zenith, despite your attempt to justify your outrageous behavior, you’re still a condescending prick. If you think people should know what you like to eat and how you like it made, I’ve got one helluva suggestion for you-Cook it yourself, you dumbfuck.
Stop treating service personnel like shit, and accept that not everyone gives a shit what the difference between a spicy pepper sauce, and a spicy horseradish sauce is. Whether they care or not, they certainly don’t need to be made a fool of for suggesting a spicy pepper sauce as a substitute.
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Zenith, you ignorant slut. Had the kid actually put the pepper on your sandwich without asking you, I’d be all in favor of your pitting.
However, offering you pepper-sauce as an alternative is good customer service. Hopefully, 'tards like you won’t discourage the kid from continuing to offer alternatives.
I can’t wait to read your next rant: you ordered a salad, they were out of French dressing and the waiter had the umitigated gall to offer you thousand island dressing instead.
Apparently, “we don’t have the horseradish sauce, but I could throw some carrot juice on there” would have been better. On accounta carrots being roots and all.
Accommodating a food allergy does not give one the license to be an asshole. Furthermore, it is your responsibility to inquire what is in the food product, not theirs to guess that one thing might be enough related to the other to give you problems.
I may not eat anything with basil in it, and I’ve been advised to avoid anything in the same family as well, like oregano. Being a normal human being, an inquiry at a restaurant might go like this:
Food vendor: " Hi, welcome to wherever. Today’s special is chicken and fettucini."
Me: " That sounds nice. Does it have basil in it?"
Food vendor: " Yes, actually. A basil sauce is our speciality." [aside - Our culture puts basil in many things. They even make “basil crusted fettucini”, who’d ruin a perfectly good pasta like that?]
Me: " Oh. Thanks but no, I can’t eat anything with basil in it."
Food vendor: " Would you like a meat-based spaghetti sauce instead?"
Now I’ll pause and wonder if the vendor is likely to have memorized the ingredients of the sauce. Given he’s not the chef, the odds are he hasn’t, particularly an ingredient that is only in the sauce in a tiny quantity. Therefore, given the fact that in my experience more spaghetti sauces contain basil or oregano than don’t, I’ll decline rather than lecture him on not knowing the complete makeup of his sauces. However, not being a complete moron myself, I do have a running mental list of “safe” foods that should cause me no troubles.
Me: " No thanks. But do you have a cheese-based sauce?"
Food vendor: " Sure do, we have an alfredo sauce."
Me: " Great, I’ll have that."
And as you can see, I’ve gotten through the entire exchange without being a bitch, and I’m not likely to break out into hives while enjoying my meal. You could have inquired instead if the sauce the kid offered had peppers in it as well, and politely declined when he said it did. Expecting other people to keep you safe from an allergy (or a person you love in your case) is foolhardy.
Not to mention in the OP you didn’t say anything about mentioning your wife’s allergy before he offered the sauce. Did you, or did you expect the kid to be a fucking psychic?
“No, I’m sorry, we’re out of horseradish. But since I psychically know you only ordered that because you wanted a root in your food and not something sort of spicy flavored, I’ll just go ahead and put carrot juice all over it instead, and I won’t bother trying to ask what you may or may not want on it because I know that the simple act of asking will throw you into raving hysteria, because, again, I’m psychic and know this.”
This is supposed to be good customer service? In what alternate reality?
I mean, seriously, the OP has to be an April Fool’s Day joke, right? Nobody is that clueless and arrogant in their stupidity, are they?
The other day I walked into my local grocery store and wanted to buy a ribeye. Well, get this, they had the nerve not to have any! And what’s more, the bastard offered me another cut of beef instead. The unmitigated arrogance and stupidity of the schmuck! I explained to him, at length and with charts, the difference in the meat from one location of the cow versus the meat from another location.
Lo and behold he didn’t seem enthralled! Can you imagine such a strange reaction? Who wouldn’t love to hear the molecular differences between a sirloin and a ribeye? Especially from someone so smart as I, who can talk for hours on end about the biochemistry of meat. I mean, it’s not like he had something really fun to do instead, like watch paint dry.
So I called his manager over, and then launched into my oration again. Oddly enough, he didn’t seem blown away by my superior knowledge either. Bastard had the audacity to offer me other cuts of meat too, explaining that they were all out of the one I wanted. The fucker actually asked me if other items which they carried might satisfy me as a customer!
I am so starting a Pit thread on those assholes when I get home. I mean, trying to serve the customer and offering alternatives? WTF mate? And worst of all, they didn’t bow down in worship when I whipped out my understanding of cow physiology.
This is exactly what I, also a vegetarian, was thinking as I read this.
And when I proceed to order something veggie, such as a stirfry if the waiter asks if I would like chicken on it, or such as a veggie burger, and the waiter asks if I would like gravy with fries, I say, “No, thanks.” The waiter takes my order, brings me my food, and everything’s good. Simple, easy, good manners.
He did indeed know his product. He knew that horseradish sauce has a bit of heat in it. And while chipotle pepper sauce may not taste exactly the same, it’s the only other sauce with a bit of kick in it, so he asked you if you may want that instead.
Now, instead of doing what someone who isn’t a complete fucking cock would do and simply say, “No thanks,” you decided to give the kid a fucking lecture.
You, sir, are a grade A asshole.
I know. If only there was a way of avoiding something horrible like this. For instance, by asking before he put it on the sandwich. Oh wait, he did that.
You’re just a piece of shit.
Sure it is, since the customer can always turn it down. However, food service workers should know that when told by the pepper-tolerant that he wants pepper sauce on only one side because his wife can’t eat them, chipotle PEPPER sauce is NOT to be forced down the throat of the wife by holding her down and funneling a gallon of it down her throat.
Near as I can tell, though, that didn’t happen. You’re just a cock.
Except, as near as I can tell, the poor kid gave excellent customer service. Hell, he went above and beyond what was expected by simply not pissing in your sandwich at the end as far as I’m concerned.
And yet, in this case, you obviously are the one with the problem. Asshole.
I missed this in the OP. When you ordered the sub, did you tell the employee that you wanted only one half with peppers, because of your wife’s reaction to them? Because, in that case, him offering the chipotle sauce instead of the horseradish would be a bit of a gaffe. It still doesn’t excuse you for the lecture on the difference between roots and fruits, which has no relevance to this situation. What good did it do? It certainly won’t win you any Customer of the Month awards.
I did too. Actually, something similar happened to Sweetie at a Jimmy John’s last week. He’s sensitive to dairy, and anywhere he gets a sandwich, he has to ask to make sure he can eat the bread. At some restaurants, the staff say, “Dwuuuhh? We don’t know if there’s milk in it.” At the the JJ’s we went to, no problem. In fact, the very friendly kids at the counter knew a regular with a dairy allergy, and already knew what breads were kosher. Very helpful and totally non-confrontational.
We got to the table, and what’s on the sandwich? A slab of provolone that could choke a horse. After all the discussion of breads, he’d neglected to say “No cheese.” :smack:
He took it off. We ate lunch. No biggie. It was a brain fart; the kids at the counter didn’t need a snotty lecture on the nature of dairy or anything. It never occured to me to come and start a pit thread about it.
Your sandwich guy asked before he slathered pepper sauce on your sandwich; he may have just offered it by habit, or for all he knew, some peppers were OK and some were not. Whether they’re a root or a fruit has nothing to do with it.
This thread reminds me of the time some fuck-face blind guy walked up next to me with his fucking guide dog! Hello! I’m fucking allergic to dogs you twat-lipped bastard! The nerve!
The least he could do is wear a strobe light, or carry an air horn so that he can adequately warn people that he’s coming with his allergen factory. On the other hand, that strobe light might trigger a seizure due to my epilepsy.
That inconsiderate fucker even had the gall to tell me that his dog didn’t bite. Did I ask you? No. Besides, if your dog bit me, I’d sue the living shit out of you! It’d be like you were robbed blind! Ha.
He really should treat everyone in the world as though they might be allergic to dogs. I’ll be damned if I get sneezy just because you and your shit factory need to go out in public! The world revolves around me, and he needs to recognize that.
Oh, I know a better one than that. Two college students were in a Boston supermarket, with fifteen items in the ten-item lane. Cashier says, “Well, I don’t know if you’re from MIT and can’t read, or from Harvard and can’t count.”