a big night out

TalesFromYourServer: What's your policy on a free beer when a staff member is rude!?

So for those who aren’t familiar with my posts, I work in a pizzeria that doubles as a craft brewery. My bosses are the owners, one who handles the restaurant and the other gradually shifted into only brewery. However at this time he consistently had responsibilities in the FOH.

A while back we helped out a distributor and a big out of state brewery in one night by hosting a tap takeover event. We grabbed a few kegs that barely sell alone, and because of that and the event they held some highly sought after kegs for us, and we tapped them all at once.

Cue the giant line of people who came in for the rare beers. We literally had a line of 50 people, and in the middle of the line was this woman. God I hate her. She got up to the front and was demanding a description of all the beers.

My boss: “Ma'am, we actually have a scrolling tap menu on the television where there’s a description of each beer. If you don’t want to wait on it to scroll you can bring it up in your phone and see the descriptions of all the beers there. Now if you look behind you, there are a lot more customers that are waiting on service so if you’re not ready to order, I’ll need to move on to them.”

Woman: “Oh, so what’s your policy on a free beer for a customer when a staff member is rude and disrespectful?”

Boss: “Oh? I’m sorry to hear that. Who was rude to you?”

Woman: “You, just now!”

Boss: (a bit louder this time) “You’re really taking this as rude? How about this, since I don’t have time for this. I will make you a flight, on the house, then you can leave and never come back.”

Woman had nothing else to say, since most of the people had heard what happened. She took the flight and went to sit with her friends. Before they left, her friends came up and paid for the flight since they were embarrassed for her.

Edit: spelling

By: 100DollarDongle

4

I found these comics and instantly thought of you 😂 I hope they make you laugh 😊

These hit uncomfortably close to home. A few years ago, my friends and I decided to head out for a “noir night” with big coats, hats, and cigars. Then we hit up an all-night diner around midnight. I’m terrible at smoking, drinking, and ordered a salad… my friends just shook their heads and called me out for being a hardboiled poser.

7

quiet night

theres just a what-if here about ritsu getting just a bit of psychic empathy and achieving the rest with his writers brain, and theres also a headcanon about mob not being a very good singer or not playing any instrument but being able to whistle very well 

I remember theres a word for that, the very good whistler thing, from a jeffery deaver book Ive read, but I cant find it in my memory anymore

I kinda want it back

9

Happy St. Patrick’s Day (with David Tennant)

Another dinner attire outfit!
This time I ended up in queens, feeling myself all night! So here’s what I’m wearing today!

Off the shoulder top: Forever21
Sheer maxi skirt: GitiOnline
Ankle strapped sandals: Torrid
Lip clutch: REBDOLLS

I accessorized with gold hoop earrings and a few bangles. Head band, necessary because my hair is a mess! Lol. Turned out fine, though.

Everyday

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 984

Warnings: extremely light smut, all the fluff like so much fluff it’s gross

Prompt: There’s so much to Sam. He’s always been more than a pretty face or a good lay. Y/N’s realized over the years how much there is to Sam.

Beta: @inmysparetime0 The best! 

Originally posted by out-in-the-open

It’s no secret that Sam is a freak in the sheets, you had learned that pretty quickly, but something that took a bit longer to figure out was that there was more to Sam than just his good looks and bedroom eyes.

Sam had always been good with deep conversations. You could lay in bed with him for hours and talk about why people believe in soulmates and if the two of you were meant to be. You could talk about feeling lonely and sad and he’d sit there and listen intently and empathize with you because he had felt that before.

He’s also funny. Sam could crack a joke whenever he wanted to and some were stupid but others were actually really clever and had you giggling for minutes on end. You could remember sitting at the kitchen table with him, sipping chocolate milk through a straw when he decided to tell you one, and chocolate milk shot right out your nose which only made the both of you laugh harder. You fell in love with him that day.

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Note for Cosmic Witches

Tonight is a rather special night, apparently.

You see, tonight is the anniversary of the first manned space flight, commonly known as Yuri’s Night, after the cosmonaut who made the journey, Yuri Gagarin. It’s traditional among geeky space fans to celebrate by stargazing tonight, and the moon being full is a treat, as well.

I’ve only heard about this tradition recently, but reading about it excites me and makes me wish I wasn’t in a city with so much light pollution. I think this a great opportunity to pause and think about humanity’s relationship with the stars, both magically and in terms of our technological endeavors.

I just wanted to share; I think it’s cool, I guess. I’m one of those space geeks, after all, and I’m always prone to contemplating the intersection of magick and technology, and how the advent of things like space travel changed the mental landscape of humanity. I’ve often wondered about the significance of the moon landing in magical terms, too.

Anyways, uh, just wanted to share. There are parties being held in some locations, apparently, but obviously actual stargazing isn’t as possible in cities like Krakow. If you’re in the countryside, why not, though?

“So what are you?”

The question which plagued my childhood in suburban Kansas; the ponderance of which led me towards years of agonizing identity searching; the answer to which I still hesitate to deliver.

“So what are you?”

It is an innocent question; one I know I am not alone in hearing the echoes of. But what do I say? “I’m mixed” is the short answer, but it always leads to the question of “With what” so do I say “My mom is white and my dad is brown” but brown isn’t usually specific enough so do I say “my mom is white and my dad’s Pakistani” but that doesn’t flow right because white is a race and Pakistani is a nationality so do I say “my mom’s American and my dad’s Pakistani” but that isn’t true because my dad was born in Canada and he’s lived here his whole life and American sure as hell doesn’t mean white I mean my dad IS American so do I say “My mom’s a white American and my Dad’s Pakistani American” but that just sounds like I’m trying too hard so that’s out of the question and so do I just drop it and leave it at “none of your business” but that’s rude and it’s really such a simple question so what in the hell do I freaking say?

“So what are you?”

It’s a good question, really… why don’t you tell me? I am the alienation that I feel when my mom’s family talks about how dangerous those Muslim immigrants are over dinner and I am the strange sinking feeling in my stomach which occurs when my cousins tell me that whatever I’ve just done is haraam. I am the frustration which clouds me when people around me doubt that I am what the hell I say I am. I am the product of the millisecond long stares of confusion people give me when I tell them the pale as china blonde lady I’m with is my mother and the looks of disgust I get when I, the young, doll eyed light skinned girl, go out to dinner late at night with a big burly middle aged brown man, aka my father. I am the three and a half years it took me to decide what to call the pigmentation of my skin.

I am the sadness which clouds me when one of my Aunties asserts how lucky I am to be so fair skinned. I am the anger I feel each and every time I think about the people who called my full and plump Desi lips fat as a kid and now use copious amounts of lip liner to accentuate their tiny mouths on Snapchat. I am the hours of hoping and praying during and after shootings that it wasn’t a Muslim. I am the incredible lengths I go to, the precise and complex knowledge I feel I must have of my roots in order to truly claim my heritage. I am neither and I am both and I hate it.

“So what are you?”

I can’t stand here and tell you that it is all bad. That would be I lie, for I am also the cool, smooth feeling of the bronze crucifix which sits on one side of my bedroom wall and the sentiment of the words “Allah most merciful” written in beautiful Arabic script on the other. I am my large French hazel eyes and my thick and wavy South Asian hair, my favorite of my features.

I am the pride I feel as I trace my thumb over the intricate embroidery on one of my anarkalis and the anticipation I feel for Christmas as I help line my grandmother’s fireplace with garland. I am the rhythmic clanking of my bangles as I dance to bhangra music at a cousin’s wedding and the clicking of tongues by a sizzling grill as my grandpa flips our burgers during a Sunday night barbeque. I am the flavorful and savory taste of pulao my father makes and the creamy texture of mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving. I am the Maybelline mascara I coat my eyelashes with and the kajal I used to line the edges of my eyes. I am the flavorant meeting of two cultures melting in an incredible country in which such a thing is even possible.

“So what are you?”

God, but what am I thinking? I’m Jackie. I am the impending messiness that is my bedroom. I am my inability to fall the hell asleep before eleven o’clock at night. I am my love for all things fashion and glamour. I am my obnoxiously large collection of makeup. I am my hideous shedding of tears each and every time Spock dies in the Wrath of Khan.

I am my intense love for horror movies and my struggle to move in the dark for two days after watching them. I am my passion for music and Michael J. Fox and Kanye West and my unrequited love for Zayn Malik. I am my collection of records and of 32 scarves which I never wear, my brown riding boots, my belting of Christmas carols in the middle of July, my irrational hatred of algebra, my inability to sleep without my phone being on its charger, the Toll House cookie dough I eat straight from the bag and the four Beatles posters I have hanging in my room.

I am the scent of Aussie conditioner and my clumsy, spacy nature; my obsession with the Kennedys, my adamant love for Diet Dr Pepper, losing myself in my daydreams, my extreme extroversion and procrastination of literally everything, my weakness for Reese’s peanut butter cups, my A to Z knowledge about Mick Jagger, my ever changing mind. I am my dreams and I am my fears and and I am my tenacity and I am my mistakes and my courage and my insecurities and my abilities and my hope … I am so much and yet I am so little. I am me. I am unapologetically and beautifully me.

“So what are you?”

I am Jacqueline Renee and I am what I am and no answer that I give you to this question will make what I am any different.

The Fight

Requested imagine based off of these bullet points.

Your name: submit What is this?

~~~

“It’s not that I don’t want to go…” you trail off and Shawn interjects. 

“Yes, it is. You said you didn’t want to go." 

"Shawn, you’re not listening to me." 

"I am listening, you’re not listening.” His response comes, sharp and immediate.

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ROAD TRIP AU (made with the help of @nonbinaryevanhansen, @thisiswhatmylifeamountsto, @dr-evn-hnsn, and other bros from the DEH discord chat)

  • The Gang™ decides to have a road trip–one last big hurrah–before they go their separate ways to their respective jobs/graduate programs. 
  • Alana is in charge of planning because she doesn’t mind phone calls, can be trusted to not spend more than they’ve budgeted, and is generally more responsible than the rest. She has a spreadsheet with every aspect of the trip planned–right down to what rest stops they can stop at for people to stretch their legs or use the restroom. She has a color coded binder containing the menus of the restaurants they’re going to eat at, the brochures for the tourist destinations they’re stopping at, and the receipts for all of their reservations; she also has a copy of the itinerary for everyone. Two copies for Jared because…he’s Jared.
  •  Zoe is the deejay. While she’s procrastinating from studying for finals, because Zoe has senioritis even though she’s not even technically in her last year of college yet, she makes dozens of playlists that are specific for every different road trip mood. One is named “For When Connor Starts Being an Asshole and We Need to Drown Him Out” and another is aptly titled “Weird Tree Noises to Calm Evan Down.” She’s the only one allowed to use the aux chord and she has to keep a close eye on it because Jared’s constantly looking for an opportunity to rick roll the caravan.
  • Connor is the driver. Not because he’s a particularly good driver, but because he’s pulled enough all nighters in his day that he doesn’t mind driving through the night as Alana requires for some parts of the trip. Even when he gets sleepy, he just has to put on Zoe’s “Please Don’t Fall Asleep at the Wheel and Kill Us All” mix and he’s good to go for another six hours. When Jared tries to call shotgun, Connor tells him “if I have to sit beside you all day, I’m going to drive us off a bridge.”
  • Evan gets shotgun. He spends most of the time playing eye spy with Connor– “I spy with my little eye something green” “Evan could you please pick something that isn’t a tree for the love of God”–or reading wikipedia articles on the various trees they come across. He doles out the caprisuns and individual bags of doritos and lays potato chips that they stock up on whenever they find a Wal-Mart that’s reasonably close to the interstate. When they make stops, he’s the one wearing the fanny pack with the tiny fan, travel-sized sunscreen, bug spray wipes, and extra bandaids in it.
  • Jared is…well, Jared. He’s relegated to the back seat with Alana and Zoe and he’s bored as hell. Alana spends their car time going over the itinerary and reading guide books and Zoe alternates between staring out the window while listening to music on her phone and playing Candy Crush on her phone. Jared tries to help her out by telling her what to do, but she mostly ignores him, much to his distress. At one point, he swipes her phone because “Zoe you’ve been at it for an hour this is getting embarrassing” and nearly gets mauled by Zoe in her attempts to get her phone back. Alana is the only thing between him and certain death at that point. He also smuggles a lot of contraband snacks on board in his backpack and suitcase and refuses to share despite having more chips and soda than any single person could/should consume. 

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