You Stole My Purse

It wouldn’t be a wedding without a sloppy drunk woman accusing us of stealing her purse. We take it in stride, every situation presents unique challenges. Tonight’s drunk accused staff of stealing her purse while she went to the bathroom. “I left it on table 6, a black designer bag with $300 cash and all my ID. I was gone 2 minutes, one of you stole it” she slurred. Dead set on accusation, sloppy drunk unleashed a torrent of “you’d better fucking find it”.  We didn’t touch your purse!

Sensing sloppy drunk’s looming meltdown, boyfriend trumpets “this is fucking serious, which one of you stole her purse? Hand it over now!” Emboldened by her partner’s bravado, sloppy drunk parrots “fucking serious”.  Hysteria escalates, she’s wailing incoherent protestation. Rage pulsates from boyfriend’s throbbing temples, “she was gone 2 minutes, who the fuck stole her purse?”

Instead of laughing or calling security to escort the lovely couple out, I ask a server to check the bathroom. Sure enough, “stolen” purse rested where sloppy drunk left it – top of toilet paper dispenser inside a bathroom stall.

Did they apologize? Nope! They accused “thief” of planting it and stormed out. Sigh. So ends another day at the office.

7 thoughts on “You Stole My Purse

  1. Yeah. 30 years ago when the KGB was a real thing, I was on a bus in Vietnam where a KGB agent was having a holiday – agents need breaks too, right? As we leave the bus his wife realizes she has lost her scarf. (It’s 30 degrees in the tropics!). The agent rushes to the front of the bus and shouts in a thick Russian accent. “No one leaves the bus, I shall search everyone”.

    Then the wife finds the scarf in her bag. Not lost for words the agent shouts that we’re OK this time but if it happens again…

  2. How did you know I was with the KGB? Don’t answer … but I know where you live so don’t let it happen again. Or even if it doesn’t …

    As for drunks — don’t you just luv ’em? Especially when they barf all over the place, storm out … get in their car, still cursing you … and drive off into the power-pole, and you get sued for selling them the stuff and it’s all your fault …

  3. How long do you think I’d last in hospitality? Hint. Staff in the Saracen’s Head reckon somewhere in the region of 10 minutes before I said, ‘Oh do stop being a complete nobhead, eh?’

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