yet another unacceptable ID or some paperwork, yada yada. Nope. He pulls something out and says, "Well all I have is my Romanian driver's license." Which I can see is the standard EU license that I see all the time. I look at him and say, "Now THAT I can accept." You know....it being a DRIVER'S LICENSE and all. I look at the ID, he is of valid drinking age, I get him his beer. He ends up having three, and tipping me exactly nothing for all three. But the thing is, I told him repeatedly I could take a driver's license. He repeatedly tried to get me to take something else, even though he had a driver's license with him the entire time.
Clearly I was dealing with some high-level spy who was testing my knowledge of Florida drinking laws, for an impending invasion of the Florida Keys from Transylvania. Hopefully my knowledge of the appropriate statutes impressed James Bondski enough so that when he goes back to his homeland, he will advise his superiors against their planned invasion, and they will set their sites on some other place with less stringency in their enforcement of drinking laws.
I apologize in advance, Savannah.
Idiot Level: Ninja
So I had just finished participating in a chili cookoff that was part of a larger fundraiser for a worthy cause. Feeling proud of myself for having helped said event raise over $1,100, I rewarded myself with a cold one at World of Beer. Sitting at the back bar, I found myself engaged in a conversation with a.....guy. A very interesting guy.
Somehow we got talking about the fundraiser. And he tells me that we should get together and do a fundraiser, and we'll raise $3,000. Wow! Great! How?
He continues in, telling me with his knowledge, we can raise $30,000! Fantastic, I say! But you still need to tell me how we're gonna do this. Details are kind of important, you know.
He is rolling now, and says that we'll put on the biggest fundraiser Key West has ever seen, and we'll raise over $3 million!
Dude....seriously....if you're not gonna give me any details or specifics, you're just throwing out a lot of hot air. And....he didn't. Not detail one.
He did, however, continue to go on and on about....stuff. Very random stuff. Stuff that made me realize that perhaps I had had a few too many, as he had, at least for a little while, seemed like he was making sense to me. But by this point, he was well off the deep end, and rambling about who knows what. Rambling so much, in fact, that the bartender had to do something he had not yet done at WoB....he had security remove the Rambling Man from the premises. Because what had started out as a spirited discussion among two guys somehow had devolved into random nonsensical ramblings. I'm not quite sure at what point his crazy train had gone off the tracks, but off the tracks it had most assuredly gone, crashing into a village, killing hundreds and inspiring a Denzel Washington movie.
You have to watch out for those sneaky nut jobs. They'll make you believe they're totally rational and draw you into a conversation, and before you know it, you're in Crazy Town shaking hands with Mayor McCheese. These people sneak under the radar, posing as sane individuals, when in fact they are actually Whackjob Ninjas.
You have to watch out for the ninjas.
"Okay, there ARE stupid questions. What's yours?"
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